Mightier than the Sword

orning, whether good or ill would result from it. In his hands lay the ordering of your day. You had no more control over your liberty from the time you came into Rivers' room than

terminable search for some elusive news: or perhaps you would be given five pounds for expenses and told to catch the next train

. He was in the office all day and night. At least that was how it appeared to Humphrey, who met him often and at all times on the stairs. When he was not, by any chance, there

home. O'Brien generally took the desk on Sundays. But for the rest of his life Rivers lived and breathed with The Day more than any one else. From the time the door closed on him after breakfast, to the time when it

all other interests to the work of The Day. Not until you did that, were you worthy to be on the paper and serve him.... And many he

enter into the practical range of his vision. They were not news. The great halfpenny public cared for nothing but news-a murder mystery, for choice; and the only chance art or literature had of awaking his interest was for the artist to commit s

Southampton and tell them to have a car to take The Day reporters on. Boy, ask Mr Wratten and Mr Pride to come up. O'Brien, send a wire to the local chaps-tell 'em to weigh in all they can. Notify the post-office five thousand words from Portsmouth. Too late for photographs to-night-ring through to the artists, we'll have a diagram and a map. Off Southsea, eh? Shove in a picture of Southsea...." And in an hour it would all be over, and Rivers, a new man with news stirring in the world, would playfully punch O'Brien in the chest, and gather about him a reporter or two for company, and bestow wonderf

nd make them feel that there was no life in the world equal to theirs. Since that day when Humphrey had first met him in Ferrol's room, and he had laughed and said, "You're not a genius, are you?" Rivers had not taken any particular notice of him. When he came into Rivers' room, haltin

, Quai

rning, M

t for Quain. Eh? Nothing y

You'd better do this lecture at seven

ally, "I'll do that Guildhall luncheon to-day, Rivers, eh

ed such ease, such sure familiarity-how long before he should prove

nces. He had dressed himself in woman's clothes, and only, after death, when they took him to the hospital, did they find that the dead body was that of a man. He was employed in a solicitor's office near Charing Cross Road. His name was Bellowes,

mumbled the sentences as he wrote them. His speciality was crime: he knew more of the dark underside of human nature than any one Humphrey had met. He knew the intimate byways of crime, and its motives; every detective in the Criminal Investigation Department was his friend, and though by the rigid law of Sco

At any moment, any hour, day and night, something would be brought to lig

ournalism that had a ludicrous effect on his listeners. His character was a strange mixture of shrewdness, worldly-wisdom, and ingenuousness, and this was reflected in the books he carried always with him. In one pocket there would[93] be an untr

went up to

e affair of the strange suicide. "Get down to Surbiton and see if you ca

room. Thus it came about that, a few minutes after Willoughby had set out for Surbiton, Hump

ster meaning in them. "... And don't you fall down, young man,"

nexperienced and helpless.... He thought how Wratten would have known at once where to go, or how easily Tommy Pride, with his years of training, could do the jo

of a department at his hand. He is a trespasser[94] in private places, a Peeping Tom, with his eye to a chink in the shuttered lives of others. His inner self wrenches both ways; he loathes and loves his duty. The human man i

up all this sorry business ... and perhaps his salvation lies in his

eciate the picture of Humphrey Quain faced for the first time with the crisis t

t news of the suicide. He bought a copy, and read through the story. It occurred to him that the be

nd most of the passengers were City men going home. Lucky

hat on earth should he say? What right had he to go and ask questions-there would be an

ner) was in. The young man must have guessed his business[95] in a moment. Humphrey felt as if he had a

be back?" as

rm of insult reserved for special occasions: it implied, you see, that the caller was

nted to talk about t

m up and down, and said

began H

imace of absolute finality. Humphrey hesitated: he knew that the whole mystery

?" His voice rose to a shriller key. He was a very unpleasant young man, but fortunately he dropped his "h's," which modified, in some strange way, in Humphrey's min

h's if you can't keep

tried diplomacy. He remarked on the tragedy: the hall-porter agreed it was very tragic.[96] There had been seven other reporters before him (marvellous how policemen and

