X. The Black Hand
Kennedy and I had been dining rather late one evening at Luigi's, alittle Italian restaurant on the lower West Side. We had known the placewell in our student days, and had made a point of visiting it once amonth since, in order to keep in practice in the fine art of gracefullyhandling long shreds of spaghetti. Therefore we did not think it strangewhen the proprietor himself stopped a moment at our table to greetus. Glancing furtively around at the other diners, mostly Italians, hesuddenly leaned over and whispered to Kennedy:
"I have heard of your wonderful detective work, Professor. Could yougive a little advice in the case of a friend of mine?"
"Surely, Luigi. What is the case?" asked Craig, leaning back in hischair.
Luigi glanced around again apprehensively and lowered his voice. "Notso loud, sir. When you pay your check, go out, walk around WashingtonSquare, and come in at the private entrance. I'll be waiting in thehall. My friend is dining privately upstairs."
We lingered a while over our Chianti, then quietly paid the check anddeparted.
True to his word, Luigi was waiting for us in the dark hall. With amotion that indicated silence, he led us up the stairs to the secondfloor, and quickly opened a door into what seemed to be a fair-sizedprivate dining-room. A man was pacing the floor nervously. On a tablewas some food, untouched. As the door opened I thought he started as ifin fear, and I am sure his dark face blanched, if only for an instant.Imagine our surprise at seeing Gennaro, the great tenor, with whommerely to have a speaking acquaintance was to argue oneself famous.
"Oh, it is you, Luigi," he exclaimed in perfect English, rich andmellow. "And who are these gentlemen?"
Luigi merely replied, "Friends," in English also, and then dropped offinto a voluble, low-toned explanation in Italian.
I could see, as we waited, that the same idea had flashed over Kennedy'smind as over my own. It was now three or four days since the papershad reported the strange kidnapping of Gennaro's five-year-old daughterAdelina, his only child, and the sending of a demand for ten thousanddollars ransom, signed, as usual, with the mystic Black Hand--a name toconjure with in blackmail and extortion.
As Signor Gennaro advanced toward us, after his short talk with Luigi,almost before the introductions were over, Kennedy anticipated him bysaying: "I understand, Signor, before you ask me. I have read all aboutit in the papers. You want someone to help you catch the criminals whoare holding your little girl."
"No, no!" exclaimed Gennaro excitedly. "Not that. I want to get mydaughter first. After that, catch them if you can--yes, I should liketo have someone do it. But read this first and tell me what you thinkof it. How should I act to get my little Adelina back without harming ahair of her head?" The famous singer drew from a capacious pocketbook adirty, crumpled, letter, scrawled on cheap paper.
Kennedy translated it quickly. It read:
Honourable sir: Your daughter is in safe hands. But, by the saints, ifyou give this letter to the police as you did the other, not only shebut your family also, someone near to you, will suffer. We will not failas we did Wednesday. If you want your daughter back, go yourself, aloneand without telling a soul, to Enrico Albano's Saturday night at thetwelfth hour. You must provide yourself with $10,000 in bills hidden inSaturday's Il Progresso Italiano. In the back room you will see a mansitting alone at a table. He will have a red flower on his coat. Youare to say, "A fine opera is 'I Pagliacci.'" If he answers, "Not withoutGennaro," lay the newspaper down on the table. He will pick it up,leaving his own, the Bolletino. On the third page you will findwritten the place where your daughter has been left waiting for you.Go immediately and get her. But, by the God, if you have so much as theshadow of the police near Enrico's your daughter will be sent to you ina box that night. Do not fear to come. We pledge our word to deal fairlyif you deal fairly. This is a last warning. Lest you shall forget wewill show one other sign of our power to-morrow. La MANO NERA.
The end of this ominous letter was gruesomely decorated with a skulland cross-bones, a rough drawing of a dagger thrust through a bleedingheart, a coffin, and, under all, a huge black hand. There was no doubtabout the type of letter that it was. It was such as have of late yearsbecome increasingly common in all our large cities, baffling the bestdetectives.
"You have not showed this to the police, I presume?" asked Kennedy.
"Naturally not."
"Are you going Saturday night?"
"I am afraid to go and afraid to stay away," was the reply, and thevoice of the fifty-thousand-dollars-a-season tenor was as human as thatof a five-dollar-a-week father, for at bottom all men, high or low, areone.
"'We will not fail as we did Wednesday,'" reread Craig. "What does thatmean?"
Gennaro fumbled in his pocketbook again, and at last drew forth atypewritten letter bearing the letter-head of the Leslie Laboratories,Incorporated.
