hough for a month, ceaselessly, by night and day "the office" and the
police had sought him, he was still at large, still "unknown." There had
been hundreds of clews. They had been furnished by the detectives of
the city and county and of the private agencies, by amateurs, by
news-papers, by members of the underworld with a score to pay off or to
gain favor. But no clew had led anywhere. When, in hoarse whispers,
the last one had been confided to him by his detectives, Wharton had
protested indignantly.

"Stop bringing me clews!" he exclaimed. "I want the man. I can't
electrocute a clew!"

So when, after all other efforts, over the telephone a strange voice
offered to deliver the murderer, Rumson was skeptical. He motioned the
girl to switch to the desk telephone.

"Assistant District Attorney Rumson speaking," he said. "What can I do
for you?"'

Before the answer came, as though the speaker were choosing his words,
there was a pause. It lasted so long that Rumson exclaimed sharply:

"Hello," he called. "Do you want to speak to me, or do you want to speak
to me?"

"I've gotta letter for the district attorney," said the voice. "I'm to
give it to nobody but him. It's about Banf. He must get it quick, or
it'll be too late."

"Who are you?" demanded Rumson. "Where are you speaking from?"

The man at the other end of the wire ignored the questions.

"Where'll Wharton be for the next twenty minutes?"

"If I tell you," parried Rumson, "will you bring the letter at once?"
The voice exclaimed indignantly:

"Bring nothing! I'll send it by district messenger. You're wasting time
trying to reach me. It's the LETTER you want. It tells----" the voice
broke with an oath and instantly began again: "I can't talk over a
phone. I tell you, it's life or death. If you lose out, it's your own
fault. Where can I find Wharton?"

"At Delmonico's," answered Rumson. "He'll be there until two o'clock."
"Delmonico's! That's Forty-fort Street?" "Right," said Rumson. "Tell the
messenger----" He heard the receiver slam upon the hook. With the light
of the hunter in his eyes, he turned to the girl.

"They can laugh," he cried, "but I believe we've hooked something. I'm
going after it." In the waiting-room he found the detectives. "Hewitt,"
he ordered, "take the subway and whip up to Delmonico's. Talk to the
taxi-starter till a messenger-boy brings a letter for the D. A. Let the
boy deliver the note, and then trail him till he reports to