The Black Hand by Arthur b Reeve. Kennedy and I had been dining rather
late one evening at Luigi's, a little Italian restaurant on the Lower West Side.
We had known the place well in our student days, and had made
a point of visiting it once a month since in order to keep in practice
in the fine art of gracefully handling long shreds of spaghetti. Therefore, we
did not think it strange when the proprietor himself stopped a moment at our table
to greet us. Glancing furtively around at the other diners, mostly Italians,
he suddenly leaned over and whispered to Kennedy, I have heard of your wonderful
detective professor. Could you give a little advice in the case of our friend
of mine? Surely, Luigi, what is the case? Asked Craig,
leaning back in his chair. Luigi glanced around again apprehensively and lowered his voice
not so loud, sir. When you pay your check, go out,
walk around Washington Square and come in at a private entrance. I'll be waiting
in the hall. My friend is dining upstairs. We lingered a while.
O ra Quianti, then quietly paid the check and departed. True to his
word, Luigi was waiting for us in the dark hall with a motion that
indicated silence. He led us up the stairs of the second floor and quickly
opened a door into what seemed to be a fair sized private dining room.
A man was pacing the floor nervously. On a table was some food untouched.
As the door opened, I thought, he started as if in fear,
and I am sure his dark face blanched, if only for an instant.
Imagine our surprise at seeing Gennaro, the great tenor, with whom merely
to have his speaking acquaintance was to argue oneself famous. Oh it is you,
Luigi, he exclaimed, in perfect English, rich and mellow, and
who are these gentlemen? Luigi merely replied friends in English also, and then
dropped off into a voluble, low toned explanation in Italian. I could see
as we waited that the same idea had flashed over Kennedy's mind as over my
own. It was now three or four days since the papers had reported the
strange kidnapping of Gennaro's five year old daughter, Adelina, his only child,
and the sending of a demand for ten thousand dollars ransom, signed as usual
with the mystic black Hand, a name to conjure with in blackmail and extortion.
As Signor Dinero advanced towards us after his short talk with Luigi. Almost
before the introductions were over, Kennedy anticipated him by saying, I understand Signor
before you ask me. I have read all about it in the papers.
You want some one to help you catch the criminals who are holding your little
girl. No, no, exclaimed Gennaro excitedly, Not that I want to
get my daughter first. After that, catch them if you can. Yes,
I should like to have someone do it. But read this first and
tell me what you think of it. How should I act to get my
little Adelina back without harming a hair of her head? The famous singer drew
from a capacious pocket book a dirty, crumpled letter scrolled on cheap paper.
Kennedy translated it quickly. It read, honorable sir, your daughter is in
safe hands. But by the Saints. If you give this letter to the
police as you did the other, not only she, but your family also
someone near to you will suffer. We will not fail as we did wednesday.
If you want your daughter back. Go yourself alone and without telling a
soul to Enrico Albano's Saturday night, at the twelfth hour, you must provide
yourself with ten thousand dollars in bills hidden in Saturday's hill Progresso Itariano. In
the back room, you will see a man sitting alone at a table.
He will have a red flower on his coat. You are to say,
a fine opera, is i Pagliacci? If he answers not without Gennaro,
lay the newspaper down on the table. He will pick it up, leaving
his own. The bolletino. On the third page you will find written 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 the sh
shadow of the police near Enrico's, your daughter will be sent to you in
a box that night. Do not fear to come. We pledge our word
to deal fairly. If you deal fairly, this is the last warning,
lest you shall forget. We shall show one other sign of our power tomorrow
La mano nera. The end of this letter was decorated with a skull and
crossbones, a rough drawing of a dagger thrust through a bleeding heart, a
coffin, and under all a huge black hand. There was no doubt about
the type of letter. It was, such as have of late years become
increasingly common in all our large cities. You have not shown 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 the voice of the fifty thousand dollars a season tenor was as
human as that of a five dollar a week father. For at the bottom,
all men high or low, are one. We will not fail as
we did Wednesday, reread Craig, what does that mean? Gennaro fumbled in
his pocket book again, and at last drew forth a typewritten letter bearing the
letter head of the Leslie Laboratories Incorporated. After I received the first threat,
exclaimed Gennaro, my wife and I went from our apartments at the hotel to
her father's, the banker Sazara, you know who lives on Fifth Avenue.
