Gilded Needles (Valancourt 20th Century Classics) by Michael McDowell Page A

to gather up Helen Stallworth; she would count on her niece’s assistance in these endeavors. At the same hour, Duncan Phair went to the offices of the Tribune and called upon Simeon Lightner.
    The reporter was a sardonic sort of young man, as newspaper reporters generally were, twenty-eight years of age with wiry red hair, grizzled red whiskers, and a complexion that was alternately florid and pale, depending on whether he were drunk or sober, placid or angered. He had already been told of the collaboration of Duncan Phair on this project and begrudged this division of the labors and honors. He was surprised to find the lawyer ameliorative and diffident, and was won by Duncan’s knowledgeable, prudent questioning, and his assurance that he would be no more than an extra, a spectator, an appendage. Duncan fulsomely declared that all his sources, all his industry, all his time were entirely at Lightner’s disposal.
    “Of course,” smiled Duncan, “my motives in this are not entirely altruistic, and I imagine that you understand . . .”
    “Oh certainly,” exclaimed Simeon Lightner with an urbane wagging of his frizzled red head. He spoke as if disinterested public-spiritedness were a laughable chimera and had nothing to do with such clever fellows as themselves.
    Duncan waved his hand blithely: “Of course, the main body of the articles will appear under your name alone, Lightner, and I desire no part of the credit either for the writing or for the exhaustive inquiries I’ve no doubt that you plan upon. But I shall prepare bolstering columns dealing with the problem of bribes, the difficulties of law enforcement in such areas, the way that trials are misconducted, the shortcomings and insufficiencies of the law which make it impossible to deal with many of the very worst cases, and so forth. My articles will not be signed with my name, and it will never be known officially that it was I who accompanied and assisted you; unofficially, however, I am afraid that my identity may be whispered where it will be profitable for my name to be heard. . . .” Duncan smiled conspiratorially and Simeon Lightner grinned back.
    “You’ve begun your researches, I think,” said Duncan.
    “Yes,” replied Lightner, “I was at McGrory’s last night, and what I saw is a bit thick to tell. A pale description of what I witnessed would be judged filth by three-quarters of the city,” he said loftily, and then added: “So we must be sure to return there soon.”
    Smiling, Duncan then made the suggestion that they might do well to confine themselves to a single area, a few streets, no more than a few acres of the island, and simply list and describe the depravities and criminal excesses that could be found therein. “I’ve made a small walking tour of the area myself,” said Duncan Phair, “and felt that perhaps the area from MacDougal Street to the North River, bounded on the south by Canal Street and on the north by Bleecker, would be of great interest. It has a conveniently picturesque name, you know, it’s called the Black Triangle, and in that sector of the city may be found criminals of all description, but criminals—if I may use such a term—criminals of a better class than one finds farther east. There will not be the difficulty of excluding so much because of disgusting poverty. It is unquestionably a better area for our purposes than Five Points, where all vice is dressed in rags. Readers of the Tribune may be intrigued by vice but never by squalor. What do you think, Lightner?”
    Mr. Lightner thought that the easy Mr. Phair, despite his protestations of subservience, had very definite ideas on how this project was to be conducted. However, the reporter only said, “I suppose that you and I might look the area over tonight, if you’re not averse to beginning immediately. . . .”
    “Certainly,” Duncan replied, “everything at your convenience and direction.”
    “Well,” said Simeon Lightner with