Chain Of Death

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MISTY night had settled on Manhattan. A chilly drizzle was creeping in from the bay. The bright lights of Times Square blinked and blazed in defiance of the gathering fog. This district maintained its brilliance despite the elements.

A young man, pushing his way through Broadway throngs, turned suddenly as he neared a subway entrance at the corner of Forty-second Street. He stopped to purchase an evening newspaper. His face showed keenly in the light. It was a well-featured countenance, with thick, dark eyebrows and a black, pointed mustache as its most conspicuous features.

Though his face was a trifle haggard, as though from overwork, the young man showed no signs of weariness in his action. As he stepped away from the news stand, he headed briskly for the subway entrance and hurriedly disappeared down the steps.

A dozen minutes later, the same young man reappeared from a subway exit in a different section of Manhattan. He had reached the Wall Street area. His footsteps again were hasty as they carried him through a man-made canyon between two towering buildings.

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