New News in the New Court, Part 2.

Not very many hours later, editor Purley sat in the same chair and gazed out upon the same office and the same would-be girl reporter.

His general demeanor had not changed as he chewed on an unlit cigar

and glared over the top of a sheaf of typewritten pages.

However, he could not escape the feeling that everything had changed or was about to.

He had a general idea of the events at the past few hours, but without a man on the scene,

check that, this was his man on the scene.

This red-headed, holy terror, who sat watching him, prepared to read her report with deeply feigned patience that couldn't possibly

last much longer. Pearly glanced at her hands, folded demurely in her lap. He noticed with some

small satisfaction that they were now properly ink-stained at least. They seemed to shake a little, as if buzzing with fright,

though perhaps not fright at all. Was it the thrill of the chase that had this neatly dressed

soft society lady ready to burst? What sort of monster had he unleashed? The woman cleared her

throat a little, and when Purley made eye contact,

she nodded at the typewritten pages, what from her viewpoint covered most of his face.

He glared at her, and lifted the pages to form a total barrier between them before beginning

to read. Terror at the Hatchew by Kit Baxter.

Purley struggled for a moment, and then peeked around the left side of the papers.

"'Just so you know,' he said,

"'the reporters don't generally write their own headlines.'

"'Oh,' she said surprised.

"'Who does that?' "'An editor will do that.' generally write their own headlines. Oh, she said surprised.

Who does that?

...