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.
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