"
After thinking a few minutes, Hemingway went to the telephone,
calling up the chief of police at the latter's home. The plain
clothes man stated the case, and suggested that the story be told
to "The Blade" editor for publication in the morning issue. Then,
if anyone in town had any definite suspicion why so much nitroglycerine
should be needed in that little city, he could communicate his
suspicions or his facts to the police.
"The chief agrees to my plan," nodded Hemingway, leaving the 'phone.
"Me for 'The Blade' office."
"See here," begged Dick, earnestly, "if there's to be a good newspaper
story in this, please let me turn it over to Len Spencer. He's
one of our best newspaper men. He'll write a corking good story
about this business---and, besides, I'm under some personal obligations
to him."
"So I've heard," replied the plain clothes man, with a twinkle
in his eyes. Hemingway heard a good deal in his saunterings about
Gridley. He had picked up the yarn about Dick & Co., Len Spencer
and the "dead ones."
"So that 'The Blade' gets it, I don't care who writes the story,"
replied the policeman, good-humoredly.
Dick swiftly called up "The Morning Blade' office. Spencer was
there, and came to the telephone.
"How's news tonight?" asked Prescott, after naming himself.
"Duller than a lecture," rejoined Len.
"Would you like a hot one for the first page?" pursued Dick.
"Would I? Would a cat lap milk, or a dog run when he had a can
tied to his tail? But don't string me, Dick.
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