"I asked him directly," Lynch said, "is this story true? Did you tell the police that? And he said, 'Absolutely not.'"

When I pointed out the obvious fact that denying only that he had told police the story implied that Condit would not, or perhaps could not, deny the underlying allegation, Lynch said, "To the best of my knowledge she never spent the night."

When I asked if he had asked Condit that question directly, he said, "I won't go there."

Lynch did speculate that there might be a legal reason specific to libel law that could have forced Cotchett, Condit's lawyer, to focus purely on denying that Condit had ever related the story to law enforcement officials. But Cotchett himself gave little sense that this was the case.

"It says what it says," Cotchett replied Wednesday when I asked why he and Condit were disputing the source of the sleepover allegation -- and not the sleepover allegation itself. "Do you understand what I'm telling you? Do you understand what I'm telling you? Look, I wish I could say more but I don't have all the facts."

He apparently learned more, because on Thursday morning's "Good Morning America," Cotchett did deny the sleepover -- though in a confusingly narrow context.

"[She] absolutely did not" sleep over at Condit's, Cotchett said. "If she did, she had to spend it on a couch because Congressman Condit's wife was in Washington the entire week [before] she [went] missing." But the allegations in the Washington Post never specified when Levy allegedly spent the night at Condit's.

All of this means that Condit's media offensive is premised on what has to be an almost unprecedented development in the annals of libel law: a public servant threatening libel suits over charges that he is not clearly willing to deny.

On Thursday, there were numerous signs that the media offensive was failing, as outlets high and low seemed to see blood in the water. Thursday morning's New York Post reported that California Democrats are pressing Condit to come forward and clear the air with some sort of interview or press conference.

Still, the story contains real challenges for the press. For writers (like this one) who insisted that Bill Clinton's affair with Monica Lewinsky was a private matter, how can we insist that Condit has some special responsibility to describe his relationship with Levy?

The answer, of course, is that Levy is the subject of a missing-persons investigation and after six weeks, the odds of a happy resolution to the mystery of her disappearance look increasingly bleak. Any information, when time seems to surely be of the essence, could be crucial. Justifying the coverage of the possible affair because of Levy's disappearance is a tricky matter, a slippery slope. But Condit's stubborn unwillingness to issue even a perfunctory, yet clear, denial of a romantic relationship cannot help but fuel speculation that he has something to hide.

As Levy's mother told MSNBC Thursday: "I think he could come out and share what he does know. We'd appreciate his help for having some questions answered." Furthermore, when asked if she thought Condit might know where her daughter is, she replied, "It's a possibility."

And as even his congressional colleagues are now apparently telling him, Condit has to start coming up with some answers -- or else this story looks like it's about to hit the big time.

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