"Where are you bound so--impetuously?"
"Home," smiled Stanley. "Jeanne and I are going to the show tonight." He was about to pass on when a thought struck him. "Got a minute to spare, Mr. Pickering?"
"Always to you, my boy," returned the editor of the Bulletin, with his old-fashioned courtesy.
"My boy ... you're wasting your time as a reporter. Listen," he laid a hand upon Francisco's knee. "I've a job for you.... The new Mayor will need a secretary".
"Then, come into the Baldwin Cafe.... I want to tell you something."
In an unoccupied corner, over a couple of glasses, Francisco unfolded his plan. He was somewhat abashed by Pickering's expression. "Very clever, Stanley ... but quite useless. It's been tried before. You'd better have taken the job, accumulated evidence; then turned it over to us. That would be the way to trap him ... but it's probably too late. Ten to one his sleuth has seen us together. Buckley's very--bright, you know."
He put a hand kindly on the crestfallen young man's shoulder.... "Go back tomorrow and see if he'll make you secretary to the Mayor. Then get all the 'extras' you can. Label each and bring it to me. I'll see that you're not misunderstood." He rose. "But I fear Buckley will withdraw his offer ... if so, we'll print the story of his Platt's Hall gambling house."