“The light had gone out in the upstairs sitting room nearly an hour ago. Whither had they adjourned?He lit another cigar, and prepared for an extension of his vigil. A reporter with his heart in his work counts neither time nor hardship as wasted if he can secure a story. And this young reporter of the Evening Herald was no exception to the general rule. He waited, chatting with such policemen as passed. Half-past four came, and with it the pearl-grey of dawning daylight, but still nobody ca...me out from the ornamental door of 410, Park Lane. Five, six, and seven came, and the world began to wake up drowsily, and the early morning populace of London went hurrying north and south along the fashionable thoroughfare.‘He can’t be staying the night,’ muttered the young reporter.He scribbled a note and sent it off by the first likely messenger, and in half an hour a man came briskly down Park Lane until he reached the place where the watcher stood.‘You can go off now,’ he said.‘I don’t want to go off until I’ve seen this thing through,’ said the reporter.‘Do you think he went in?’ asked the newcomer.‘I’m sure,’ said the other emphatically.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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