"We are," I hastened to reply. "Will you give me your name?"
"Why, I am Mrs. Florence Leigh of number 20 Prospect Avenue," returned the voice. "Really, Mr. Jameson, something ought to be done about these cases."
"It surely had," I assented, with much interest, writing her name eagerly down on a card. "I'll be out to interview you, directly."
The woman thanked me and I hung up the receiver.
"Say," I exclaimed, hurrying over to the editor's desk, "here's another woman on the wire who says she has received the poisoned kiss.
"Suppose you take that assignment," the editor answered, sensing a possible story.
I took it with alacrity, figuring out the quickest way by elevated and surface car to reach the address.
The conductor of the trolley indicated Prospect Avenue and I hurried up the street until I came to the house, a neat, unpretentious place. Looking at the address on the card first to make sure, I rang the bell.
I must say that I could scarcely criticize the poisoned kisser's taste, for the woman who had opened the door certainly was extraordinarily attractive.
"And you really were—put out by a kiss?" I queried, as she led me into a neat sitting room.