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.
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