"
THIRTEEN THE BLACKENED BAG
FOURTEEN HANDCUFFS
FIFTEEN THE SIGN OF THE BAT
SIXTEEN THE HIDDEN ROOM
SEVENTEEN ANDERSON MAKES AN ARREST
EIGHTEEN THE BAT STILL FLIES
NINETEEN MURDER ON MURDER
TWENTY "HE IS--THE BAT!"
TWENTY-ONE QUITE A COLLECTION
THE BAT
CHAPTER ONE
THE SHADOW OF THE BAT
"You've got to get him, boys--get him or bust!" said a tired police
chief, pounding a heavy fist on a table. The detectives he bellowed
the words at looked at the floor. They had done their best and
failed. Failure meant "resignation" for the police chief, return
to the hated work of pounding the pavements for them--they knew
it, and, knowing it, could summon no gesture of bravado to answer
their chief's. Gunmen, thugs, hi-jackers, loft-robbers, murderers,
they could get them all in time--but they could not get the man
he wanted.
"Get him--to hell with expense--I'll give you carte blanche--but
get him!" said a haggard millionaire in the sedate inner offices of
the best private detective firm in the country. The man on the
other side of the desk, man hunter extraordinary, old servant of
Government and State, sleuthhound without a peer, threw up his hands
in a gesture of odd hopelessness. "It isn't the money, Mr. De Courcy
--I'd give every cent I've made to get the man you want--but I
can't promise you results--for the first time in my life." The
conversation was ended.
"Get him? Huh! I'll get him, watch my smoke!" It was young
ambition speaking in a certain set of rooms in Washington.
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