it. During the recital a newsboy came in with the early afternoon editions of the papers.
“Let’s see what my newspaper has to say about it,” remarked Val, calling the newsboy and buying a copy of the Planet, Although it was not largely known, Valentine Morley was the largest individual stockholder in this immensely profitable enterprise, having been left a block of stock by his father that comprised forty per cent of the entire stock in existence. To celebrate his personal interest in the paper Val permitted himself, occasionally, to read the sheet. That, so far, had been all the interest he took in it, although he was Vice-President of the corporation and journeyed down to Park Row twice a year to sign his name to papers which he was assured by his lawyer were fitted to be graced by his classic signature.
The Planet, as might have been expected, had a great deal to say about the matter, which it called The Mysterious Bookshop Murder, the idea conveyed being, presumably, not that the bookshop was mysterious but that the murder was mysterious. The woman in the case was called The Lady of the Bookshop, and the papers expressed the opinion that it would not be long before she was in the hands of the police. It was agreed that her apprehension was necessary if the police were to start untangling the dark snarl. She, undoubtedly, could throw light upon the matter.
Mention was also made, of course, of Val—information gleaned from the coroner or Sergeant Connolly, no doubt. The account ended with a demand on the part of the Planet that the police do something—that the crime wave was becoming wavier every day; a per-
