In cheap pulp fiction, characters with names like Hardway Harry are usual just red herrings whereas distinguished-looking pillars of society remain at all times deeply suspicious. Not by the usually dense policeman in charge, though, who never fails to point his finger at the most likely candidate. Hardway Harry Frank Puglia, for example. Happily, these little films also employed more contemplative sleuths like Charles Chan or Mr. Moto or, as in The Fatal Hour, Boris Karloff's Mr. Wong. The case of the dead police detective is not too taxing for Wong, who not only catches the culprit almost in the act but also demonstrates how a seemingly airtight alibi may be produced by the use of a newfangled remote-controlled radio. All very ingenious but when all is said and done also a bit dull and by the numbers.