One of us may have to hop to Colorado if Farriss thinks well of what we've dug up." "I hope it's you--you've worked hard," said Miss Donovan.
"But you got the big clue of it all--the telegram," gallantly returned her companion, as he raised his arm to signal a passing cab which would take them to the Star office.
Once there, in their enthusiasm they upset the custom of the office and broke into Farriss's fullest hour, dragged him from his slot in the copy desk and into his private office, which he rarely used.

There, into his impatient ears they dinned the story of what they had just learned, ending up by passing him the telegram.
For a mere instant he glanced at them, then his lips began to move.
"Beaton--Ned--Ned Beaton--Ned Beaton," he mused, and then sat bolt upright in his chair, while he banged the desk with a round, hard fist.
"Hell's bells!" he ejaculated.

"You've run across something.

I know that name.

I know the man.