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 not only could act and give orders but who could plan.

"I just got out of the army two days ago," ex­plained Tony without preliminaries. "And I want to get in this racket. I'd like to join up with you."

"Yes?" [sic] Who are you?" asked Lovo with the nat­ural suspicion of his kind.

"Tony—Camonte." His former identity was dead; he intended to let it remain so.

"Ever been with any mob before?" Lovo's keen eyes were examining him thoroughly.

"Yes, sir. I was Klondike O'Hara's main lieutenant before the war. But of course I don't want that known now; I want to forget it."

"Don't blame you. That was small time stuff."

"Not so small," defended Tony quickly. "My end used to run around three hundred a week."

"Really?" Lovo was viewing him with height­ened interest. "You must have been clever."

"I was," admitted Tony frankly, then added proudly: "And I never pulled any rough stuff either, no second-story jobs or stick-ups or any­thing like that."

"I understand," smiled Lovo. Already his quick mind had seen the picture of Tony's former activi­ties. "And I think you may be very valuable to