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’s our fault if the Black Hand thrives.”

We had been standing on the corner of Broadway, waiting for a car.

“Now, Walter, don’t forget.  Meet me at the Bleecker 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 to-day.”

“What has that 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 ricin.  I only heard of it myself recently.  Well, here’s my car.  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 winking 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 Albano’s 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 a 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 glasses.  I could hear the rattle of dice on a bare table, and an oath.  A cork popped.  Somebody scratched a match.