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 some one who wants to talk to him about the Norcross murder.

“You the editor? All right. I am the man who killed old Norcross Wait! Hold the wire; I’m not the usual crank Oh, there isn’t the slightest danger. I’ve just been discussing it with a detective friend of mine. I killed the old man at 2:30 two weeks ago to-morrow. Have a drink with you? Now, hadn’t you better leave that kind of talk to your funny man? Can’t you tell whether a man’s guying you or whether you’re being offered the biggest scoop your dull dishrag of a paper ever had? Well, that’s so; it’s a bobtail scoop—but you can hardly expect me to phone in my name and address. Why? Oh, because I heard you make a specialty of solving mysterious crimes that stump the police No, that’s not all. I want to tell you that your rotten, lying, penny sheet is of no more use in tracking an intelligent murderer or highwayman than a blind poodle would be. What? Oh, no, this isn’t a rival newspaper office; you’re getting it straight. I did the Norcross job, and I’ve got the jewels in my suit case at—‘the name of the hotel could not be learned’—you recognize that phrase, don’t you? I thought so. You’ve used it often enough. Kind of rattles you, doesn’t it, to have the mysterious villain call up your great, big, all-powerful organ of right and justice