For various reasons I did not act upon the idea, but Mullins was in my mind, so much, so persistently, so often, that I kept seeing him in passers-by. I mistook several strangers for Mullins, until close enough to see my mistake. Then, suddenly, in Union Square, towards evening, I did see him. I was sitting on a bench. He walked past me. He was on his way to an assignment. I told him the whole story, making no accusations, but omitting no vital detail. He listened attentively, his face very grave. He shared my own misgivings. “It’s just the kind of case Mitchell’s looking for,” he said. “He wants to make a splash with it. But I think I can fix it for you. Guess what my assignment is at this moment?” And then he told me. His job that evening was a special interview with Mitchell, a descriptive story of the newly-appointed fire marshal, his personality and character, his plans for suppressing arson, and it was to be a front-page article. Mullins could make him or mar him; he had a free hand in the matter; the _Times_ was a Republican organ. It would mean a great deal to Mitchell. “He comes from my part of Ireland,” said Mullins with a grin and a wink. And then he added that he had spoken to Muldoon about me only the day before, and that Muldoon had promised me a place on the paper the moment it was possible--in a few weeks probably. “I shall just mention to Mitchell that you’re going on the _Times_,” was his significant parting word to me, as he hurried off to keep his appointment. My examination next morning was robbed of much of its terror. The fire marshal was evidently not quite sure of himself, for, if manner, voice and questions were severe, I detected an attitude that suggested wavering. A shorthand writer behind me took down every word I uttered, and the searching examination about the clothes, my social and business relations with Brodie, my knowledge, if any, concerning the value of his rugs and curtains, especially concerning the night of the fire and the details of how we left the room, gave me moments of acute discomfort. Although Mitchell rarely once looked straight at me, I knew he was observing my every word and gesture, the slightest change in facial expression, too. He confined himself entirely to questions, allowing no hint of his own opinion to escape him, and yet, to my very strung-up attention, he betrayed the uncertainty already mentioned. I, of course, confined myself entirely to answers, brief, but without hesitation.