I gave the letter to the Italian squad of the police. The next morning,
my father in loss Butler, noticed something peculiar about the milk. He
barely touched some of it to his tongue, and he has been violently ill
ever since. I at once sent the milk to the laboratory of my friend
doctor Leslie to have it analyzed. This letter shows what the household escaped,
my dear Gennaro read Kennedy. The milk submitted to us for examination on the
tenth has been carefully analyzed, and I beg to hand you herewith the result.
Specific gravity one point o three six at fifteen degrees centigrade, water eighty
four point six zero percent, k sine three point four nine percent, albumen
point five six percent, globulin one point three two percent, lactose five point
eight percent, ash point seven two percent fat three point four two percent.
Rysinus one point nine percent. Risinus is a new and little known poison derived
from the shell of the castor bean. Professor Erlik states that one gram of
the pure poison will kill one million, five hundred thousand guinea pigs. Rysinus
was lately isolated by Professor Robert of Rostock, but is seldom found except in
an impure state, Though still very deadly. It surpasses strychnine, prussic acid,
and other commonly known drugs. I congratulate you and yours on escaping,
and shall of course respect your wishes absolutely regarding keeping secret this attempt on your
life. Believe me very sincerely, yours, C. W. Leslie.
As Kennedy handed the letter back, he remarked, significantly, I can see
very readily why you don't care to have the police figure in your case.
It has gone quite beyond ordinary police methods, and tomorrow too, they are
going to have another sign of their power, groaned Gennaro, sinking into the
chair before his untasted food. You say you have left your hotel, inquired
Kennedy. Yes, my wife insisted that we would be more safely guarded at
the residence of her father, the banker, but we are afraid even there
since the poison attempt. So I have come here secretly to Luigi, my
old friend Luigi, who is preparing food for us, And in a few
minutes one of Cisare's automobiles will be here and I will take the food up
to her, sparing no expense or trouble. She is heart broken. It
will kill her, 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
thousand dollars all if they asked it of my contract with Signor Cassanelli, the
director. But the police, bah, they are all for catching the villains.
What good will it do for me if they catch them and my little
de Lina is returned to me dead. It is all very well for the
Anglo Saxon to talk of justice and the law. But I am what you
call it, an emotional Latin. I want my little daughter, and at
any cost, catch the villains. Afterward, yes, I will pay double
then to catch them so that they cannot blackmail me again. Only first I
want my daughter back, 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
money paid on threats. But I say it is foolish. I do not
know America as well as he, but I know this. The police never
succeed. The ransom is paid without their knowledge, and they very often take
the credit. I say pay first, then I will swear a righteous vendetta.
I will bring the dogs to justice 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 yourself, or your wife, or your
father in law whom you even have a reason to suspect of being capable of
extorting money from you in this way? I needn't say that it is the
experience of the district Attorney's office in the large majority of cases of this so
called black hand, No, replied the tenor without hesitation. I know that,
and I have thought about it. No. I can think of no
one I know you. Americans often speak of the black Hand as a myth
coined originally by a newspaper writer. Perhaps it has no organization, But Professor
Kennedy, to me, it is no myth. What if the real black
hand is any gang of criminals who choose 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 is a
hard, cold fact. I understand that perfectly. What is the address of
this Albanos? Luigi mentioned a number on Mulberry Street and Kennedy made a note
of it. It is a gambling saloon, explained Luigi. Albano is a
Neapolitan, a camorrista, one of my countrymen, of whom I am thoroughly
ashamed of, 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 huge hamper that was placed in a
corner of the room, and followed closely by Signor Gennaro hurried down to it.
As the tenor left us, he grasped our hands in each of his.
I have an idea in my mind, said Craig, simply. I
will try to think it out in detail to night. Where can I find
you tomorrow? Come to me at the Opera House in the afternoon, or
if you want me sooner, at mister Caveryer's residence. Good night and a
thousand thanks to you, Professor Kennedy, and to you also, mister Jameson.