"After I received the first threat," explained Gennaro, "my wife andI went from our apartments at the hotel to her father's, the bankerCesare, you know, who lives on Fifth Avenue. I gave the letter to theItalian Squad of the police. The next morning my father-in-law's butlernoticed something peculiar about the milk. He barely touched some of itto his tongue, and he has been violently ill ever since. I at oncesent the milk to the laboratory of my friend Doctor Leslie to have itanalysed. This letter shows what the household escaped."
"My dear Gennaro," read Kennedy. "The milk submitted to us forexamination on the 10th inst. has been carefully analysed, and I beg tohand you herewith the result:
Specific gravity 1.036 at 15 degrees Cent.
Water............................... 84.60 per cent Casein.............................. 3.49 " " Albumin............................. .56 " " Globulin............................ .32 " " Lactose............................. 5.08 " " Ash................................. .72 " " Fat................................. 3.42 " " Ricin............................... 1.19 " "
"Ricin is a new and little-known poison derived from the shell of thecastor-oil bean. Professor Ehrlich states that one gram of the purepoison will kill 1,500,000 guinea pigs. Ricin was lately isolated byProfessor Robert, of Rostock, but is seldom found except in an impurestate, though still very deadly. It surpasses strychnine, prussic acid,and other commonly known drugs. I congratulate you and yours on escapingand shall of course respect your wishes absolutely regarding keepingsecret this attempt on your life. Believe me,
"Very sincerely yours,
"C. W. LESLIE."
As Kennedy handed the letter back, he remarked significantly: "I can seevery readily why you don't care to have the police figure in your case.It has got quite beyond ordinary police methods."
"And to-morrow, too, they are going to give another sign of theirpower," groaned Gennaro, sinking into the chair before his untastedfood.
"You say you have left your hotel?" inquired Kennedy.
"Yes. My wife insisted that we would be more safely guarded at theresidence of her father, the banker. But we are afraid even there sincethe poison attempt. So I have come here secretly to Luigi, my oldfriend Luigi, who is preparing food for us, and in a few minutes oneof Cesare's automobiles will be here, and I will take the food up toher--sparing no expense or trouble. She is heart-broken. It will killher, Professor Kennedy, if anything happens to our little Adelina.
"Ah, sir, I am not poor myself. A month's salary at the opera-house,that is what they ask of me. Gladly would I give it, ten thousanddollars--all, if they asked it, of my contract with Herr Schleppencour,the director. But the police--bah!--they are all for catching thevillains. What good will it do me if they catch them and my littleAdelina is returned to me dead? It is all very well for the Anglo-Saxonto talk of justice and the law, but I am--what you call it?--anemotional Latin. I want my little daughter--and at any cost. Catch thevillains afterward--yes. I will pay double then to catch them so thatthey cannot blackmail me again. Only first I want my daughter back."
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"And your father-in-law?"
"My father-in-law, he has been among you long enough to be one of you.He has fought them. He has put up a sign in his banking-house, 'No moneypaid on threats.' But I say it is foolish. I do not know America as wellas he, but I know this: the police never succeed--the ransom is paidwithout their knowledge, and they very often take the credit. I say, payfirst, then I will swear a righteous vendetta--I will bring the dogs tojustice with the money yet on them. Only show me how, show me how."
"First of all," replied Kennedy, "I want you to answer one question,truthfully, without reservation, as to a friend. I am your friend,believe me. Is there any person, a relative or acquaintance of yourselfor your wife or your father-in-law, whom you even have reason to suspectof being capable of extorting money from you in this way? I needn't saythat that is the experience of the district attorney's office in thelarge majority of cases of this so-called Black Hand."
"No," replied the tenor without hesitation: "I know that, and I havethought about it. No, I can think of no one. I know you Americans oftenspeak of the Black Hand as a myth coined originally by a newspaperwriter. Perhaps it has no organisation. But, Professor Kennedy, to meit is no myth. What if the real Black Hand is any gang of criminals whochoose to use that convenient name to extort money? Is it the less real?My daughter is gone!"
"Exactly," agreed Kennedy. "It is not a theory that confronts you. It isa hard, cold fact. I understand that perfectly. What is the address ofthis Albano's?"
Luigi mentioned a number on Mulberry Street, and Kennedy made a note ofit.
"It is a gambling saloon," explained Luigi. "Albano is a Neapolitan,a Camorrista, one of my countrymen of whom I am thoroughly ashamed,Professor Kennedy."
"Do you think this Albano had anything to do with the letter?"
