A musical voice responded to my hurried hello, and I hastened to
adopt my most polite tone.
"Is this Mr. Jameson?" asked the voice.
"Yes," I replied, not recognizing it.
"Well, Mr. Jameson, I've heard of you on the Star and I've just
had a very strange experience. I've had the poisoned kiss."
The woman did not pause to catch my exclamation of astonishment,
but went on, "It was like this. A man ran up to me on the street
and kissed me--and--I don't know how it was--but I became
unconscious--and I didn't come to for an hour--in a hospital--
fortunately. I don't know what would have happened if it hadn't
been that someone came to my assistance and the man fled. I
thought the Star would be interested."
"We are," I hastened to reply. "Will you give me your name?"
"Why, I am Mrs. Florence Leigh of number 20 Prospect Avenue,"
returned the voice. "Really, Mr. Jameson, something ought to be
done about these cases."
"It surely had," I assented, with much interest, writing her name
eagerly down on a card. "I'll be out to interview you, directly."
The woman thanked me and I hung up the receiver.
"Say," I exclaimed, hurrying over to the editor's desk, "here's
another woman on the wire who says she has received the poisoned
kiss.
"Suppose you take that assignment," the editor answered, sensing a
possible story.
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