I trust you absolutely, because Luigi trust you. We sat in the
little dining room until we heard the door of the limousine bang shut and the
car shoot off with the rattle of the changing gears. One more question,
Luigi, said Craig, as the door opened again. I have never been
on that block in Mulberry Street where this Albano's is. Do you 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, on the same side
of the street. Good do you think he would let me use his store
for a few minutes Saturday night, of course, without any risk to himself.
I think I could arrange it very well. Then tomorrow, say,
at nine in the morning, I will stop here 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 enjoyed Signor Gennaro singing often enough
at the opera to want to render him this service, and I am only
too glad to be able to be of service to all honest Italians, that
is, if I succeed in carrying out a plan I have in mind.
A little before nine the following day, Kennedy and I dropped into Luigi's again.
Kennedy was carrying a suit case which he had taken over from his laboratory
to our rooms the night before. Luigi was waiting for us, and without
losing a minute, we sallied forth by means of the tortuous twists of streets
in Old Greenwich's village. We came out at last on Bleeker Street and began
walking east amid the hurly burly of races of Lower New York. We had
not quite reached Mulberry Street when our attention was attracted by a large crowd on
one of the busy corners, held back by a cordon of police, who
were endeavoring to keep the people moving with that burly good nature which the six
foot Irish policemen displays toward the five foot burden bearers of southern and Eastern Europe
whose thronged New York. Apparently, we saw as we edged up into the
front of the crowd there was a building whose whole front had literally been torn
off and wrecked. The thick plate glass of the windows was smashed to a
mass of greenish splinters on the sidewalk, while the windows of the upper floors
and for several houses down the block in either street, were likewise broken.
Some thick iron bars which had formerly protected the windows were now bent and twisted.
A huge hole yawned in the floor inside the doorway, and peering in
we could see the desk and chairs a tangled mass of kindling. What's the
matter, I inquired, of an officer near me, displaying my reporter's fire
line badge, more for its moral effect than in hope of getting any real
information in these days of enforced silence toward the press. Black hand the bomb
was the laconic reply, phew, I whistled, anyone hurt? They don't
usually kill anyone, do they asked the officer by way of reply, to
test my acquaintance with such things. No, I admitted, They destroy more
property than lives. But did they get 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 gas pipe in dayna made thing crowd collected before the smoke 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 any
more, you'll find it printed on the pink slips this squeedle book. By
this time gainst the rules for me. Tetok, he added with a good
natured grin. Then to the crowd, quan, Now ye are blockin traffic.
Keep moving. I turned to Craig and Luigi. Their eyes were riveted
on the big gilt sign, half broken and all askew. Overhead it read
Sierro de Cesaire and Company Bankers, New York, Genoa, Naples, Rome,
Palermo. This is the reminder that Gennaro and his father in law will
not forget. I gasped, yes, added Craig, pulling us away.
And Caesar himself is wounded too. Perhaps that was for putting up the notice
refusing to pay. Perhaps not. It's a queer case. They usually set
the bombs off at night when no one is around. There must be more
back of this than merely to scare Gennaro. It looks to me as if
they were after Cesare too, First by poison, then by dynamite. We
shouldered our way out through the crowd and went on until we came to Mulberry
Street, pulsing with life down. We went past the little shops, dodging
the children, making way for the women with huge bundles of sweatshop clothing accurately
balanced on their heads or hugged up under their capacious capes. Here was just
one little colony of the hundreds of thousands of Italians, a population larger than
the Italian population of Rome, of whose life the rest of New York knew
and cared nothing. At last we came to Albano's Little Wine Shop, a
dark, evil, malodorous place on the street level of a five story alleged
New law tenement. Without hesitation, Kennedy entered, and we followed, acting
the part of a slumming party. There were a few customers at this early
hour, and an inoffensive looking lot, though of course they eyed USh sharply.
