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Popular Detective, January, 1936

Wrestling a Man Mountain—or a TNT Bomb—
Was All In A Day's Workfor This
Plucky Secret Service Ace
!

Check and Double Check

By C. K. M. Scanlon

Author of "Hot Money," " Bring 'Em Back Dead," etc.

IT was the first time I'd had the pleasure of mitting the chief of the Secret Service.

"Ye can trust Walter absolutely," said my boss, Inspector McIntyre of the Eastern District, ogling the chief through his thick glasses.

"If that's so," I complained, "why wouldn't you lend me that sawbuck I asked you for?"

"Tush, Walter. Curb your levity," snapped McIntyre.

"Barwin," said Gregor, the chief, "I had the inspector bring you to this furnished room so the finger wouldn't be put on you. Are you married?" he snapped, boring me with his piercing eyes. "Have you a sweetheart, a mother, anyone you'd consider before your duty? Are you patient, sober, and industrious?"

"Ye'll find Walter, in spite of a warped sense of humor, has all the necessary qualities," replied McIntyre for me. "He's the finest roper I've e'er kenned, and has a way of worming himself into the good graces of a crook that is marvelous. But don't preen yourself, laddie," he added quickly, as a button popped off my vest. "Ye're getting plenty salary now, and I've always believed it's the fatuousness of your Irish countenance that intrigues the thieves."

"Here's the situation, Barwin," explained Gregor. "A multimillionaire, Francis Shelton, a man high in government circles and necessary to the country's welfare, is in mortal danger. T.N.T. bombs have been tossed at him and at his home. Several relatives or servants have been injured. From fragments of the missiles our experts have decided they were manufactured by Carl Zuger, a German anarchist who supplies gangsters and racketeers as a grocer sells cheeses. Last week a quarter-million dollars was demanded from Shelton as the price of his life.

"To tell you frankly, we're panicky. Should we collar Zuger, the real enemy, who is still hidden, may escape. Shelton will be murdered by next Monday if the money is not forthcoming, according to the last threat. Barwin, you must get inside the circle, rope Zuger and find out the plans."

"Can't you tail Zuger?" I asked.

"No. He's too wary."

"I'd like to have a go at it," said McIntyre, who is proud of his shadowing.

"Zuger has a Russian wrestler named Stanislav Yurloko," went on Gregor, "who acts as his bodyguard. Yurloko is stupid but he is a barbarian, powerful as a grizzly, and would think nothing of tearing you to pieces."

What an assignment! I went home, left my gun and papers, donned a sport suit, fancy tie and a cap. I strolled out, paid a pro wrestler who ran a gymnasium to put me on his books, and walked past Zuger's dingy brownstone front for a peek.

ABOUT nine P. M. out came Yurloko, the Russian bear.

"I don't believe you!" I told my eyes.

Outside of the circus I have never seen anything so immense. He weighed around three hundred, was seven feet higher than an ant, and his neck was the only place where there was room for brains. All that kept his collar from popping up was his big ears. On his brown atlas was a ferocious scowl and I groaned when I realized I was to chum with this savage.

Yurloko went to a speakeasy nearby. He took off his cap so it wouldn't fall off his shaved dome when he put back his head to drink. I engaged a man of reasonable growth in talk, and after buying highballs, suggested we try a few wrestling holds. I figured it would interest Yurloko, and after I'd sprung a few nifties learned in police training, he did prick up his ears.

"You wrestler?" he demanded.

"Sure, kid. I'm Walt Harrigan, the Tosser," I said. "I can throw Londos."

"But not Yurloko," he answered. "I show."

He crouched, extended his arms, and circled, chin jutting six inches ahead of his slant brow. I flashed, tried a half Nelson, but my arms wouldn't reach around. He wasn't as slow as he looked, for he whirled and pinned me. He was so heavy my armlocks and tricks did not faze him, and he was just about to pancake me when the phone rang and the bartender called Yurloko. Yurloko grunted into the mouthpiece. Then he paid his score and r...

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