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Updated: June 4, 2025
A match flared and Ricardo Ferara grinned up into the night beneath his grizzled mustache, Narcone, the butcher, his hands still wet, was whining for the blood of the American. He heard Martel Savigno call, heard the young Count's voice rise and break in a shriek, heard a thunder of hoofs retreating into the blackness.
Throughout the greater part of the city that night the kidnapping of Vito Sabella became the subject of excited comment. In the neighborhood of St. Phillip Street it was received in an ominous silence. The surprising ease with which the capture of Narcone had been effected gratified Norvin Blake immensely, for it gave him an opportunity to jeer at the weaker side of his nature.
Well, it occurred to me to treat that Quatrone gang to some of its own medicine by stealing their ringleader." "There's poetic justice in the idea that is, if Narcone was really connected with the disappearance of the child." "Oh, he was connected with it all right. Ordinary blackmail was getting too slow for the outfit, so they went after a good ransom.
"I've verified the information in that letter and found that those extradition papers for Narcone are really in New York. What's more, there's an Italian detective there on another matter, and he's ready to take our man back to Sicily with him." "Really!" "Narcone, it seems, was in New York for a year before he came here; that's why steps were taken to extradite him.
He tried to reason that he was magnifying the danger that Narcone would be easily handled, that other criminals as desperate had been taken without a struggle, but the instant such grains of comfort touched the healed terrors in his mind they vanished like drops of water sprinkled upon an incandescent furnace. Nevertheless, he was pledged, and he knew that he would go.
He's to renew his acquaintance with our man and explain that he is returning to New York in a week. The day he sails we grab Mr. Narcone, hustle him aboard ship, and Corte will see to the rest. If it works right nobody'll know anything about it until Narcone is at sea, when it will be too late for interference. It's old stuff, but it'll work."
He reports every day." "But Narcone Are you really in earnest about this scheme?" "I am. It's our only chance to land him, and I've got to accomplish something or quit drawing my salary. Here's the layout; the Pinkertons have an operative who knew Sabella in New York; they were friends, in fact. This fellow arrived here two hours ago calls himself Corte.
Norvin glued his eyes upon the paper, nodding now and then as if in agreement. Although he had taken but one hasty glance around the cafe upon entering, he had seen a certain heavy-muscled Sicilian whose face was only too familiar. It was Narcone, without a doubt.
"How can you say that when the same writer betrayed Narcone?" "Oh, I've asked myself the same question," Donnelly answered with a trace of exasperation, "and I can't answer it unless that was merely a case of revenge. Take it from me, I'll get another letter inside of ten days. See if I don't." True to his prediction, the tenth day brought another warning.
"That's Corte," Donnelly said, quietly. The two watchers mingled with the crowd, gradually drawing closer to their quarry. But it seemed that Narcone refused to go aboard with his friend at any rate, he made no move in that direction.
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