Consequently, until late that night I
pecked away at my typewriter trying to get order out of the chaos
of my hastily scribbled notes. Under ordinary circumstances, I
remembered, the morrow would have been my day of rest on the Star.
I had gone far enough with Kennedy to realise that on this
assignment there was no such thing as rest.
"District Attorney Carton wants to see me immediately at the
Criminal Courts Building, Walter," announced Kennedy, early the
following morning.
Clothed, and as much in my right mind as possible after the
arduous literary labours of the night before, I needed no urging,
for Carton was an old friend of all the newspaper men. I joined
Craig quickly in a hasty ride down-town in the rush hour.
On the table before the square-jawed, close-cropped, fighting
prosecutor, whom I knew already after many a long and hard-fought
campaign both before and after election, lay a little package
which had evidently come to him in the morning's mail by parcel-
post.
"What do you suppose is in that, Kennedy?" he asked, tapping it
gingerly.
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