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 ward, bound for home and safety. Tony's eyes were glittering with cold, deadly fury but within him he felt a great exultation. The war was on again!

“They was on the third floor of the hotel, boss,” panted one of the men. “We seen 'em plain—two of 'em. One of 'em was usin' a Thompson and the other one had a automatic.”

A “Thompson” is that particular type of machine-gun which is the favorite weapon of the modern gangster, an easily transported but wicked death machine which can be handled with the ease of a rifle and which, while weighing only ten pounds, will hurl one hundred bullets per minute. When they reached headquarters, Tony went immediately to his private office and telephoned the District Attorney.

“They just tried to get me from the third floor of the Victor hotel,” he said almost gleefully.

“I know. I just got a flash on it from the detective bureau.”

“Must have been some of the Bruno mob. What are you going to do about it?”

“Just what I promised at that last conference. As many of the North Side mob as we can get our