"what sort of a chap

aw him," said the porter;

groaned

ably be known to the shopkeepers round about. He visited the shops adjoining the building where the dead man worked, but none of them yielded any information, not even the pa

rham, where every one's doings were noted, it was considered the first step downwards to be seen go

n pulled the drawer open to drop money in. Humphrey asked for bottled beer. "Cannock's?" the barmaid asked. "Please." She gave him the drink. He said "Thank you." She said "Thank you." She gav

to where Humphrey was st

e ventured, taking a gulp at his beer

ld a crumpled evening paper in

said. "Very

't it?" he said, cheerfully, counting out six coppers, and

olly, facetiously, bringing him

ss. Small talk followed, frequently interrupted by fresh arrivals. A quarter of an hour passed. The cheerful man had one more drink,

often co

. "Mr Jobling-the

ean Mr B

ing to a corner of the bar where two men stood in the shadows-"can tell you all about h

n. They were both drinking whisky, and[98] they seemed to be in

id one o

y repeated. "I'm told

man, a little trucule

at the most absolute fra

lp me by telling me something about hi

inked. "You've got a nerve," he said. "W

ver mind. Let's have

of them, in drinking, spilt a good deal of the liquor over his co

n on the firm," said the elder

thin his grasp. One of the men, at least, was from the solicitor's office. The instinct o

to keep the name of the firm out of The Day;

de and they talked quietly for a few minutes. Then more drinks were ordere

9

's ears buzzed, and his vision was not so acute. The outlines of people were blurred and indistinct. "Good lord," he murmured to himself, "I'm getting drunk too." He was pleasantly happy, and smiled into his sixth glass of

t?" said Humphrey; "

e he was in love

ch g

le girl that sings, 'Come Round and See M

Was

all day about her.... And the letters. My word, you should see the letters ... he u

et drama unfolding itself like a novelist's plot. The meetings, the letters, the double life of Bellowes, a respectable churchwarden in Surbiton; a libertine in London-and then she threw him over; declined to see him when he called at the stage door; he had[100] dresse

n his mind, and by that time, though he knew he had drun

fectionately. "You can print it all, and keep my

as they parted at the door of t

phrey replied. "Thanks awfully

hours ago-it seemed years-ignorant of everything, and, behold, he had put a finger into the tragedy of three lives. All that feeling of revolt and hatred of his business passed away from him, and left in

office of The Day. It was nine o'clock; Rivers had left the office for the night, a

get it from?"

I wouldn't[101] mention the name of

ut Miss S

?" echoed Hump

r? We must know what she

in the sordid case. Selsey looked at the clock. "I'll send somebody else up to see her-she's a

earnt; they tumbled over one another, until he did not know how to tell them all. He started to write, and he found that he could not even begin the story. He tore up sheet after sheet

to himself. "That's

a fool I was to

t I shouldn't have got the sto

sey says have you got the

e them in a few min

Humphrey with his head on his outstretched ar

1

an?" asked Wratten, bend

ace to Wratten. "I'm drunk,"

r enough. Selsey's delighted you've got your

write it.... I can't get

here, let me help you. Tell me as much as you can." He touched the bell, and a boy appeared. "Go and ge

's do it between ourselves. Don't bother about plans. Start right in with the main facts and put them at the top. Always b

ntinue. "Wrap it up carefully," Wratten said. "Talk about the dead man's pure love for anything that was artistic: say that he was a slave to art, and that Miss Sycamore typified art for him. That'll please her. Say

hed. "That's all ri

1

oat. He felt as if Wratten had rescued him from the terro

s the paper I was thinking of. Well, I'm off

f last night, but he felt exhilarated when he thought of it all. He wanted to tell the two men in the omnibus that he had written the story in The Day. He came to the office and the fellows in the reporters' room seemed as glad as he was. Willoughby told him of

said Wratten, "the best The

frowned meaningly at him. And not until Rivers said: "Come off that desk, young man, and see what you can do with thi