"Virginia told me the G-men are looking for Von Bieberstein," Tompkins said. "Hell, Ponto, even she doesn't know what happened back in '35. Sure I was broke. Sure fifty thousand would bail me out. Sure Hitler put up the fifty thousand. He saved my hide. I made a killing all right. So I'm Von Bieberstein? So what, Ponto, so what! Want to make anything of it? Sure I lived up to my end of the bargain. Roosevelt had ruined me. What did I owe Roosevelt? Sure I took the job. And was _that_ a laugh! The F.B.I. chasing all over the place for Kurt Von Bieberstein, and all the time it's little old Winnie Tompkins, Harvard 1920 and good old one thousand per cent American stock. The poor boobs think they've licked Hitler, Ponto, but he's really licked them. You wait'n see. I'll still be Gauleiter of Westchester County, so help me!" The moment had come. He was lolling back on his bed, his arms behind his head, his neck exposed. I gathered my muscles and leaped for his throat. THE END End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Rat Race, by Jay Franklin