CRIME: Muss 'Em Up

On a platform in Manhattan one day last week, under glaring spotlights, stood Harry Strauss registering easy contempt. His eyes were slits in a sallow, freshly-shaved face. His nails were well manicured, his thick, black hair sleekly pomaded. Over a blue suit pressed razor- smooth, with blue shirt and tie to match, he wore a Chesterfield overcoat with vel vet collar. His pearl-grey fedora rode jauntily above a sneering smile.

A cinema director might have applauded so accomplished a representation of suave...

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