“Ah,” he said blandly, “since you agree with me so absolutely in the need for secrecy, I feel I can unburden this bosom to you as to an understanding, friendly soul. Know then, oh, Wally, that this poor heart of mine burns with love for⸺”
He told him all details of the case, leaving out only mention of the name of the girl. He was willing to trust Chillingham, who would rather cut out his tongue than betray a friend—newspaper ethics to the contrary notwithstanding—but yet, it was just as well not to put too great a strain on a man’s will power. And this would certainly have been a beat!
Val told of his unavailing search for the girl the day before.
“Well, what do you want me to do?” queried Wally.
“Why, it occurred to me—to Eddie Hughes, that is—that you might have some information about her or her family in your files—the ‘morgue,’ don’t you know?” said Val.
“That’s so,” answered the editor. “Probably we have. Just tell me the name and I’ll go right out and get the dope⸺”
“Good idea!” snapped Val. “Just tell you the name, eh! Well, I guess I can look up an alphabetical file as well as you can—or anybody else in this godless joint. Just show me the place and I’ll do all the dope getting necessary, see.”
“We don’t allow people not connected with this office to look in our files,” responded the editor coldly. “We don’t⸺”
“Say, listen, my boy,” said Val softly. “I’m connected with this office just enough to be able to vote you out of a job—get me? My forty per cent of stock says I go into that ‘morgue’—show me where it is if
