'
The editor's frown grew deeper. The ends of his fingers drummed nervously
on the desk.
'You take failure rather jauntily, it strikes me,' he said at last.
'What's the use of taking it any other way? I have the consciousness of
knowing that I did my best.'
'Um, yes. It's a great consolation, no doubt, but it doesn't count in
the newspaper business. What did you do?'
'I received your telegram at Montreal, and at once left for Burnt
Pine--most outlandish spot on earth. I found that Kenyon and
Wentworth were staying at the only hotel in the place. Tried to worm
out of them what their reports were to be. They were very polite, but
I didn't succeed. Then I tried to bribe them, and they ordered me out
of the room.'
'Perhaps you didn't offer them enough.'
'I offered double what the London Syndicate was to pay them for making
the report, taking their own word for the amount. I couldn't offer more,
because at that point they closed the discussion by ordering me out of
the room. I tried to get the papers that night, on the quiet, out of
Wentworth's valise, but was unfortunately interrupted. The young men
were suspicious, and next morning they left for Ottawa to post the
reports, as I gathered afterwards, to England. I succeeded in getting
hold of the reports, but I couldn't hang on. There are too many police
in Ottawa to suit me.'
'Do you mean to tell me,' said the editor, 'that you actually had the
reports in your hands, and that they were taken from you?'
'Certainly I had; and as to their being taken from me, it was either that
or gaol.
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