A copy of the _Record_ was lying, as
usual, on the table, and a black headline caught my eye:
WORTHINGTON VAUGHAN
MURDERED
* * * * *
RICH RECLUSE STRANGLED TO
DEATH AT HIS HOME IN
THE BRONX
* * * * *
I glanced at Godfrey in surprise.
"Yes," he said, reddening a little, "I was just in time to 'phone the
story in for the last edition. I called the doctor first, though,
Lester--you must give me credit for that! And it was a beautiful
scoop!"
"What time did you get up?" I asked.
"About noon. I sent down the full story for to-morrow morning's paper
just before I called you."
"Any developments?"
"None that I know of. Of course, I haven't heard Swain's story yet."
"Godfrey," I said, "it seems to me that this thing is going to look
bad for Swain--I think Goldberger suspects him already. A good deal
depends upon his story."
"Yes, it does," Godfrey agreed.
We finished the meal in silence. It was not a long one, for I, at
least, was anxious to get back to Swain.
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