"When he comes tell him to come right into my office." "Yes, sir; I'll tell him, sir." "Did you get those envelopes out of the morgue that I telephoned you about?" "Yes, sir; they're all four of 'em on your desk, sir," said the boy, and he made as though to get up from his seat. "Never mind," said Mr. Foxman. "I guess I can find them without any help. ... Oh, yes, Benny, I'm not to be disturbed during the next hour for anything. Nobody is to see me except Singlebury. Understand?" "Yes, sir--nobody," said Benny. "I'll remember, sir." Inside his own room, which opened directly upon the city room, Mr. Foxman brushed from his desk a neatly piled file of the afternoon papers, glanced through a heap of mail--some personal mail, but mostly official--without opening any of the letters, and then gave his attention to four big soiled manila envelopes which rested side by side upon his wide blue blotter pad. One of these envelopes was labelled, across its upper front, "Blake, John W."; the second was labelled "Bogardus, S. P."; the third, "Pratt, Ezra"; and the fourth, "Pearl Street Trolley Line." Each of the four bulged dropsically with its contents, which contents, when Mr. Foxman had bent back the envelope flaps and emptied the envelopes, proved to be sheafs of newspaper clippings, some frayed with handling and yellowed with age, some still fresh and crisp, and all bearing the stencilled identification mark of the functionary who runs what is called in some shops the obit department and in other shops the morgue. Keeping each set in its own separate pile, Mr. Foxman began running through these clippings, now and then putting aside one for future consideration. In the midst of this he broke off to take up his desk telephone and, when the girl at the private switchboard upstairs answered, bade her ring for him a certain private number, not to be found in the telephone directory. "That you, Moreau?" briskly asked Mr. Foxman when, after a short wait, a voice at the other end of the wire spoke. "How are you? ... Quite well, thank you. ... I want to speak with the general. ... Yes, yes, yes, I know that, but this is important--very important. ... Yes, I know that too; but I won't detain him but a minute. ... Thanks. ... Yes, I'll wait right here." There was another little delay while Mr. Foxman held the receiver to his ear and kept his lips close to the transmitter. Then: "Good evening, general--Foxman speaking."