Number 93 1/2 St. Phillip Street proved to be a hovel, in the front
portion of which an old woman sold charcoal and kindling. Leaving
Bernie on guard, Blake penetrated swiftly to the rooms behind, paying
no heed to the crone's protestations. In one corner a slender,
dark-eyed boy was cowering, whom he recognized at once as the lad he
had seen on the night of Donnelly's death.
"You are Gino Cressi," he said, quietly.
The boy shook his head.
"Oh, yes, you are, and you must come with me, Gino."
The little fellow recoiled. "You have come to kill me," he quavered.
"No, no, my little man. Why should I wish to do that?"
"I am a Sicilian; you hate me."
"That is not true. We hate only bad Sicilians, and you are a good boy."
"I did not kill the Chief."
"True. You did not even know that those other men intended to kill him.
You were merely told to wait at the corner until you saw him come home.
Am I right?"
"I do not know anything about the Chief," Gino mumbled.
But it was plain that some of his fear was vanishing under this
unexpected kindness. Blake had a voice which won dumb animals, and a
smile which made friends of children. At last the young Sicilian came
forward and put his hand into the stranger's.
"They told me to hide or the Americans would kill me. Madonna mia! I am
no Mafioso! I--I wish to see my father."
"I will take you to him now."
"You will not harm me?"
"No. You are perfectly safe."
But the boy still hung back, stammering:
"I--am afraid, Si'or. After all, you see, I know nothing. Perhaps I had
better wait here."
"But you will come, to please me, will you not? Then when you find that
the policemen will not hurt you, you will tell us all about it, eh,
carino?"
He led his shrinking captive out through the front of the house, whence
the crone had fled to spread the alarm, and lifted him into the waiting
cab. But Bernie Dreux was loath to acknowledge such a tame conclusion
to an adventure upon which he had built high hopes.
"L-let's stick round," he shivered. "It's just getting g-g-good."
"Come on, you idiot." Blake fairly dragged him in and commanded the
driver to whip up. "That old woman will rouse the neighborhood, and
we'll have a mob heaving bricks at us in another minute."
"That'll be fine!" Dreux declared, his pride revolting at what he
considered a cowardly retreat. He had come along in the hope of doing
deeds that would add luster to his name, and he did not intend to be
disappointed. It required a vigorous muscular effort to keep him from
clambering out of the carriage.
"I don't understand you at all," said Norvin, with one hand firmly
gripping his coat collar, "but I understand the value of discretion at
this moment, and I don't intend to take any chances on losing our
little friend Gino before he has turned State's evidence."
Dreux sank back, gloomily enough, continuing for the rest of the
journey to declaim against the fate that had condemned him to a life of
insipid peace; but it was not until they had turned out of the narrow
streets of the foreign quarter into the wide, clean stretch of Canal
Street that Blake felt secure.
Little Gino Cressi was badly frightened. His wan, pinched face was
ashen and he shivered wretchedly. Yet he strove to play the man, and
his pitiful attempt at self-control roused something tender and
protective in his captor. Laying a reassuring hand upon his shoulder,
Blake said, gently:
"Coraggio! No harm shall befall you."
"I--do not wish to die, Excellency."
"You will not die. Speak the truth, figlio mio, and the police will be
very kind to you. I promise."
"I know nothing," quavered the child. "My father is a good man. They
told me the Chief was dead, but I did not kill him. I only hid."
"Who told you the Chief was dead?"
"I--do not remember."
"Who told you to hide?"
"I do not remember, Si'or." Gino's eyes were like those of a hunted
deer, and he trembled as if dreadfully cold.
It was a wretched, stricken child whom Blake led into O'Neil's office,
and for a long time young Cressi's lips were glued; but eventually he
yielded to the kind-faced men who were so patient with him and his
lies, and told them all he knew.
On the following morning the papers announced three new arrests in the
Donnelly case, resulting from a confession by Gino Cressi. On the
afternoon of the same day the friendly and influential Caesar Maruffi
called upon Blake with a protest.
"Signore, my friend," he began, "you and your Committee are doing a
great injustice to the Italians of this city."
"How so?"
"Already everybody hates us. We cannot walk upon your streets without
insult. Men curse us, children spit at us. We are not Jews; we are
Italians. There are bad people among my countrymen, of course, but,
Signore, look upon me. Do you think such men as I--"
"Oh, you stand for all that is best in your community. Mr. Maruffi. I
only wish you'd help us clean house."