“Yes, yes. You’re right as usual,” Hastings snapped. “But I always forget we have to use journalese in the specials. Right. ‘John Hoode Done to Death by Unknown Hand. _The Owl_ most deeply regrets to announce that at eleven o’clock last night Mr. John Hoode, Minister of Imperial Finance, was found lying dead in the study of his country residence, Abbotshall, Marling. The circumstances were such’—pity we don’t know what they really were, Miss Warren—‘the circumstances were such as to show immediately that this chief among England’s greatest men had met his death at the hands of a murderer, though it is impossible at present to throw any light upon the identity of the criminal.’ New paragraph, please. ‘We understand, however, that no time was lost in communicating with Scotland Yard, who have assigned the task of tracking down the perpetrator of this terrible crime to their most able and experienced officers’—always a safe card that, Miss Warren—‘No time will be lost in commencing the work of investigation.’ Fresh paragraph, please. ‘All England, all the Empire, the whole world will join in offering their heartfelt sympathy to Miss Laura Hoode, who, we understand, is prostrated by the shock’—another safe bet—‘Miss Hoode, as all know, is the sister of the late minister and his only relative. It is known that there were two guests at Abbotshall, that brilliant leader of society, Mrs. Roland Mainwaring, and Sir Arthur Digby-Coates, the millionaire philanthropist and Parliamentary Secretary to the Board of Conciliation. Sir Arthur was an extremely close and lifelong friend of the deceased and would affirm that he had not an enemy in the world——’” Miss Margaret Warren looked up, her eyebrows severely interrogative. “Well?” said Hastings uneasily. “Isn’t that last sentence rather dangerous, Mr. Hastings?” “Hm—er—I don’t know—er—yes, you’re right, Miss Warren. Dammit, woman, are you ever wrong about anything?” barked Hastings; then recovered himself. “I _beg_ your pardon. I—I——” There came an aloof smile. “Please don’t apologise, Mr. Hastings. Shall I change the phrase?” “Yes, yes,” muttered Hastings. “Say, say—put down—say——” “‘——and are stricken aghast at the calamity which has befallen them,’” suggested the girl. “Excellent,” said Hastings, composure recovered. “By the way, did you tell Williams to get on with that padding? That sketch of Hoode’s life and work? We’ve got to fill up that opposite-centre page.” “Yes, Mr. Williams started on it at once.”