Albano himself proved to be a greasy, low browed fellow who had a
sort of cunning look. I could well imagine such a fellow spreading terror in
the hearts of simple folk by merely pressing both temples with his thumbs and drawing
his long bony forefinger under his throat. The so called black hand sign that
has shut up many a witness in the middle of his testimony, even in
open court. We pushed through to the low ceilinged back room, which was
empty, and sat down at a table over a bottle of Albano's famous California
red ink. We sat silently. Kennedy was making a mental note of the
place. In the middle of the ceiling was a single gas burner with a
big reflector over 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 were dirty and the chairs rickety. The walls were bare and unfinished,
with beams innocent of decoration. Altogether, it was as unprepossessing a place 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 had
made up his mind as to his course of action. How sordid crime really
is, he remarked, as we walked on down the street, Look at
that place of Albano's. I defy even the police news reporter on the Star
to find any glamor in that our next stop was at the corner at the
little store kept by the cousin of Luigi, who conducted us back of the
partition where prescriptions were compounded, and found us chairs. A harried explanation from
Luigi brought a cloud to the open face of the druggist, as if he
hesitated to lay himself and his little fortune open to the blackmailer's. Kennedy saw
it and interrupted. All that I wished to do, he said, is
to put in a little instrument here and use it tonight for a few minutes.
Indeed, there will be no risk to you, Vincenzo. Secrecy is
what I desire, and no one will ever know about it. Vincenzo was
at length convinced, and Craig opened his suitcase. There was little in it
except several coils of insulated wire, some tools, a couple of packages wrapped
up, and a couple of pairs of overalls. In a moment, Kennedy
had donned overalls and was smearing dirt and grease over his face and hands.
Under his direction, I did the same. Taking the bag of tools,
the wire, and one of the small packages, we went out on the
street, and then up through the dark and ill ventilated hall of the tenement.
Half way up, a woman stopped us suspiciously. Telephone company, said
Craig curtly, here's permission from the owner of the house to string wires across
the roof. He pulled an old letter out of his pocket, but as
it was too dark to read even if the woman had care to do so,
we went on up as he had expected, unmolested. At last we
came to the roof, where there were some children at play a couple of
houses down from us. Kennedy began by dropping two strands of wire down to
the ground in the back yard behind Vincenzo's shop. Then he proceeded to lay
two wires along 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 to that, 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 get so close to the edge of the roof. Keep back. It
had no effect. Apparently, they looked not a bit frightened at the dizzy
mass of clothes lines below us. Say is her 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.
I took half a dollar from my pocket and gave it to the oldest.
All right, now, hustle along and divide the change. With a scamper
of many feet, they were gone and we were alone. Kennedy had now
reached Albano's, and as soon as the last head had disappeared below the scuttle
of the roof, he dropped two long strands down into the back 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 end here. I must carry them on several houses
far as a blind and trust to look that they don't see the wires leading
down below. We were several houses down, still putting up wires, when
the crowd came shouting back. Sticky with cheap trust made candy and black with
east Side chocolate. We opened the ginger ale and forced ourselves to drink it
so as to excite no suspicion. Then a few minutes later descended the stairs
of the tenement, coming out just above Albano's. I was wondering how Kennedy
was going to get into Albano's again without exciting suspicion. He solved it neatly.
Now, Walter, do you think you could stand another dip into that
red ink at 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 the overalls, you don't look very much as
you did the first time you went in. I don't think they will recognize
you. Do I look pretty good? You look like a coal heater on
the job, I said, I can scarcely restrain my admiration. All right,
then take this little glass bottle, go into the back room and order
something cheap in keeping with your looks. Then, when you are all alone,
break the bottle. It is full of gas drippings. Your nose will
dictate what to do next. Just tell the proprietor you saw the gas company'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 unscrupulous intelligence,
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
his ear 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
him inwardly more for his presence than for his evident look of the malavitta.
At last he went out to ask the bar keeper for a stamp. Quickly,
I tiptoed over to another corner of the room and ground the little bottle
under my heel. Then I resumed my seat. The odor that pervaded the
room was sickening. The sinister looking man with the scar came in again and
sniffed. I sniffed. 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 GA's 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 was waiting, impatiently rattling his tools. He
followed me with apparent reluctance. As he entered the wine shop, he snorted,
after the manner of gas men, where's the leak? You'll find it?
A leak grunted albana. What do you gett you'll pay for? You
wanted me to do yo work? Well, half a dozen you wops get
out o here. That's all use water, be browned er pieces with them,
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. Working rapidly, he unwrapped a little package and took
at a round, flat, disclike thing of black vulcanized rubber. Jumping up
on a table, he fixed 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's
there. Then he attached a couple of wires to it and led them across
the ceiling toward the window, concealing them carefully by sticking them in the shadow
of a beam at the window. He quickly attached the wires to the two
that were dangling down from the roof and shoved them around out of sight.
