So, I believe, is the district
attorney."
"But how about the note, Mr. Lester? What did it contain?"
"Oh, I can't tell you that, you know. It's none of my business."
"But you ought to treat us all alike," he protested.
"I do treat you all alike."
"But didn't Godfrey get it out of you?"
"Godfrey?" I repeated. "Get it out of me?"
He stared at me in astonishment.
"Do you mean to tell me, Mr. Lester," he questioned, "that you haven't
been spending the evening with Jim Godfrey, of the _Record_?"
Then, in a flash, I understood, and as I looked at the rueful faces
of the men gathered about me, I laughed until the tears came.
"So it was you," I gasped, "who chased us up Broadway?"
He nodded.
"Yes; but our horses weren't good enough. Where did he take you?"
"To the Studio--Sixth Avenue."
"Of course!" he cried, slapping his leg. "We might have known. Boys,
we'd better go back to Podunk."
"Well, at least, Mr. Lester," spoke up another, "you oughtn't to give
Godfrey a scoop."
"But I didn't give him a scoop. I didn't even know who he was."
"Didn't you tell him what was in the note?"
"Not a word of it--I told him only one thing."
"And what was that?"
"That the person who wrote the note didn't know that Rogers was
color-blind. You are welcome to that statement, too.
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