"Not
so loud, sir. When you pay your check, go out, walk around Washington
Square, and come in at the private entrance. I'll be waiting in the
hall. My friend is dining privately upstairs."

We lingered a while over our chianti, then quietly paid the check and
departed.

True to his word, Luigi was waiting for us in the dark hall. With a
motion that indicated silence, he led us up the stairs to the second
floor, and quickly opened a door into what seemed to be a fair-sized
private dining-room. A man was pacing the floor nervously. On a table
was some food, untouched. As the door opened I thought he started
as if in fear, and I am sure his dark face blanched, if only for an
instant. Imagine our surprise at seeing Gennaro, the great tenor,
with whom merely to have a speaking acquaintance was to argue oneself
famous.

"Oh, it is you, Luigi," he exclaimed in perfect English, rich and
mellow. "And who are these gentlemen?"

Luigi merely replied, "Friends," in English also, and then dropped off
into a voluble, lowtoned explanation in Italian.

I could see, as we waited, that the same, idea had flashed over
Kennedy's mind as over my own. It was now three or four days since the
papers had reported the strange kidnapping of Gennaro's five-year-old
daughter Adelina, his only child, and the sending of a demand for
ten thousand dollars ransom, signed, as usual, with the mystic Black
Hand--a name to conjure with in blackmail and extortion.

As Signor Gennaro advanced toward us, after his short talk with Luigi,
almost before the introductions were over, Kennedy anticipated him
by saying: "I understand, Signor, before you ask me. I have read
all about it in the papers. You want someone to help you catch the
criminals who are holding your little girl."

"No, no!" exclaimed Gennaro excitedly. "Not that. I want to get my
daughter first. After that, catch them if you can--yes, I should like
to have someone do it. But read this first and tell me what you think
of it. How should I act to get my little Adelina back without
harming a hair of her head?" The famous singer drew from a capacious
pocketbook a dirty, crumpled letter, scrawled on cheap paper.

Kennedy translated it quickly. It read:

* * * * *

Honorable sir: Your daughter is in safe hands. But, by the saints, if
you give this letter to the police as you did the other, not only she
but your family also, someone near to you, will suffer. W