We'll have to trust that no one sees them, he said. That's the
best I can 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 being seen. We gathered up the broken glass of the gas dripping's
bottle and I opened the door. It's all right now, said Craig,
sauntering out before the bar. Only the next time you has anything the matter,
call the company up. I ain't supposed to do this without 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 again
at work. As there was no back window there, it was quite a
job to lead the wires around the outside from the back yard and in at
a side window. It was at last done, however, without exciting suspicion,
and Kennedy attached them to an oblong box of weathered oak and a pair
of specially constructed dry batteries. Now, said Craig, as we washed off
the stains of work and stowed the overalls back in the suitcase. That is
done to my satisfaction. I can tell Gennaro to go ahead safely now and
meet the black handers from Vincenzo's. We walked over towards Center Street, where
Kennedy and I left Luigi to return to his restaurant with instructions to be at
Vincenzo's at half past eleven that night. We turned into the new police headquarters
and went down the long corridor to the Italian bureau. Kennedy sent in his
card to Lieutenant Giuseppe, in charge, and we were quickly admitted. The
lieutenant was a short, full faced, fleshy Italian with lightish hair and eyes
that were apparently dull until you suddenly discovered that that was merely a cover to
their really restless way of taking in everything and fixing it on his mind,
as if on a sensitive plate. I want to talk about the Gennaro case,
began Craig. I may add that I have been rather closely associated with
Inspector O'Connor of the Central Office on a number of cases, so that I
think we can trust each other. Would you mind telling me what you know
about it? If I promise you that I too have something to reveal.
The Lieutenant leaned back and watched Kennedy closely, without seeming to do so.
When I was in Italy last year, he replied at length, I did
a good deal of work in tracing up some Camorra suspects. I had a
tip about some of them to look up their records. I needn't say where
it came from, but it was a good one. Much of the evidence
against some of those fellows who are being tried at Viterbo was gathered by the
Carabinere as a result of hints that I was able to give them clues that
were furnished to me here in America from the source I speak of. I
suppose there is really no need to conceal it. Though the original tip came
from 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 who organized the White Hand, an organization which is
trying to read the Italian population of the Black Hand. His society had a
lot of evidence regarding former members of both of the Commodo in Naples and the
Mafia in Sicily, as well as the Black Hand gangs in New York,
Chicago and other cities. Well. Caesare, as you know, is Gennio's
father in law. While I was in Naples looking up the record of a
certain criminal, I heard of a peculiar murder committed some years ago. There
was an honest old music master who apparently lived the quietest and most harmless of
lives. But it became known that he was supported by Caesire and had received
handsome presents of money from him. The old man was, as you may
have guessed, the first music teacher of Gennaro. The man who discovered him.
One might have been at a loss to see how he could have an
enemy, but there was one who coveted his small fortune. One day he
was stabbed and robbed. His murderer ran out into the street, crying out
that the poor man had been killed. Naturally, a crowd rushed up in
a moment, for it was in the middle of the day before the injured
man could make it understood who had struck him. The assassin was down the
street and lost in the maze of old Naples, where he well knew the
houses of his friends who would tide him. The man who is known to
have committed that crime, Francesco Peoli, escaped to New York. We are
looking for him to day. He is a clever man, far above the
average son of a doctor in a town a few miles from Naples, went
to the university, was expelled from some mad prank. In short, he
was the black sheep of the family. Of course, over here he is
too high born to work with his hands on a railroad or in a trench,
and not educated enough to work anything else. So he has been preying
on his more industrious countrymen. A typical case of a man living by his
wits with no visible means of support. Now I don't mind telling you in
strict confidence, continued the Lieutenant, that it is my theory that old Cesar
had seen Paoli here, knew he was wanted for that murder of the old
music master, and gave me the tip to look up his record. At
any rate, Paoli disappeared right after I 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 been given by the White Hand. He
had been a camorrista in Italy and had many 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 Pioli, we
could save the kidnapping of little Adelina Geneiro. Very quickly, that's his picture,
Kennedy and I bent over to look at it, and I started in
surprise. It was my evil looking friend with the scar on his cheek,
well, said Craig, quietly, handing back the card. Whether or not
he is the man, I know where we can catch the kidnappers to night,
Lieutenant, it was Giuseppe's turn to show surprise. With your assistance,
I'll get this man and the whole gang to night, explained Craig, rapidly,
sketching over his plan and concealing just enough to make sure that, no
matter how anxious the Lieutenant was to get the credit, he could not spoil
the affair by premature interference. The final arrangement was that four of the best
men of the squad were to hide in a vacant store across from Vincenza's early
in the evening, long before anyone was watching. The signal for them to
appear was to be the extinguishing of the lights behind the colored bottles in the
druggist's window. A taxicab was to be kept waiting at headquarters at the same
time, with three other good men ready to start for a given address.
