these reporters! Tell them facts and they turn against you. How could I have done any more than I did? I
had my men posted all around the place.”
“You lost your man, Joe,” returned Klein, in a sober voice. “You went there to get him—if he was still on
the ground. He made a get-away.”
The detective was forced to admit the logic of the argument. He thrust his hands into his pockets and
stalked about the room, wearing an expression of impatience.
“Any new clews?” inquired Klein.
“No,” answered Cardona. “I was in here at seven o'clock; then I went out again. I've been figuring
gangsters in this mess, but so far I haven't gotten any trace of the men I want. Those finger prints are a
blank. I've had them compared with the records. They don't fit any crook that is on my list—”
“Gangsters, eh?”
“Sure thing. Three killings. A clean get-away. That guy was a tough baby. I'll get him, though; get him if it
takes me a long while!”
“The quicker the better,” commented Klein. “You know the public, Joe. They eat up anything about the
inefficiency of the police. That get-away was bad business.”
“There's a lot of angles to this case,” declared Cardona, seemingly anxious to change the turn of the
conversation. “It may have been Powell they were out to get—not Hendrix. I've got men working on the
Powell angle.”
“What was Powell's job?”
“Sort of an investigator for Hendrix. Worked on different jobs. No one seems to know just what he was
doing lately. That's the rub of it. He reported direct to Hendrix. Either one might have been able to give
us the dope we need. But both were bumped off.”
“Keep after it, Joe,” said Klein. “That's all I can tell you. But you know how the commissioner flares up
when he reads stuff like this.”
Klein pointed to the newspaper and Cardona nodded. The detective was well acquainted with the foibles
of the police commissioner. He felt that Klein understood the difficulties of last night's situation; but,
unfortunately, Klein was merely an inspector.
WALKING toward his own office, Cardona experienced a confused medley of thoughts. This case
loomed before him like a stone wall. The obstacles seemed to be increasing; and the criticism of the
newspapers was no encouragement. Reaching his office, Cardona noted a letter lying upon the desk.
Mechanically, he opened it and drew forth the contents.
The envelope contained a folded newspaper clipping. Cardona threw the piece of paper upon the desk.
This was insult upon injury. Some one riding him already!
Wrathfully, Cardona brushed the clipping aside and watched it flutter to the floor. He leaned back in his
chair and stared sullenly toward the wall.
It was several minutes before his mind went back to that discarded clipping. The envelope, still lying on
the desk, brought a new interest. It was stamped and postmarked. It was addressed in a carefully
lettered manner. Cardona noted that the postmark read 3 a.m. It dawned upon him that this envelope
could not have contained a clipping that had reference to the murder. The detective became curious.
He reached to the floor and picked up the clipping. He unfolded it and laid it on the desk. Then,
Cardona's eyes bulged with astonishment.
Implanted upon the piece of torn newspaper were the impressions of fingertips!
Cardona fumbled in his pocket and brought out photographic impressions of the finger prints that he had
