wires have been cut since we put them up this
morning Gennaro will have to take his chances alone."

Kennedy reached over and with a light movement of his forefinger touched
a switch.

Instantly a babel of voices filled the store, all talking at once,
rapidly and loudly. Here and there we could distinguish a snatch of
conversation, a word, a phrase, now and then even a whole sentence
above the rest. There was the clink of glasses. I could hear the rattle
of dice on a bare table, and an oath. A cork popped. Somebody scratched
a match.

We sat bewildered, looking at Kennedy.

"Imagine that you are sitting at a table in Albano's back room," was all
he said. "This is what you would be hearing. This is my 'electric
ear'--in other words the dictagraph, used, I am told, by the Secret
Service of the United States. Wait, in a moment you will hear Gennaro
come in. Luigi and Vincenzo, translate what you hear. My knowledge of
Italian is pretty rusty."

"Can they hear us?" whispered Luigi in an awestruck whisper.

Craig laughed. "No, not yet. But I have only to touch this other switch,
and I could produce an effect in that room that would rival the famous
writing on Belshazzar's wall--only it would be a voice from the wall
instead of writing."

"They seem to be waiting for someone," said Vincenzo. "I heard somebody
say: 'He will be here in a few minutes. Now get out.'"

The babel of voices seemed to calm down as men withdrew from the room.
Only one or two were left.

"One of them says the child is all right. She has been left in the back
yard," translated Luigi.

"What yard? Did he say?" asked Kennedy.

"No, they just speak of it as the 'yard.'"

"Jameson, go outside in the store to the telephone booth and call up
headquarters. Ask them if the automobile is ready, with the men in it."

I rang up, and after a moment the police central answered that
everything was right.

"Then tell central to hold the line clear--we mustn't lose a moment.
Jameson, you stay in the booth. Vincenzo, you pretend to be working
around your window, but not in such a way as to attract attention, for
they have men watching the street very carefully. What is it, Luigi?"

"Gennaro is coming. I just heard one of them say, 'Here he comes.'"

Even from the booth I could hear the dictagraph repeating the
conversation in the dingy little back room of Albano's, down the street.

"He's ordering a bottle of red wine," murmured Luigi, dancing up and