"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 recognised instantly as
Gennaro's. "I cannot read this. What is this, 23 Prince Street?"
"No. 33. She has been left in the backyard," answered the voice.
"Jameson," called Craig, "tell them to drive straight to 33
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 be 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.
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