The moment the alarm was given over the telephone, we found Gennaro awaiting us
with the greatest anxiety at the opera house. The bomb at Cesarre's had been
the last straw. Gennaro had already drawn from his bank ten crisp one thousand
dollar bills, and already he had a copy of Il Progresso, in which
he had hidden the money between the sheets. Mister Kennedy, he said,
I am going to meet them to night. They may kill me. See
I have provided myself with a pistol. I shall fight too if necessary for
my little Adelina. But if it is only money they want, they shall
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 do not wish to stop you, Craig reassured him. But
one thing. Do exactly as I tell you, and I swear not a
hair of the child's head will be 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,
sit down 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 third page, pretend not to be able to read the
address, ask the man to read it, then repeat it after him,
Pretend to be overjoyed. Offer to set up wine for the whole crowd just
a few minutes. That is all I ask, and I will guarantee that
you will be the happiest man in New York tomorrow. Gennaro's eyes filled with
tears as they grasped Kennedy's hand. That is better than having the whole police
force back of me, he said. I shall never forget. Never forget.
As we went out, Kennedy remarked, you can't blame them for keeping
their troubles to themselves. Here we send a police officer over to Italy to
look 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 on the mere clerical routine of translating them. One of his associates is
reduced in rank. And so what does it all come to. Hundreds of
records have become useless becaus the three years within which the criminals could be deported
have elapsed with nothing done. Intelligent, isn't it. I believe it has
been established that all but about fifty of seven hundred known Italian suspects are still
at large, mostly in this city, and the rest of the Italian population
is guarded from them by a squad of police in number scarcely one thirtieth of
the number of known criminals. No, it is our fault if the black
can thrives. We had been standing on the corner of Broadway waiting for a
car. Now, Walter, don't forget meet me at the Bleaker Street station
of the subway at eleven thirty. I'm off to the university. I have
some very important experiments with phosphorescent salts that I want to finish today. What
has that got to do with the case, I asked, mystified nothing,
replied Craig. I didn't say it had at eleven thirty. Don't forget by
George, though, that Paoli must be a clever one, think of his
knowing about riceness. I only heard of it myself recently. Well, here's
my good bye, Craig swung aboard an Amsterdam Avenue car, leaving me to
kill eight nervous hours of my weekly day of rest from the star. They
passed at length and at precisely the appointed time. Kennedy and I met with
suppressed excitement, at least on my part. We walked over to Vincenzo'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 were sold were
winging out one by one here and there. Strains of music floated out of
wine shops, and little groups lingered on corners conversing in animated sentences. We
passed Albanos on the other side of the street, being careful not to look
at it too closely. For several men were hanging idly about pickets, apparently
with some secret code that would instantly have spread far and wide the news of
any alarming action. 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 where the police must be hiding. Then we went in and casually sauntered
back of the partition. Luigi was there already. There were several customers still
in the store, however, and therefore we had to sit in silence while
Vincenzo quickly finished a prescription and waited on the last one. At last,
the doors were locked and the lights lowered, all except those in the windows,
which were to serve as signals. Ten minutes to twelve, said Kennedy,
placing the oblong box on the table. Gennaro will be going in soon.