Luigi shrugged his shoulders.
Just then a big limousine was heard outside. Luigi picked up a hugehamper that was placed in a corner of the room and, followed closely bySignor Gennaro, hurried down to it. As the tenor left us he grasped ourhands in each of his.
"I have an idea in my mind," said Craig simply. "I will try to think itout in detail to-night. Where can I find you to-morrow?"
"Come to me at the opera-house in the afternoon, or if you want mesooner at Mr. Cesare's residence. Good night, and a thousand thanksto you, Professor Kennedy, and to you, also, Mr. Jameson. I trust youabsolutely because Luigi trusts you."
We sat in the little dining-room until we heard the door of thelimousine bang shut and the car shoot off with the rattle of thechanging gears.
"One more question, Luigi," said Craig as the door opened again. "I havenever been on that block in Mulberry Street where this Albano's is. Doyou happen to know any of the shopkeepers on it or near it?"
"I have a cousin who has a drug-store on the corner below Albano's, onthe same side of the street."
"Good! Do you think he would let me use his store for a few minutesSaturday night--of course without any risk to himself!"
"I think I could arrange it."
"Very well. Then to-morrow, say at nine in the morning, I will stophere, and we will all go over to see him. Good night, Luigi, and many,thanks for thinking of me in connection with this case. I've enjoyedSignor Gennaro's singing often enough at the opera to want to render himthis service, and I'm only too glad to be able to be of service to allhonest Italians; that is, if I succeed in carrying out a plan I have inmind."
A little before nine the following day Kennedy and I dropped intoLuigi's again. Kennedy was carrying a suit-case which he had taken overfrom his laboratory to our rooms the night before. Luigi was waiting forus, and without losing a minute we sallied forth.
By means of the tortuous twists of streets in old Greenwich villagewe came out at last on Bleecker Street and began walking east amidthe hurly-burly of races of lower New York. We had not quite reachedMulberry Street when our attention was attracted by a large crowd onone of the busy corners, held back by a cordon of police who wereendeavouring to keep the people moving with that burly good naturewhich the six-foot Irish policeman displays toward the five-footburden-bearers of southern and eastern Europe who throng New York.
Apparently, we saw, as we edged up into the front of the crowd, here wasa building whose whole front had literally been torn off and wrecked.The thick plate-glass of the windows was smashed to a mass of greenishsplinters on the sidewalk, while the windows of the upper floors andfor several houses down the block in either street were likewise broken.Some thick iron bars which had formerly protected the windows were nowbent and twisted. A huge hole yawned in the floor inside the doorway,and peering in we could see the desks and chairs a tangled mass ofkindling.
"What's the matter?" I inquired of an officer near me, displaying myreporter's fire-line badge, more for its moral effect than in the hopeof getting any real information in these days of enforced silence towardthe press.
"Black Hand bomb," was the laconic reply.
"Whew!" I whistled. "Anyone hurt?"
"They don't usually kill anyone, do they?" asked the officer by way ofreply to test my acquaintance with such things.
"No," I admitted. "They destroy more property than lives. But did theyget anyone this time? This must have been a thoroughly overloaded bomb,I should judge by the looks of things."
"Came pretty close to it. The bank hadn't any more than opened when,bang! went this gaspipe-and-dynamite thing. Crowd collected before thesmoke had fairly cleared. Man who owns the bank was hurt, but not badly.Now come, beat it down to headquarters if you want to find out anymore.--You'll find it printed on the pink slips--the 'squeal book'--bythis time. 'Gainst the rules for me to talk," he added with agood-natured grin, then to the crowd: "G'wan, now. You're blockin'traffic. Keep movin'."
I turned to Craig and Luigi. Their eyes were riveted on the big giltsign, half broken, and all askew overhead. It read:
CIRO DI CESARE & Co. BANKERS
NEW YORK, GENOA, NAPLES, ROME, PALERMO
"This is the reminder so that Gennaro and his father-in-law will notforget," I gasped.
"Yes," added Craig, pulling us away, "and Cesare himself is wounded,too. Perhaps that was for putting up the notice refusing to pay. Perhapsnot. It's a queer case--they usually set the bombs off at night whenno one is around. There must be more back of this than merely to scareGennaro. It looks to me as if they were after Casare, too, first bypoison, then by dynamite."
We shouldered our way out through the crowd and went on until we came toMulberry Street, pulsing with life. Down we went past the little shops,dodging the children, and making way for women with huge bundles ofsweatshop clothing accurately balanced on their heads or hugged up undertheir capacious capes. Here was just one little colony of the hundredsof thousands of Italians--a population larger than the Italianpopulation of Rome--of whose life the rest of New York knew and carednothing.
