"My name is Macdougan." "I have information that you could give me details of the life of that unfortunate young man; you see I'm a reporter from the _American._ My name is Rogers. I'm on special articles mostly." He looked up at Fanshaw sideways with a smile. "Thank you... I know er ... nothing except what I just read in your paper... I'm afraid I can't talk to you now..." Fanshaw was desperately trying to think: These beasts'll try to get up a scandal. There's nothing they'll stick at. Nan and I must keep out of it... If I were to lose my instructorship... "You see, it is this way, Mr. Macdougan ... Won't you take a cigarette?" Rogers settled himself in a chair, lit a cigarette, pulled his trousers up at the knees, and continued in his oily, wheedling voice: "You see, Mr. Macdougan, my paper, as you know, is at present out to clean up the police department of this city, which is disgracefully inefficient. We are going to fight them with every means in our power. Publicity and publicity and more publicity for every instance of neglect and corruption we can unearth. We intend to make the streets of Boston safe for the most delicate girl at any hour of the day or night.... That is why we are so interested in procuring all the details of a case like this accident that overwhelmed your unfortunate young friend. I'm sure you want to help us in this." "But I don't know anything. I last saw David Wendell at dinner last night in Boston. I am not in the least certain that it's he who was murdered." "What time last night?" "O I suppose at around ten... We'd been dining on Hanover Street... But I can't talk about this now." "I am sure you will appreciate my position, Mr. Macdougan; it's only in the interest of justice, with that poor young man's interest at heart that I intrude this way on your grief at the loss of a dear friend... Did you dine alone with him?" "No... But, look here, I must go." "You wouldn't mind giving me the name of the other party. He and you were probably the last to ever see him alive. He might be able to help us." "I'm afraid I can't give you the name." "The third party was a lady, then?" Fanshaw blushed red. He stared hard in the man's wheedling eyes. "I must get in touch with the police to find out what really happened... Please excuse me." Fanshaw pulled on his overshoes and took his coat from the bed. "Have you thought of any motive anyone could have for wanting to kill young Wendell, Mr. Macdougan?" "None, of course not." "Do you think it could have been suicide?" Fanshaw felt the beads of sweat trickling down his cheek. He motioned the reporter out the door and slammed it behind them. "I don't know... It might have been anything." He started down the stairs. "If you are going to the Morgue now I should be very glad to go with you, Mr. Macdougan," said the reporter, following him with the same confident smile. "Thank you, no!"