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The judge passed the verdict down to the minute clerk, who read in a clear, distinct, monotonous tone: "Celso Fabbri, Frank Normando, mistrial. Salvatore di Marco, Frank Garcia, Giordano Bolla" the list of names seemed interminable "Gaspardo Cressi, Lorenzo Cardoni, Caesar Maruffi" he paused for an instant while time halted "not guilty."
Maruffi was there, as usual, but he had finished his meal and was playing cards with some of his countrymen, swarthy, eager-faced, voluble fellows whose chatter filled the place. They greeted Norvin politely as he seated himself near by, then went on with their amusement as he ordered and ate his dinner.
Maledetto! You have too damned many laws in this free America." Maruffi spoke hesitatingly, and yet with intense feeling; his black eyes glittered wickedly, and it was plain that he sounded the note of revolt which was rising from the law-abiding Italian element. His appearance bore out his reputation for leadership, for he was big and black and dour, and he gave the impression of unusual force.
"They'd go free, I suppose. But Maruffi can't get off he resisted an officer." "Bah! He'd prove that Johnson assaulted him and he acted in self-defense." "He'd have to answer for his attack upon you." Norvin gave a peculiarly disagreeable laugh. "Not at all. That's the least of his sins. If the law fails in the Donnelly case I sha'n't ask it to help me."
But we won't stop there. We're on a trail that leads higher up, to the man, or men, who directed Larubio and the others to do their work." Maruffi shook his head mournfully. "And the Cressi boy it was you who found him?" "It was." "How did you do it?" Norvin laughed. "If you'd only enlist in the cause I'd tell you all my secrets gladly." "Eh! Then he was betrayed!"
She was unable, however, even with Oliveta's assistance, to put any information in his way, and Blake could think of no better plan than to try once more to sound Caesar Maruffi. If Caesar had really written the letters, it would be strange if he could not be induced to go farther, despite his obvious fear of Cardi.
He gasped his warning to the woman again, then twined his leg about his antagonist's in a wrestler's hold, striving mightily to bear Maruffi against the wall. But Caesar was like an oak-tree. Failing to move him, Blake suddenly flung himself backward, with all his weight, lifting at the same instant in the hope of a fall. In this he was all but successful.
He paused, realizing for the first time that the mystery of those letters was now deeper than ever. If Maruffi had not written them, who then? "He's the best and richest Italian in the city. God! The thing is appalling." "He must go to justice," said Vittoria, quietly. "His name?" "Caesar Maruffi!" The girl's eager look faded into one of blank dismay. "No!" she said, strangely. "No!"
"Your home is in Sicily, is it not?" Blake inquired. "Si! I come from Palermo." "I have been there." "I remember," said Maruffi, calmly. Donnelly broke in, "What do you hear regarding our capture of Sabella?" "Eh?" "How do they take it?" Again Maruffi shrugged. "How can they take it? My good countrymen are delighted; others, perhaps, not so well pleased." "But Sabella has friends.
Do you see that fellow that wop next to Caesar Maruffi?" Bernie did not lower his eyes from the mirror, "the third from the left." "Sure!" "Well!" triumphantly. "Well?" "That is he." "That's who?" "I don't know." "What the " "He's one of 'em, that's all I know. I've been on him for a week. I've trailed him everywhere. He has an accomplice a woman!" The Chief's face underwent a remarkable change.
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