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 change their business to the Lovo organization. It was a dangerous assignment but Tony loved it. Undeniably he had "a gift of gab" far beyond the average boy of his education and environment. And he could "put the screws on" with a smiling suavity that was little short of masterful. His suc­cess was surprising.

As he made his rounds one afternoon, a heavy car screeched to a halt at the curb beside him.

"Hey, you!" snarled an ugly voice. "C'mere."

Tony turned. There were four toughs in the car and the ugly snouts of sawed-off shotguns pointed directly at him. For an instant he felt the helpless, strangling sensation of a drowning man, past events rushing through his mind in the same kaleidoscopic fashion. Was this to be his end, an ignominious death at the ruthless hands of a band of thugs? To attempt to draw his own gun would mean certain death; so would an at­tempt to escape. There was nothing to do but obey. He crossed the sidewalk to the side of the car.

"Well?" he said coldly and there was about him not the slightest suggestion of fear.

"Listen, you!" snarled the apparent leader, an ugly brute with a flattened, misshapen nose and