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 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 the
voice of the fifty-thousand-dollars-a-season tenor was as human as that
of a five-dollar-a-week father, for at 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 pocketbook again, and at last drew forth a
typewritten letter bearing the letterhead of the Leslie Laboratories,
Incorporated.
"After I received the first threat," explained Gennaro, "my wife and I
went from our apartments at the hotel to her father's, the banker
Cesare, you know, who lives on Fifth Avenue. I gave the letter to the
Italian Squad of the police. The next morning my father-in-law's 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 10th inst. has been carefully analyzed, and
I beg to hand you herewith the result:
"Specific gravity 1.036 at 15 degrees Cent.
Water 84.60 per cent.
Casein 3.49 " "
Albumin .56 " "
Globulin 1.32 " "
Lactose 5.08 " "
Ash .72 " "
Fat 3.42 " "
Ricinus 1.19 " "
"Ricinus is a new and little-known poison derived from the
shell of the castor-oil bean. Professor Ehrlich states that
one gram of the pure poison will kill 1,500,000 guinea pigs.
Ricinus 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 got quite beyond ordinary police methods."
"And to-morrow, too, they are going to give 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
Cesare's automobiles will be here, and I will take the food up to
her--sparing no expense or trouble. She is heartbroken. 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 Cassinelli,
the director. But the police--bah!--they are all for catching the
villains. What good will it do me if they catch them and my little
Adelina 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 reason to suspect
of being capable of extorting money from you in this way? I needn't say
that 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 Albano's?"
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,
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 to-morrow?"
"Come to me at the opera-house in the afternoon, or if you want me
sooner at Mr. Cesare's residence. Good night, and a thousand thanks to
you, Professor Kennedy, and to you, also, Mr. Jameson. I trust you
absolutely because Luigi trusts 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 to-morrow, 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's singing often enough at the opera to want to render him
this service, and I'm 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 suitcase 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 village we
came out at last on Bleecker 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
endeavouring to keep the people moving with that burly good nature which
the six-foot Irish policeman displays toward the five-foot
burden-bearers of southern and eastern Europe who throng New York.
Apparently, we saw, as we edged up into the front of the crowd, here 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 the hope
of getting any real information in these days of enforced silence toward
the 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 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-and-dynamite 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--the 'squeal book'--by this
tune. 'Gainst the rules for me to talk," he added with a good-natured
grin, then to the crowd: "Gwan, now. You're blockin' traffic. Keep
movin'."
I turned to Craig and Luigi. Their eyes were riveted on the big gilt
sign, 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 not
forget," 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. 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, and making way for women with huge bundles
of sweat-shop 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, men out
of employment and an inoffensive-looking lot, though of course they eyed
us 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 glamour 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 hurried 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 blackmailers. Kennedy saw it and interrupted.
"All that I wish to do," he said, "is to put in a little instrument here
and use it to-night 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 suit-case. 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 cared 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 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. I
took 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. 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 farther as a blind and trust to luck 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
of Albano's?"