The collapse of the jerry-built structure that Spellman had hastily thrown together for a rush showing, with its apparently overwhelming evidence of mistaken identity, was deferred several days longer than he expected. He waited on the one-in-a-thousand chance that it might, after all, escape destruction. But on the third day after Morrison had gone, a strange car with a disguised Spellman in it disappeared north of the Lake Boulevard, and Chicago saw him (as Spellman) no more. The first weak point to give way was the flapper waitress, who found it impossible to keep her mouth shut about the money she’d been paid to do that very thing. That started the crash. Proceedings for Spellman’s disbarment swiftly followed. In addition it began to be said about that he was “wanted.” But wanting was a matter of some distance from getting. How could it be otherwise when Spellman had ceased to exist? It was a plain case of transmigration of souls. The spirit that had tenanted the body of Max Spellman now moved into that of Hugo Pentecost—quite another proposition; and not differing alone because of a dark and well-trimmed beard, giving him something the appearance of a prosperous and experienced physician, but owing as well to a number of other changes in form, shape, expression, and more or less minor characteristics. This metamorphosis, however, took time, and for months nothing was known of the man undergoing it. Then something peculiar began to dawn on the Crooks’ and Malefactors’ Guild. (You may as well call it that as anything.) Two or three large operations engineered by some of the Big Ones were mysteriously “tapped”—which is to say, the operators found themselves caught in a situation where they had to give up a share or quit—otherwise it was the cooler. It wasn’t a great while before word passed along that a peg was playing them from the dark side. Whoever this super crook might be, he continued to stay in the gloom. When he got the hook in his victim, his agent called, and it was pay or get it in the neck. And as this came to be played on them more and more they began putting a name to him—“The Vulture.” It’s hardly necessary to call your attention to the fact that the recently arrived Mr. Pentecost had a most extraordinary equipment for the prosecution of such undertakings. Fully acquainted, even before he took up the practice of law in Chicago, with every phase of criminality, and familiar with the methods and characteristics of those engaged in it, his Spellman career brought to his hand all the weapons of sharp practice and chicanery that the crafty and hazardous defense of his underworld clients compelled him to use. * * * * *