(See front cover)
At four o'clock one morning last May two cheap sedans collided at the corner of Manhattan's 86th Street and Central Park West. Eight people were badly smashed up. The driver of one of the cars was laid out on the sidewalk on a seat cushion, and as an uninjured friend knelt over him waiting for the ambulances to come, he kept repeating: "Oh I'm hurt bad in the chest. My chest's hurt bad."
Suddenly the friend looked up, recognizing a face he had seen in a newspaper. "There's Walter Winchell," he said. "Maybe he'll...
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