She realized in a vague sort of way the power of the newspapers; and, little knowing into how many independent departments a great daily is divided, she was suddenly seized with an idea--a great idea. The murder of Mrs. Gilmore, she reasoned, was news, stupendous news; Kirklan Gilmore was a famous novelist. The newspaper which she read regularly would, as she saw it, naturally feel grateful to her for giving them firsthand information regarding the tragedy. It would serve as a pleasant introduction to the editor of that great metropolitan publication, would tincture the review of her "play" with a personal kindliness. What queer notions people do get into their heads! But the merit of her idea is neither here nor there; the important thing is that Etta Griggs did call the office of _The Morning Star_, and she was thus responsible for the appearance on the scene of a certain news hound named Jimmy Price, sometimes more intimately known as "Wiggly." The news-gathering staff of _The Star_ is a high-pressure, hectic organization; one would wonder how they could get out an intelligent paper in the midst of such a mad scramble. It was nearing press time for the final edition; Scoggins, the city editor, was bellowing at the top of his nasal voice; the copy desk was railroading a last batch of late news matter; the assistant make-up man, who is one of the important gentlemen who keep the type in the right columns, was screaming frantically about something of which no one except himself seemed to know anything, and, from the way the office boys were sliding back and forth across the floor, one might have thought the city room was the skating rink of an insane asylum. And then, with a breathless suddenness--silence! In newspaper parlance, "the paper had been put to bed." From the street below there sounded the blump-blump of a flat-wheeled surface car journeying along Park Row. Scoggins, the city editor, gave a look at his news schedule, sighed, and jerked off the shade which protected his eyes. "There's not a live piece of local news in the whole darn paper!" he muttered. "Here, Milne, take the desk; I'm going home, and----" He took a last survey around the long, paper-cluttered city room, and saw Jimmy Price, who was cognizant that he had incurred the displeasure of the gods, trying to do a quick sneak out. "Hey, you, Price!" he bawled.