There are some things a man can't do," said Banneker with a sort of
appeal in his voice.

"Nothing," returned Edmonds positively. "Nothing he can't do to get the
news."

"Did you ever peep through a keyhole?"

"Figuratively speaking?"

"If you like. Either way."

"Yes."

"Would you do it to-day?"

"No."

"Then it's a phase a reporter has to go through?"

"Or quit."

"You haven't quit?"

"I did. For a time. In a way. I went to jail."

"Jail? You?" Banneker had a flash of intuition. "I'll bet it was for
something you were proud of."

"I wasn't ashamed of the jail sentence, at any rate. Youngster, I'm
going to tell you about this." Edmonds's fine eyes seemed to have
receded into their hollows as he sat thinking with his pipe neglected on
the table. "D'you know who Marna Corcoran was?"

"An actress, wasn't she?"

"Leading lady at the old Coliseum Theater. A good actress and a good
woman. I was a cub then on The Sphere under Red McGraw, the worst
gutter-pup that ever sat at a city desk, and a damned good newspaper
man. In those days The Sphere specialized on scandals; the rottener, the
better; stuff that it wouldn't touch to-day. Well, a hell-cat of a
society woman sued her husband for divorce and named Miss Corcoran. Pure
viciousness, it was. There wasn't a shadow of proof, or even suspicion."

"I remember something about that case. The woman withdrew the charge,
didn't she?"

"When it was too late. Red McGraw had an early tip and sent me to
interview Marna Corcoran. He let me know pretty plainly that my job
depended on my landing the story. That was his style; a bully. Well, I
got the interview; never mind how. When I left her home Miss Corcoran
was in a nervous collapse. I reported to McGraw. 'Keno!' says he. 'Give
us a column and a half of it. Spice it.' I spiced it--I guess. They tell
me it was a good job. I got lost in the excitement of writing and forgot
what I was dealing with, a woman. We had a beat on that interview. They
raised my salary, I remember. A week later Red called me to the desk.
'Got another story for you, Edmonds. A hummer. Marna Corcoran is in a
private sanitarium up in Connecticut; hopelessly insane. I wouldn't
wonder if our story did it.' He grinned like an ape. 'Go up there and
get it. Buy your way in, if necessary. You can always get to some of the
attendants with a ten-spot. Find out what she raves about; whether it's
about Allison. Perhaps she's given herself away. Give u