The Washington times., 1931-04-09

the door Of Johnny Franks
"plant" it marked Centro's first
raid. The town was still in It's
swaddling clothes, a tree-lined
suburb built up by the indus
trial plants and stockyards that
supported it, and with a few
new buildings, evidence Of war
time prosperity, along its single
track street car line. ,
Hence the raid surprised
Johnny and his gang almost as
much as, the next day, it sur
prised the town itself.
When the crash Of the axes
came, and Metz dashed out,
Franks, the Gouger and Scorpio
followed. Vronski, blubbering
on the floor where Franks had
felled him, rose unsteadily and
staggered after them.
With a snarl, Franks showed
him back, pulled the door to
and bolted it. He hurried out
Just a split second before the
police dashed in, seizing the
Russian.
A Quick Dive
"Ouick," whispered Franks,
as they gained the yard. mo
time to make it for the street
now-the bulls are watching"
He dashed to the row Of pack.
ing cases, pulled one out, and
motioned beyond.
Again the sirens screamed,
and flashlights began to play
along the board fence. The
three dived into the aperture
left by the empty case, and
pulled it in after them, just as
two blue-coated police m e n
dashed into the yard. Grimly
the officers stood guard over
the back door of the tenement.
Inside, Donlan, a grizzIed vet
eran of the Federal office over
in the city, examined the sim
mering still with the police.
Making corn" he explained
to the officers. This stuff is
single-distilled, full of fusel oil
and other junk, and comes out
white. Sometimes they sell it
that way and call it White
Mule. Sometimes they color it
and put a little creosote in, so
the chumps will think they're
buying Scotch. Hell-it would
poison horse!"
Right on the Job
Been a lot of it around town
lately" volunteered one of the
policemen. They've been deal
ing it in the stockyards and
around the residence sections,
too. There's an organized gang
behind it,"
A hail from the street door
interrupted the conversation,
as a tall, dark youth entered,
nodded genially at the officers,
and shook hands with Donlan.
Donlan grinned crustily. Hank
Rogers-from the Courier over
to the city," he explained to
the Centre officers. mice guy"
Then he looked sharply at the
reporter. SAY" he demanded,
'How did the papers get hold
of this SO quick?"
"Now you want to know as
much as I do" grinned the
newspaperman. Donlan grinned
too, and briefly explained the
"pinch."
There's a gang-but all we
have is the gangs Cooker-the
man who tends the STILL" he
lamented.
Donlan and the officers
turned toward the prisoner, as
Hank, with grin, made sure
he wasn't being watched. and
quickly hid a pint of liquor un'
der his coat.
"I'll be goin' along and phone
this in," he remarked to Don
Ian, who nodded and again
turned his attention to Vronski.
"Come on, Siberia. Who's the
boss here and where's the
gang?" he snapped. Vronski
issued denials of all knowledge
in his broken English.
Listen, you" commanded
Donlan. slowly and menacingly.
''Do you want to go to head.
quarters with uS-and see the
gold fish? No understand? Well,
it's a nice piece of rubber hose
that we'll lay across your ribs
till you talk. So you might
as we'll do it now"
VronSki blubbered and cringed
anew.
Hell" calculated Donlan.
'Take him in"
The policemen hustled the
captive to the waiting cars.
A Ticklish Situation
Donlan, unbolting the back
door. accosted the two officers
in the yard. Got one guy
the cooker" he declared. Seen
any out here?" The officer an
swered in the negative.
''Weli, there's a gang of them