At last we came to Albano's little wine-shop, a dark, evil, malodorousplace on the street level of a five-story, alleged "new-law" tenement.Without hesitation Kennedy entered, and we followed, acting the part ofa slumming party. There were a few customers at this early hour, men outof employment and an inoffensive-looking lot, though of course they eyedus sharply. Albano himself proved to be a greasy, low-browed fellow whohad a sort of cunning look. I could well imagine such a fellow spreadingterror in the hearts of simple folk by merely pressing both temples withhis thumbs and drawing his long bony fore-finger under his throat--theso-called Black Hand sign that has shut up many a witness in the middleof his testimony even in open court.
We pushed through to the low-ceilinged back room, which was empty, andsat down at a table. Over a bottle of Albano's famous California "redink" we sat silently. Kennedy was making a mental note of the place. Inthe middle of the ceiling was a single gas-burner with a big reflectorover, it. In the back wall of the room was a horizontal oblong window,barred, and with a sash that opened like a transom. The tables weredirty and the chairs rickety. The walls
were bare and unfinished, withbeams innocent of decoration. Altogether it was as unprepossessing aplace as I had ever seen.
Apparently satisfied with his scrutiny, Kennedy got up to go,complimenting the proprietor on his wine. I could see that Kennedy hadmade up his mind as to his course of action.
"How sordid crime really is," he remarked as we walked on down thestreet. "Look at that place of Albano's. I defy even the police newsreporter on the Star to find any glamour in that."
Our next stop was at the corner at the little store kept by the cousinof Luigi, who conducted us back of the partition where prescriptionswere compounded, and found us chairs.
A hurried explanation from Luigi brought a cloud to the open face of thedruggist, as if he hesitated to lay himself and his little fortune opento the blackmailers. Kennedy saw it and interrupted.
"All that I wish to do," he said, "is to put in a little instrument hereand use it to-night for a few minutes. Indeed, there will be no risk toyou, Vincenzo. Secrecy is what I desire, and no one will ever know aboutit."
Vincenzo was at length convinced, and Craig opened his suit-case. Therewas little in it except several coils of insulated wire; some tools, acouple of packages wrapped up, and a couple of pairs of overalls. In amoment Kennedy had donned overalls and was smearing dirt and grease overhis face and hands. Under his direction I did the same.
Taking the bag of tools, the wire, and one of the small packages, wewent out on the street and then up through the dark and ill-ventilatedhall of the tenement. Half-way up a woman stopped us suspiciously.
"Telephone company," said Craig curtly. "Here's permission from theowner of the house to string wires across the roof."
He pulled an old letter out of his pocket, but as it was too dark toread even if the woman had cared to do so, we went on up as he hadexpected, unmolested. At last we came to the roof, where there were somechildren at play a couple of houses down from us.
Kennedy began by dropping two strands of wire down to the ground in theback yard behind Vincenzo's shop. Then he proceeded to lay two wiresalong the edge of the roof.
We had worked only a little while when the children began to collect.However, Kennedy kept right on until we reached the tenement next tothat in which Albano's shop was.
"Walter," he whispered, "just get the children away for a minute now."
"Look here, you kids," I yelled, "some of you will fall off if you getso close to the edge of the roof. Keep back."
It had no effect. Apparently they looked not a bit frightened at thedizzy mass of clothes-lines below us.
"Say, is there a candy-store on this block?" I asked in desperation.
"Yes, sir," came the chorus.
"Who'll go down and get me a bottle of ginger ale?" I asked.
A chorus of voices and glittering eyes was the answer. They all would. Itook a half-dollar from my pocket and gave it to the oldest.
"All right now, hustle along, and divide the change."
With the scamper of many feet they were gone, and we were alone. Kennedyhad now reached Albano's, and as soon as the last head had disappearedbelow the scuttle of the roof he dropped two long strands down into theback yard, as he had done at Vincenzo's.
I started to go back, but he stopped me.
"Oh, that will never do," he said. "The kids will see that the wires endhere. I must carry them on several houses farther as a blind and trustto luck that they don't see the wires leading down below."
We were several houses down, still putting up wires when the crowd cameshouting back, sticky with cheap trust-made candy and black with EastSide chocolate. We opened the ginger ale and forced ourselves to drinkit so as to excite no suspicion, then a few minutes later descended thestairs of the tenement, coming out just above Albano's.
