There were only two things that Harriet Mitchell had that anybody could possibly want. One was a black tin box full of heroin. The other was her two kids.

My job was to protect all three - I'm a private detective. When I got the assignment in Chicago, it looked like a cinch. It was, until the guy who gave me the job was gunned down.

Then, when the Mitchell dame took off for the west coast by fast train, I tailed along - by Omaha I was wearing my gun regularly and by Los Angeles I had been slugged off the train and was up to my neck in murder, narcotics, kidnapping and other smaller raps - with gunmen and G-Men both breathing down my neck...