erred to follow her career. The man
was eminent in his line: not a society figure, except by marriage--his
wife was active in the Four Hundred--because he had no tastes in that
direction. He was nearly twenty years senior to the girl. The affair was
desperate from the first. How far it went is doubtful; my informant gave
it the worst complexion. Certainly there must have been compromising
circumstances, for the wife left him, holding over him the threat of
exposure. He cared nothing for himself; and the girl would have given up
everything for him. But he was then engaged on a public work of
importance; exposure meant the ruin of that. The wife made conditions;
that the man should neither speak to, see, nor communicate with the
girl. He refused. The girl went into exile and forced him to make the
agreement. My informant had a copy of the letter of agreement; you can
see how close she was to the family. She said that, if we printed it,
the man would instantly break barriers, seek out the girl, and they
would go away together. A front-page story, and exclusive."

"So it was a woman who held the key!" exclaimed Banneker.

Edmonds turned on him. "What does that mean? Do you know anything of the
story?"

"Not all that you've told me. I know the people."

"Then why did you let me go on?"

"Because they--one of them--is my friend. There is no harm to her in my
knowing. It might even be helpful."

"Nevertheless, I think you should have told me at once," grumbled the
veteran. "Well, I didn't take the story. The informer said that she
would place it elsewhere. I told her that if she did I would publish the
whole circumstances of her visit and offer, and make New York too hot to
hold her. She retired, bulging with venom like a mad snake. But she
dares not tell."

"The man's wife, was it not?"

"Some one representing her, I suspect. A bad woman, that wife. But I
saved the girl in memory of Marna Corcoran. Think what the story would
be worth, now that the man is coming forward politically!" Edmonds
smiled wanly. "It was worth a lot even then, and I threw my paper down
on it. Of course I resigned from the city desk at once."

"It's a fascinating game, being on the inside of the big things,"
ruminated Banneker. "But when it comes to a man's enslaving himself to
his paper, I--don't--know."

"No: you won't quit," prophesied the other.

"I have. That is, I've resigned."

"Of course. They all do, of your type. It was the pec