Out of the night came Earnest I. Sligh, his swarthy, leering face hidden by the velvet lapel of his midnight-blue cloak. He slithered into the CRIMSON and darted into the hall closet. "Shhh," he hissed to the managing editor.
"I have certain information which indicates that you are looking for someone with information on Saturday's football game," he hissed again. "I believe I have that information."
"Where did you get it?"
"Don't ask. Just don't ask. Secret information is my business.
Remember the stolen papers?"
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"You?"
"What do you require for the Holy Cross score?"
"One bag of gold."
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"Command Decision"
