Issy Jago and left by that gentleman at the offices of as
many newspapers.
Seven sub-editors "spiked" it, three made of it a "fill-par.," one
gave it a headline and sent it up as an eight-line "news-par."; one,
in the offices of the _Daily_, read it, laughed; spoke to the
news-editor; finally carried it up to Mr. Bitt.
Mr. Bitt's journalistic nose gave one sniff. The thing was done. Some
old idiot was actually offering the ridiculously large sum of one
hundred pounds for the recovery of a cat. Here, out of the barren,
un-newsy world, suddenly had sprung a seed that should grow to a forest.
The very thing. The _Daily_ was saved.
Away sped a reporter; and upon the following morning, bawling from the
leading position of the principal page of the _Daily_, introducing a
column and a quarter of leaded type, these headlines appeared:
COUNTRY HOUSE OUTRAGE.
VALUABLE CAT STOLEN.
SENSATIONAL STORY.
HUGE REWARD.
CHANCE FOR AMATEUR DETECTIVES.
All out of Mr. Issy Jago's tiny little paragraph.
_Daily_ readers revelled in it. It appeared that a gang of between
five and a dozen men had surrounded the lonely but picturesque and
beautiful country residence of Mr. Christopher Marrapit at Herons'
Holt, Paltley Hill, Surrey. Mr. Marrapit was an immensely wealthy
retired merchant now leading a secluded life in the evening of his
days.
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