THERE HE WAS...

A predatory snarl escaped Bucher's throat. After carefully scanning the huge, deserted lobby, he spotted Bugsy Hoffer sitting in an overstuffed chair on the far side. Even as Bucher watched from be-! hind a tall, potted plant, Hoffer worked himself out of the chair and headed toward the bar.

Bucher was after him in an instant, silent as a stalking panther on the kills. He swung behind Hoffer and, in a few steps, Bucher made his lunge.

A harsh ejaculation of surprise exploded from Bugsy Hoffer in response to the powerful, unexpected force that struck him high up on the side of the head. He clawed frantically for the .357 S.S. beneath his coat, but never made it because a second blow knocked him through an open door.

A fraction of a second later Bugsy found himself staring head-on into the dread countenance which had haunted his dreams, which had awakened him! screaming in mindless desperation, his bed soaked with stinking fear-sweat. “The Butcher!" he rasped.