Arriving at Stuyvesant Square, Vassar decided to go at once and see
Angela’s husband.
The door of his tiny apartment opened on the little crooked street
before the old Armory. He caught the gay colors of Angela’s dress at the
window. She was leaning far out over the flower boxes, and gesticulating
to her man in the street below.
Benda, the center of a group of children, was playing the hand organ
which Pasquale had given the boy. The kids were dancing.
He stopped short his music at the sight of his leader, waved the
children aside and hurried to meet him.
“Ah, you come so soon, signor!” he exclaimed. “I am glad. Angela--she
tell you?”
“Yes. What’s the trouble?”
“You see the house over dere?”
He pointed to the low apartment across the way.
“Yes.”
“Well, signor, men unload and swing boxes--beeg--long boxes inside. One
of them fell and brak--”
He stopped and looked about.
“It was guns, signor!--all bright, new. I ask them what for they put so
many guns in the old house. The boss say I must join his Black Hand
Alliance--“ Benda laughed. “I tell him go t’ell--
“He say it’s war and I die unless I do--I tell him go t’ell two times.
And I send word to you, signor. What you tink?”
“I don’t know. I’ll find the owner of the building and tell you. Thanks,
Tommaso,” he added cordially. “I appreciate your confidence. I’ll see
about it.”
“Si, si, signor!”
With another wave of his hand to the children Benda resumed his concert.
Vassar walked to the door and glanced at the building. There was nothing
to mark it from a number of dingy structures along the East River. A
speculator was probably buying old guns from our government for their
transfer in secret to the agent of a faction in Mexico or South America.
Naturally the trader must use the utmost caution or a Secret Service man
would nip his plans in the bud. He was so sure of the explanation that
he took it for granted, and dismissed the incident from his mind.
He was destined to recall it under conditions that would not be
forgotten.