I was wondering how Kennedy was going to get into Albano's again withoutexciting suspicion. He solved it neatly.
"Now, Walter, do you think you could stand another dip into that red inkof Albano's!"
I said I might in the interests of science and justice--not otherwise.
"Well, your face is sufficiently dirty," he commented, "so that with theoveralls you don't look very much as you did the first time you went in.I don't think they will recognise you. Do I look pretty good?"
"You look like a coal-heaver out of a job," I said. "I can scarcelyrestrain my admiration."
"All right. Then take this little glass bottle. Go into the back roomand order something cheap, in keeping with your looks. Then when you areall alone break the bottle. It is full of gas drippings. Your nosewill dictate what to do next. Just tell the proprietor you saw the gascompany's wagon on the next block and come up here and tell me."
I entered. There was a sinister-looking man, with a sort of unscrupulousintelligence, writing at a table. As he wrote and puffed at his cigar,I noticed a scar on his face, a deep furrow running from the lobe of hisear to his mouth. That, I knew, was a brand set upon him by the Camorra.I sat and smoked and sipped slowly for several minutes, cursing himinwardly more for his presence than for his evident look of the "malavita." At last he went out to ask the barkeeper for a stamp.
Quickly I tiptoed over to another corner of the room and ground thelittle bottle under my heel. Then I resumed my seat. The odour thatpervaded the room was sickening.
The sinister-looking man with the scar came in again and sniffed. Isniffed. Then the proprietor came in and sniffed.
"Say," I said in the toughest voice I could assume, "you got a leak.Wait. I seen the gas company wagon on the next block when I came in.I'll get the man."
I dashed out and hurried up the street to the place where Kennedy waswaiting impatiently. Rattling his tools, he followed me with apparentreluctance.
As he entered the wine-shop he snorted, after the manner of gas-men,"Where's de leak?"
"You find-a da leak," grunted Albano. "What-a you get-a you pay for? Youwant-a me do your work?"
"Well, half a dozen o' you wops get out o' here, that's all. D'youseall wanter be blown ter pieces wid dem pipes and cigarettes? Clear out,"growled Kennedy.
They retreated precipitately, and Craig hastily opened his bag of tools.
"Quick, Walter, shut the door and hold it," exclaimed Craig, workingrapidly. He unwrapped a little package and took out a round, flatdisc-like thing of black vulcanised rubber. Jumping up on a table, hefixed it to the top of the reflector over the gas-jet.
"Can you see that from the floor, Walter?" he asked under his breath.
"No," I replied, "not even when I know it is there."
Then he attached a couple of wires to it and led them across the ceilingtoward the window, concealing them carefully by sticking them in theshadow of a beam. At the window he quickly attached the wires to thetwo that were dangling down from the roof and shoved them around out ofsight.
"We'll have to trust that no one sees them," he said. "That's the best Ican do at such short notice. I never saw a room so bare as this, anyway.There isn't another place I could put that thing without its beingseen."
We gathered up the broken glass of the gas drippings bottle, and Iopened the door.
"It's all right, now," said Craig, sauntering out before the bar. "Onlyde next time you has anyt'ing de matter call de company up. I ain'tsupposed to do dis wit'out orders, see?"
A moment later I followed, glad to get out of the oppressive atmosphere,and joined him in the back of Vincenzo's drug-store, where he was againat work. As there was no back window there, it was quite a job to leadthe wires around the outside from the back yard and in at a side window.It was at last done, however, without exciting suspicion, and Kennedyattached them to an oblong box of weathered oak and a pair of speciallyconstructed dry batteries.
"Now," said Craig, as we washed off the stains of work and stowed theoveralls back in the suitcase, "that is done to my satisfaction. I cantell Gennaro to go ahead safely now and meet the Black-Handers."
From Vincenzo's we walked over toward Centre Street, where Kennedy andI left Luigi t
o return to his restaurant, with instructions to be atVincenzo's at half-past eleven that night.
We turned into the new police headquarters and went down the longcorridor to the Italian Bureau. Kennedy sent in his card to LieutenantGiuseppe in charge, and we were quickly admitted. The lieutenant was ashort, fullfaced, fleshy Italian, with lightish hair and eyes that wereapparently dull, until you suddenly discovered that that was merely acover to their really restless way of taking in everything and fixingthe impressions on his mind, as if on a sensitive plate.
"I want to talk about the Gennaro case," began Craig. "I may add thatI have been rather closely associated with Inspector O'Connor of theCentral Office on a number of cases, so that I think we can trust eachother. Would you mind telling me what you know about it if I promise youthat I, too, have something to reveal?"
