"Look them over," urged the managing editor, "and send us a special.
Call it 'The American Invasion.' Don't you see a story in it?"
"It will be the first one I send you," said Ford.
The ship's doctor returned from his visit below decks and sank into the
leather cushion close to Ford's elbow. For a few moments the older man
sipped doubtfully at his gin and water, and, as though perplexed, rubbed
his hand over his bald and shining head. "I told her to talk to you," he
said fretfully.
"Her? Who?" inquired Ford. "Oh, the widow?"
"You were right about that," said Doctor Sparrow; "she is not a widow."
The reporter smiled complacently.
"Do you know why I thought not?" he demanded. "Because all the time she
was at luncheon she kept turning over her wedding-ring as though she
was not used to it. It was a new ring, too. I told you then she was not
a widow."
"Do you always notice things like that?" asked the doctor.
"Not on purpose," said the amateur detective; "I can't help it. I see
ten things where other people see only one; just as some men run ten
times as fast as other men. We have tried it out often at the office;
put all sorts of junk under a newspaper, lifted the newspaper for five
seconds, and then each man wrote down what he had seen.
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