Let us try this machine now and see if it works. If the
wires have been cut since we put them up this morning, Gennaro will have
to take his chances alone. Kennedy reached over and, with a light movement
of his forefinger, touched the switch. Instantly, a babel of voices filled
the store, all talking at once rapidly and loudly. Here and there we
could distinguish a snatch of conversation, a word, a phrase, now and
then even a whole sentence. Above the rest, there was the clink of
I could hear the rattle of dice on a bare table, and an oath,
A cork popped, somebody scratched a match. We sat bewildered looking at
Kennedy. Imagine that you are sitting at a table in Albano's back room,
was all he said. This is what you would be hearing. This is
my electric ear. In other words, the dictograph used. I am told
by the Secret Service of the United States. Wait in a moment, you
will hear Gennaro come in, Luigi and Vincenzo translate what you hear. My
knowledge of Italian is pretty rusty, can't 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 provide an effect in
that room that would rival the famous writing in Belchaszar's wall, only it would
be a voice from the wall instead of writing. They seem to be waiting
for some one, said Vincenzo. I heard somebody say he will be here
in a few minutes. Now get out. The babble 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 Bacqua yard. Translated Luigi, What yard did he say,
asked Kennedy. No, they just speak of it as the yard. Jameson,
go outside in the store to the telephone booth and call up headquarters.
Ask them if the automobile is ready with the men in it. I rang
up, and after a moment the police central answered that everything 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 working
around your window, but not in such a way as to attract attention,
for they have men watching the street very carefully. What is it, Luigi
Gennero is coming. I just heard one of them say, here he comes.
Even from the booth, I could hear the dictograph repeating the conversation in
the dingy little back room of Albano's down the street. He's outre above Le
Ferdoine, murmured Luigi, dancing up and down 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 telephone, which I was holding for The
police operator called me down for asking so 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 in Italian from the dictograph. A silence ensued.
It was tense. Wait, wait, said a voice which I recognized instantly
as Gennaro's. I cannot lead this. What is this? Twenty three and
a half Prince Street, No. Thirty three and the half. She hasn't
been left in the back yard. Jameson called Craig. Tell them to drive
straight to thirty three and a half Prince Street. They will find the girl
in the back yard quick, before the blackhanders have a chance to go back
on their work. 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 did
they say? The other voice said to Gennaro, sit down? What I
count this? Sh he's talking again. If it is a penny less than
ten thousand, or if I find a mark on the bills, I'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's a
trump. I can distinguish that, all right. He's asking the gruff voice
fellow 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 Abano's like wildfire,
and they will get Gennaro after all. Ah, they are drinking again.
What was that, Luigi? The money is all right, he says,
Now, Vincenzo out with the lights. A door banged across the street,
and four huge dark figures darted out 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, apparently from the bar, shouted at with
de lights, At with de lights. Bang went a pistol and another.
The dictograph, which had been all sound a moment before, was as mute
as a 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, Jamieson, Vincenzo, stay back if you don't want to
appear in this A short figure rushed by me, faster even than I could
go. It was the faithful Luigi. In front of Albano's. An exciting
fight was going on. Shots were being fired wildly in the darkness, and
heads were popping out of tenement windows on all sides. As Kennedy and I
flung ourselves into the crowd, we caught a glimpse of Gennaro, with blood
streaming from a cut on his shoulder, struggling with the policeman, while Luigi
vainly was trying to interpose himself between them. A man held by another policeman
was urging the first officer on that's the man. He was crying, that's
the kidnapper. I caught him. In a moment, Kennedy was behind him.
Paoli, you lie, you are the kidnapper. Seize him. He
has the money on him. That other is Gennaro himself. The policeman released
the tenor and both of them seized Paoli. The others were beating at the
door, which was being frantically barricaded inside. Just then a taxicab came swinging
up the street. Three men jumped out and added their strength to those who
were battering down Albano's barricade. Gennaro, with a cry, leaped into the
taxicab. Over his shoulder, I could see a tangled mask of dark brown
curls and a childish voice list why didn't you come for me? Papa?
The bad man told me, if I waited in the yard, you would
come for me. But if I cried, he said he would shoot me.
And I waited and waited. There there, Lena, Papa's going to
take you straight home to mother. A crash followed as the door yielded,
and the famous Paoli gang was in the hands of The Law End of the
Black Hand by Arthur Bereaved