The lieutenant leaned back and watched Kennedy closely without seemingto do so. "When I was in Italy last year," he replied at length, "I dida good deal of work in tracing up some Camorra suspects. I had a tipabout some of them to look up their records--I needn't say where it camefrom, but it was a good one. Much of the evidence against some of thosefellows who are being tried at Viterbo was gathered by the Carabinierias a result of hints that I was able to give them--clues that werefurnished to me here in America from the source I speak of. I supposethere is really no need to conceal it, though. The original tip camefrom a certain banker here in New York."
"I can guess who it was," nodded Craig.
"Then, as you know, this banker is a fighter. He is the man whoorganised the White Hand--an organisation which is trying to rid theItalian population of the Black Hand. His society had a lot of evidenceregarding former members of both the Camorra in Naples and the Mafia inSicily, as well as the Black Hand gangs in New York, Chicago, and othercities. Well, Cesare, as you know, is Gennaro's father-in-law.
"While I was in Naples looking up the record of a certain criminal Iheard of a peculiar murder committed some years ago. There was an honestold music master who apparently lived the quietest and most harmlessof lives. But it became known that he was supported by Cesare and hadreceived handsome presents of money from him. The old man was, asyou may have guessed, the first music teacher of Gennaro, the man whodiscovered him. One might have been at a loss to see how he could havean enemy, but there was one who coveted his small fortune. One day hewas stabbed and robbed. His murderer ran out into the street, cryingout that the poor man had been killed. Naturally a crowd rushed up ina moment, for it was in the middle of the day. Before the injured mancould make it understood who had struck him the assassin was down thestreet and lost in the maze of old Naples where he well knew thehouses of his friends who would hide him. The man who is known to havecommitted that crime--Francesco Paoli--escaped to New York. We arelooking for him to-day. He is a clever man, far above the average--sonof a doctor in a town a few miles from Naples, went to the university,was expelled for some mad prank--in short, he was the black sheep of thefamily. Of course over here he is too high-born to work with hishands on a railroad or in a trench, and not educated enough to workat anything else. So he has been preying on his more industriouscountrymen--a typical case of a man living by his wits with no visiblemeans of support.
"Now I don't mind telling you in strict confidence," continued thelieutenant, "that it's my theory that old Cesare has seen Paoli here,knew he was wanted for that murder of the old music master, and gave methe tip to look up his record. At any rate Paoli disappeared right afterI returned from Italy, and we haven't been able to locate him since.He must have found out in some way that the tip to look him up had beengiven by the White Hand. He had been a Camorrista, in Italy, and hadmany ways of getting information here in America."
He paused, and balanced a piece of cardboard in his hand.
"It is my theory of this case that if we could locate this Paoli wecould solve the kidnapping of little Adelina Gennaro very quickly.That's his picture."
Kennedy and I bent over to look at it, and I started in surprise. It wasmy evil-looking friend with the scar on his cheek.
"Well," said Craig, quietly handing back the card, "whether or not he isthe man, I know where we can catch the kidnappers to-night, Lieutenant."
It was Giuseppe's turn to show surprise now.
"With your assistance I'll get this man and the whole gang to-night,"explained Craig, rapidly sketching over his plan and concealing justenough to make sure that no matter how anxious the lieutenant was to getthe credit he could not spoil the affair by premature interference.
The final arrangement was that four of the best men of the squad were tohide in a vacant store across from Vincenzo's early in the evening, longbefore anyone was watching. The signal for them to appear was to bethe extinguishing of the lights behind the coloured bottles in thedruggist's window. A taxicab was to be kept waiting at headquartersat the same time with three other good men ready to start for a givenaddress the moment the alarm was given over the telephone.
We found Gennaro awaiting us with the greatest anxiety at theopera-house. The bomb at Cesare's had been the last straw. Gennaro hadalready drawn from his bank ten crisp one-thousand-dollar bills, andalready had a copy of Il Progresso in which he had hidden the moneybetween the sheets.
"Mr. Kennedy," he said, "I am going to meet them to-night. They may killme. See, I have provided myself with a pistol--I shall fight, too, ifnecessary for my little Adelina. But if it is only money they want, theyshall have it."
"One thing I want to say," began Kennedy.
"No, no, no!" cried the tenor. "I will go--you shall not stop me."
"I don't wish to stop you," Craig reassured him. "But one thing--doexactly as I tell you, and I swear not a hair of the child's head willbe injured and we will get the blackmailers, too."
