“One of them says the child is all right.  She has been left in the back yard,” translated Luigi.

“What yard?  Did he say?” asked Kennedy.

“No; they just speak of it as the ‘yard,’” replied Luigi.

“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?”

“Gennaro 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 ordering a bottle of red wine,” 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 heart-beats 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 read this.  What is this 23-1/2 Prince Street?”

“No, 33-1/2.  She has been left in the back yard,” answered the voice.

“Jameson,” called Craig, “tell them to drive straight to 33-1/2 Prince Street.  They will find the girl in the back yard quick, before the Black Handers have a chance to go back on their word.”

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?”

“That other voice said to Gennaro, ‘Sit down while I count this.’”

“Sh! he’s talking again.”

“If it is a penny less than ten thousand or I find a mark on the bills I’ll call to Enrico, and your daughter will he spirited away again,” translated Luigi.

“Now, Gennaro is talking,” said Craig.  “Good—­he is gaining time.  He is a trump.  I can distinguish that all right.  He’s asking the gruff-voiced 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 Albano’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!”