f the
hundreds of thousands of Italians--a population larger than the Italian
population of Rome--of whose life the rest of New York knew and cared
nothing.

At last we came to Albano's little wine-shop, a dark, evil, malodorous
place on the street level of a five-story, alleged "new-law" tenement.
Without hesitation Kennedy entered, and we followed, acting the part of
a slumming party. There were a few customers at this early hour, men out
of employment and an inoffensive-looking lot, though of course they eyed
us sharply. Albano himself proved to be a greasy, low-browed fellow who
had a sort of cunning look. I could well imagine such a fellow spreading
terror in the hearts of simple folk by merely pressing both temples with
his thumbs and drawing his long bony forefinger under his throat--the
so-called Black Hand sign that has shut up many a witness in the middle
of his testimony even in open court.

We pushed through to the low-ceilinged back room, which was empty, and
sat down at a table. Over a bottle of Albano's famous California "red
ink" we sat silently. Kennedy was making a mental note of the place. In
the middle of the ceiling was a single gas-burner with a big reflector
over it. In the back wall of the room was a horizontal oblong window,
barred, and with a sash that opened like a transom. The tables were
dirty and the chairs rickety. The walls were bare and unfinished, with
beams innocent of decoration. Altogether it was as unprepossessing a
place as I had ever seen.

Apparently satisfied with his scrutiny, Kennedy got up to go,
complimenting the proprietor on his wine. I could see that Kennedy had
made up his mind as to his course of action.

"How sordid crime really is," he remarked as we walked on down the
street. "Look at that place of Albano's. I defy even the police news
reporter on the _Star_ to find any glamour in that."

Our next stop was at the corner at the little store kept by the cousin
of Luigi, who conducted us back of the partition where prescriptions
were compounded, and found us chairs.

A hurried explanation from Luigi brought a cloud to the open face of the
druggist, as if he hesitated to lay himself and his little fortune open
to the blackmailers. Kennedy saw it and interrupted.

"All that I wish to do," he said, "is to put in a little instrument here
and use it to-night for a few minutes. Indeed, there will be no risk to
you, Vincenzo. Secrecy is what I desire, and no one will e