"How?" eagerly asked Gennaro. "What do you want me to do?"
"All I want you to do is to go to Albano's at the appointed time. Sitdown in the back room. Get into conversation with them, and, above all,Signor, as soon as you get the copy of the Bolletino turn to the thirdpage, pretend not to be able to read the address. Ask the man to readit. Then repeat it after him. Pretend to be overjoyed. Offer to set upwine for the whole crowd. Just a few minutes, that is all I ask, and Iwill guarantee that you will be the happiest man in New York to-morrow."
Gennaro's eyes filled with tears as he grasped Kennedy's hand. "That isbetter than having the whole police force back of me," he said. "I shallnever forget, never forget."
As we went out Kennedy remarked: "You can't blame them for keeping theirtroubles to themselves. Here we send a police officer over to Italy tolook up the records of some of the worst suspects. He loses his life.Another takes his place. Then after he gets back he is set to work onthe mere clerical routine of translating them. One of his associates isreduced in rank. And so what does it come to? Hundreds of records havebecome useless because the three years within which the criminals couldbe deported have elapsed with nothing done. Intelligent, isn't it?I believe it has been established that all but about fifty of sevenhundred known Italian suspects are still at large, mostly in this city.And the rest of the Italian population is guarded from them by a squadof police in number scarcely one-thirtieth of the number of knowncriminals. No, it's our fault if the Black Hand thrives."
We had been standing on the corner of Broadway, waiting for a car.
"Now, Walter, don't forget. Meet me at the Bleecker Street station ofthe subway at eleven-thirty. I'm off to the university. I have some veryimportant experiments with phosphorescent salts that I want to finishto-day."
"What has that to do with the case?" I asked, mystified.
"Nothing," replied Craig. "I didn't say it had. At eleven-thirty, don'tforget. By George, though, that Paoli must be a clever one--think of hisknowing about ricin. I only heard of it myself recently. Well, here's mycar. Good-bye."
Craig swung aboard an Amsterdam Avenue car, leaving me to kill eightnervous hours of my weekly day of rest from the Star.
They passed at length, and at precisely the appointed time Kennedy and Imet. With suppressed excitement, at least on my part, we walked over toVincenzo's. At night this section of the city was indeed a black enigma.The lights in the shops where olive oil, fruit, and other things weresold, were winking out one by one; here and there strains of musicfloated out of wine-shops, and little groups lingered on cornersconversing in animated sentences. We passed Albano's on the other sideof the street, being careful not to look at it too closely, for severalmen were hanging idly about--pickets, apparently, with some secret codethat would instantly have spread far and wide the news of any alarmingaction.
At the corner we crossed and looked in Vincenzo's window a moment,casting a furtive glance across the street at the dark empty store wherethe police must be hiding. Then we went in and casually sauntered backof the partition. Luigi was there already. There were several customersstill in the store, however, and therefore we had to sit in silencewhile Vincenzo quickly finished a prescription and waited on the lastone.
At last the doors were locked and the lights lowered, all except thosein the windows which were to serve as signals.
"Ten minutes to twelve," said Kennedy, placing the oblong box on thetable. "Gennaro will be going in soon. Let us try this machine now andsee if it works. If the wires have been cut since we put them up thismorning Gennaro will have to take his chances alone."
Kennedy reached over and with a light movement of his forefinger toucheda switch.
Instantly a babel of voices filled the store, all talking at once,rapidly and loudly. Here and there we could distinguish a snatch ofconversation, a word, a phrase, now and then even a whole sentence abovethe rest. There was the clink of glasses. I could hear the rattle ofdice on a bare table, and an oath. A cork popped. Somebody scratched amatch.
We sat bewildered, looking at Kennedy for an explanation.
"Imagine that you are sitting at a table in Albano's back room," wasall he said. "This is what you would be hearing. This is my 'electricear'--in other words the dictograph, used, I am told, by the SecretService of the United States. Wait, in a moment you will hear Gennarocome in. Luigi and Vincenzo, translate what you hear. My knowledge ofItalian is pretty rusty."
"Can they hear us?" whispered Luigi in an awe-struck whisper.
Craig laughed. "No, not yet. But I have only to touch this other switch,and I could produce an effect in that room that would rival the famouswriting on Belshazzar's wall--only it would be a voice from the wallinstead of writing."
"They seem to be waiting for someone," said Vincenzo. "I heard somebodysay: 'He will be here in a few minutes. Now get out.'"
The babel of voices seemed to calm down as men withdrew from the room.Only one or two were left.
"One of them says the child is all right. She has been left in the backyard," translated Luigi.
