Part 25 (1/2)

”I--that sounds reasonable, and yet--you are not going to the Red Wing Club any more, are you?”

”Why not? I've got until Thursday and--I like their coffee. Here is the other letter, by the way.” Donnelly produced the first communication. The paper was identical and the type appeared to be the same. Beyond this Norvin could make out nothing.

”Well,” Dan exclaimed, when they had exhausted their conjectures, ”they've set their date and I reckon they won't change it, so I'm going to eat dinner to-night at the Red Wing Club as usual, just to see what happens.”

After a brief hesitation Norvin said, ”I'd like to join you, if you don't mind.”

Donnelly shook his gray head doubtfully. ”I don't think you'd better.

This may be on the square.”

”I think it is, and therefore I intend to see you through.”

”Suit yourself, of course. I'd like to have you go along, but I don't want to get you into any fuss.”

Seven o'clock that evening found the two friends dining at the little cafe in the foreign quarter, but they were seated at one of the corner tables and their backs were toward the wall.

”I've had my reasons for eating here, and it wasn't altogether the coffee, either,” the elder man confessed.

”I suspected as much,” Norvin told him. ”At least I couldn't detect anything remarkable about this Rio.”

”You see, it's a favorite hang-out of the better Italian cla.s.s, and I've been working it carefully for a year.”

”What have you discovered?”

”Not much, and yet a great deal. I've made friends, for one thing, and that's considerable. Here comes one now. You know him, don't you?” Dan indicated a thick-necked, squarely built Italian who had entered at the moment. ”That's Caesar Maruffi.”

Norvin regarded the new-comer with interest, for Maruffi stood for what is best among his Americanized countrymen. Moreover, if rumor spoke true, he was one of the richest and most influential foreigners in the city. In answer to the Chief's invitation he approached and seated himself at the table, accepting his introduction to Blake with a smile and a gracious word.

”Ah! It is my first opportunity to thank you for the service you have done us in arresting that hateful brigand,” he began.

”Did you know the fellow?” Norvin queried.

”Very well indeed.”

”Maruffi knows a whole lot, if he'd only open up. He's a Mafioso himself--eh, Caesar?” The Chief laughed.

”No, no!” the other exclaimed, casting a cautious glance over his shoulder. ”I tell you everything I learn. But as for this Sabella--I thought him a trifle sullen, perhaps, but an honest fellow.”

”You don't really think there has been any mistake?”

”Eh? How could that be possible? Did not Signore Blake remember him?”

Norvin was about to disclaim his part in the affair, but the speaker ran on:

”I fear you must regard all us Italians as Mafiosi, Signore Blake, but it is not so. No! We are honest people, but we are terrorized by a few bad men. We do not know them, Signore. We are robbed, we are blackmailed, and if we resist, behold! something unspeakable befalls us. We do not know who deals the blow, we merely know that we are marked and that some day we--are buried.” Maruffi shrugged his square shoulders expressively.

”Do you suffer in your business?” Norvin asked.

”Per Dio! Who does not? I have adopted your free country, Signore, but it is not so free as my own. Maledetto! You have too d.a.m.ned many laws in this free America.”