The Bat

The Bat

The Bat

The Bat

Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

THE SHADOW OF THE BAT

YOU'VE got to get him, boys -- get him or bust!" said a tired police-chief, pounding a heavy fist on a table. The detectives he bellowed the words at looked at the floor. They had done their best and failed. Failure meant "resignation" for the policechief, return to the hated work of pounding the pavements for them -- they knew it, and, knowing it, could summon no gesture of bravado to answer their chief's. Gunmen, thugs, hijackers, loft-robbers, murderers, they could get them all in time -- but they could not get the man he wanted.

"Get him -- to hell with expense -- I'll give you carte-blanche -- but get him!" said a haggard millionaire in the sedate inner offices of the best private detective firm in the country. The man on the other side of the desk, man-hunter extraordinary, old servant of Government and State, sleuth-hound without a peer, threw up his hands in a gesture of odd hopelessness. "It isn't the money, Mr. De Courcy -- I'd give every cent I've made to get the man you want -- but I can't promise you results -- for the first time in my life." The conversation was ended.

"Get him? Huh! I'll get him -- watch my smoke!" It was young ambition speaking in a certain set of rooms in Washington. Three days later young ambition lay in a New York gutter with a bullet in his heart and a look of such horror and surprise on his dead face that even the ambulance-doctor who found him felt shaken. "We've lost the most promising man I've had in ten years," said his chief, when the news came in. He swore helplessly, "Damn the luck!"

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