"What yard? Did he say?" asked Kennedy.
"No; they just speak of it as the 'yard,'" replied Luigi.
"Jameson, go outside in the store to the telephone booth and call upheadquarters. Ask them if the automobile is ready, with the men in it."
I rang up, and after a moment the police central answered thateverything was right.
"Then tell central to hold the line clear--we mustn't lose a moment.Jameson, you stay in the booth. Vincenzo, you pretend to be workingaround your window, but not in such a way as to attract attention, forthey have men watching the street very carefully. What is it, Luigi?"
"Gennaro is coming. I just heard one of them say, 'Here he comes.'"
Even from the booth I could hear the dictograph repeating theconversation in the dingy, little back room of Albano's, down thestreet.
"He's ordering a bottle of red wine," murmured Luigi, dancing up anddown with excitement.
Vincenzo was so nervous that he knocked a bottle down in the window,and I believe that my heartbeats were almost audible over the telephonewhich I was holding, for the police operator called me down for askingso many times if all was ready.
"There it is--the signal," cried Craig. "'A fine opera is"I Pagliacci."' Now listen for the answer."
A moment elapsed, then, "Not without Gennaro," came a gruff voice inItalian from the dictograph.
A silence ensued. It was tense.
"Wait, wait," said a voice which I recognised instantly as Gennaro's. "Icannot read this. What is this, 23 Prince Street?"
"No. 33. She has been left in the backyard," answered the voice.
"Jameson," called Craig, "tell them to drive straight to 33 PrinceStreet. They will find the girl in the back yard--quick, before theBlack-Handers have a chance to go back on their word."
I fairly shouted my orders to the police headquarters. "They're off,"came back the answer, and I hung up the receiver.
"What was that?" Craig was asking of Luigi. "I didn't catch it. What didthey say?"
"That other voice said to Gennaro, 'Sit down while I count this.'"
"Sh! he's talking again."
"If it is a penny less than ten thousand or I find a mark on the billsI'll call to Enrico, and your daughter will be spirited away again,"translated Luigi.
"Now, Gennaro is talking," said Craig. "Good--he is gaining time. He isa trump. I can distinguish that all right. He's asking the gruff voicedfellow if he will have another bottle of wine. He says he will. Good.They must be at Prince Street now we'll give them a few minutes more,not too much, for word will be back to Albano's like wildfire, and theywill get Gennaro after all. Ah, they are drinking again. What was that,Luigi? The money is all right, he says? Now, Vincenzo, out with thelights!"
A door banged open across the street, and four huge dark figures dartedout in the direction of Albano's.
With his finger Kennedy pulled down the other switch and shouted:"Gennaro, this is Kennedy! To the street! Polizia! Polizia!"
A scuffle and a cry of surprise followed. A second voice, apparentlyfrom the bar, shouted, "Out with the lights, out with the lights!"
Bang! went a pistol, and another.
The dictograph, which had been all sound a moment before, was as mute asa cigar-box.
"What's the matter?" I asked Kennedy, as he rushed past me.
"They have shot out the lights. My receiving instrument is destroyed.Come on, Jameson; Vincenzo, stay back, if you don't want to appear inthis."
A short figure rushed by me, faster even than I could go. It was thefaithful, Luigi.
In front of Albano's an exciting fight was going on. Shots were beingfired wildly in the darkness, and heads were popping out of tenementwindows on all sides. As Kennedy and I flung ourselves into the crowdwe caught a glimpse of Gennaro, with blood streaming from a cut on hisshoulder, struggling with a policeman while Luigi vainly was trying tointerpose himself between them. A man, held by another policeman, wasurging the first officer on. "That's the man," he was crying. "That'sthe kidnapper. I caught him."
In a moment Kennedy was behind him. "Paoli, you lie. You are thekidnapper. Seize him--he has the money on him. That other is Gennarohimself."
The policeman released the tenor, and both of them seized Paoli. Theothers were beating at the door, which was being frantically barricadedinside.
Just then a taxicab came swinging up they street. Three men jumpedout and added their strength to those who were battering down Albano'sbarricade.
Gennaro, with a cry, leaped into the taxicab. Over his shoulder I couldsee a tangled mass of dark brown curls, and a childish voice lisped "Whydidn't you come for me, papa? The bad man told me if I waited in theyard you would come for me. But if I cried he said he would shoot me.And I waited, and waited--"
"There, there, Una; papa's going to take you straight home to mother."
A crash followed as the door yielded, and the famous Paoli gang was inthe hands of the law.