Speaker 1: 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