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 wailed in the background. But the wily Tony had been grimly silent at the right moments and suavely voluble at others, with the result that he convinced his family, just as he had the detectives, that he had nothing to do with Spingola's demise.

Tony went to Vyvyan's flat shortly before seven one Saturday night, feeling in rather high spirits.

"Well, kid, what do you want to do to-night?" he asked.

"Let's go to Colosimo's."

"Naw, I don't like that joint. Let's go out to one of those nice North Side places."

"No, I want to go to Colosimo's." Her lower lip puckered threateningly.

"Naw, I don't like that joint, I said."

"Why not?"

"A lot of the old Spingola mob do their stepping out there on Saturday night."

"Afraid?" she sneered. She seemed to be in a nasty humor to-night.

"No!" he snapped. "But I never liked the idea of bein' shot in the back."

"Oh, all right, if that's the way you feel about it. How about Ike Bloom's?"

"Well, it ain't very far from Colosimo's, but it