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 ning lives at this hotel—he must make and receive telephone calls—eh—maybe you"

"That's enough" I cut him off, "Let me think!"

I knew, of course, what Tommy was driving at and there were certain—er—ethics to be considered, if you know what I mean. I've never done anything yet that smacks of sneakiness and I wasn't crazy about beginning then, Tommy or no Tommy! Still, this Manning was a married man and I thought him an unspeakable cur who should at least get slapped in the face for contemplating bounding off with another man's wife. He was as popular as a blizzard with me—why show him any favors? The more I thought it over the more I devoutly wished to see Manning punished and made to like it! In the well known and popular jiffy I decided to be the Miss Fix-It through which Manning would be foiled in trying to break up his own and another's home and Thomas Brown made eternally famous as a star reporter!

If Hades is paved with good intentions, then I'd be a knockout down there as a contractor, no kidding!

About ten days later I held Mr. Manning's fate in the hollow of what has been called my lily white hand. Jerry Murphy and his copper pals had shadowed Manning day and night, Pete Kift got chummy with the millionaire rotter's scofflaw chauffeur and under my