Death Clew

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A GRAY-HAIRED man was seated at a desk in detective headquarters. His face, stern of expression, showed the stolidity that the man had gained through years of service with the New York police.

This man was Inspector Timothy Klein. Grizzled veteran of many battles against crime, Klein, tonight, displayed a determination that showed more than ordinary keenness.

Another man entered the inspector’s office. The arrival was younger than Klein; his face, however, carried the same firmness. Stocky of build, swarthy of expression, this newcomer looked like a man of action. He was such. Detective Joe Cardona was recognized as the ace of the Manhattan force.

“Hello, Joe,” greeted Klein, solemnly.

“Hello, inspector,” returned the detective. “Been talking with the commissioner?”

“Yes,” Klein leaned across the desk and plated his heavy fist upon the woodwork. “He wants us to get Strangler Hunn tonight.”

“A tough order,” remarked Cardona, with a grim smile. “If we were using the dragnet—”

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