Catoctin clarion. [volume] (Mechanicstown, Md.) 1871-1940, 1895-07-25
THE SPHINX.
BY Francis c. Williams.

of a cable-car smash-up, and wheeled
about in his desk chair and addressed
the Office in general and no one in par
ticular. Ten o'clock and only two dis
play headsup,and neither Of them worth
it's place. How much'll that shipping
story make, Harris {?
u can fill it out to half a column,
answered the person addressed, looking
up from his desk.
Make all you can Of 1t. Well need
every bit we can get
It was just chen that Marsh came in.
'Got good story here, Mr.. Camp
bell; now much space can have p he
asked, stripping off his coat.
All you want returned the city
editor, a half smile replacing the frown
his face had worn. Now, that's what
I call luck he added. Whats it
about ?
YOU remember the Kremer murderT
Yes, well enough
Well, they've got them; at least,
they think they have. The police in
the Twenty-third precinct arrested a
fellow to. day who turned out to be Boch
the German who was with Kremer the
night the murder occurred and the
circumstantial evidence Is strong, they
say. Let's see; how long ago was it
that the murder happened? Twelve
years, l think
Just about said Campbell, mentally
checking off the time. ut ought to
make good yarn. Do your best with
it,
Marsh nodded and fell to work.
For time only the scratching Of a
pen broke silence in the room. Then
the city editor suddenly said:
u say, Marsh, s'pose you see the
Sphinx about that story. Ten to one,
he has has something filed away about
it. If he has and can give good his
tory of the crime, let him do it. You
do the story of the arrest and make it as
circumstantial as you can. Well see If
we can't save that front page from stag
nation somehow
All right answered Marsh. as be
dropped his pen and rose from his seat.
perhaps the old man can give us a
beat on the story he jokinglY added,
as he turned to 20.
The city editor laughed. The idea
of the Sphinx supplying such a thing
as beat was too absurd to take seri-
ously, for he had never been anything
but machine, grinding out addenda
and obituary notices in nonpareil type
since he became member Of the Globe
staff three years before. He was, &C
cording to his fellow laborers, queer
lot None of them professed to know
him better after that lapse of time than
when he first came among them and
was given charge of the newspaper
clippings, which were filed away daily
and made use of again whenever a new
event recalled an old subject.
Spiritless and silent, always faithfully
executing what was given him to do,
but never Offering suggestion, and in
no instance mingling in the amusementa
or conversation of his companions. he
had been dubbed the Sphinx before he
was in the office a week, and the sobri
quet had clung to him and seemed
thoroughly to fit him.
John Hardin was the way be was en-
tered on the payroll and the most that
anyone knew of him was that he lived
by himself in a bare room near the
Globe building and took his meals at a
nelghboring eating house. He seemed
to have no relatives and no >acquain-
tances, except of the nodding sort.
Marsh walked over to the little cub
byhole Of a room the Sphinx occupied
quietly opened the door and stepped
inside. For all the jokes they poked al
Hardin behind his back, there was
certain something about him which
compelled respect when they were in hi'
presence. And so Marsh, when thi'
man looked up from some clippings ovel
which he was bending, said, almost ir
the same tone he used in addressing the
dreaded magazine editor: Mr.. Hardin
I have the story of an arrest here which
Mr.. Campbell thought yon might have
some information upon
What is it, Mr.. Marsh !? Asked Har
din. reaching for his register wherein hi
had, alphabetically arranged, the titles
OF the subjects with which his bureau
Of clippings dealt.
ITS a murder answered Marsh