hat Banf, his star witness against the police, had been killed by the
police, and that they had prevented the discovery of his murderer. For
this the wigwam wanted his scalp, and to get it had raked his public and
private life, had used threats and bribes, and with women had tried to
trap him into a scandal. But "Big Tim" Meehan, the lieutenant the Hall
had detailed to destroy Wharton, had reported back that for their
purpose his record was useless, that bribes and threats only flattered
him, and that the traps set for him he had smilingly side-stepped. This
was the situation a month before election day when, to oblige his
brother-in-law, Wharton was up-town at Delmonico's lunching with Senator
Bissell.

Down-town at the office, Rumson, the assistant district attorney, was on
his way to lunch when the telephone-girl halted him. Her voice was
lowered and betrayed almost human interest.

From the corner of her mouth she whispered:

"This man has a note for Mr. Wharton--says if he don't get it quick
it'll be too late--says it will tell him who killed 'Heimie' Banf!"

The young man and the girl looked at each other and smiled. Their
experience had not tended to make them credulous. Had he lived, Hermann
Banf would have been, for Wharton, the star witness against a ring of
corrupt police officials. In consequence his murder was more than the
taking off of a shady and disreputable citizen. It was a blow struck at
the high office of the district attorney, at the grand jury, and the
law. But, so far, whoever struck the blow had escaped punishment, and
though for a month, ceaselessly, by night and day "the office" and the
police had sought him, he was still at large, still "unknown." There had
been hundreds of clews. They had been furnished by the detectives of the
city and county and of the private agencies, by amateurs, by newspapers,
by members of the underworld with a score to pay off or to gain favor.
But no clew had led anywhere. When, in hoarse whispers, the last one had
been confided to him by his detectives, Wharton had protested
indignantly.

"Stop bringing me clews!" he exclaimed. "I want the man. I can't
electrocute a clew!"

So when, after all other efforts, over the telephone a strange voice
offered to deliver the murderer, Rumson was sceptical. He motioned the
girl to switch to the desk telephone.

"Assistant District Attorney Rumson speaking," he said. "What can I do
for you?"

Before the answer came, a