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Updated: May 1, 2025
There was a restaurant there called the "Promised Land," where one could get Italian dishes. He seemed to take a kindly interest in Toni and in Strollo, who had remained some distance behind, and Toni gave him a cigar a "Cremo" the last one he had. Then Strollo led the way back into the woods. It was almost sunset, and the long, low beams slanting through the tree trunks made it hard to see.
They might come and ask him questions, and he might even admit almost all almost all, and they could do nothing, for no one had seen what he had done to Toni in the wood. So Strollo returned Petrosini's gaze unflinchingly. "Are you Antonio Strollo?" asked the detective, coming close to the murderer. "Yes, certainly, I am Antonio Strollo," replied the latter.
They went deeper and deeper into the woods. Presently Strollo, who was leading the way, stopped and said: "We are going in the wrong direction. We must turn around and go back." Toni turned. As he did so Strollo drew a long knife and plunged it again and again through Toni's body. Strollo spent that night, under an assumed name, at the Mills Hotel in Bleecker Street.
So early in the morning of August 16th, 1903, Toni and Strollo took the train for New York. It was a hot day, and once again the motion and speed made Toni feel ill, but the thought of seeing Vito buoyed him up, and by the time they had crossed the ferry and had actually reached New York he was very hungry.
The offering of this letter was a curious and fatal blunder, for it was later proven by the People to be in Strollo's own handwriting. It was his last despairing effort to escape the consequences of his crime. Headed with a cross drawn in blood it ran as follows: I swear upon this cross, which is the blood of my veins, Strollo is innocent.
"I am looking at him," replied Strollo, averting his eyes. "That is he my friend Antonio Torsielli." The prisoner was now taken to Police Headquarters and searched. Here a letter was found in his hip pocket in his own handwriting purporting to be from Antonio Torsielli to his brother Vito at Yonkers, but enclosed in an envelope addressed to Antonio at Lambertville.
Toni, anxious about his mother, despairing of ever finding his brother, pining for Nicoletta and with three hundred dollars lying in the savings-bank, decided to return to Italy. But if only he could find Vito first! Then Antonio Strollo had an idea. Why not advertise, he suggested. He wondered that they had never thought of it before.
The shoemaker, who was a thrifty man, asked Strollo what was the matter with the shoes he had on, so Strollo craftily said they hurt his feet. Then he ate a hearty breakfast, and bought a better cigar than he had ever smoked before. He would read them on the train. He felt warm and comfortable now and not afraid at all.
His letters home were quite enthusiastic regarding the pleasant character of the life. To be sure he could not write himself, but his old friend Antonio Strollo, who had lived at Valva, only a mile from Culiano, acted as his amanuensis. He was very fond of Strollo, who was a dashing fellow, very merry and quite the beau of the colony, in his wonderful red socks and neckties of many colors.
Thus, even in the face of the facts proven against him, some "freak" juryman might still have said, "But, after all, how do you know that Strollo killed him? Some other fellow might have done it." Even the "faking" of a defence does not prove the defendant guilty, but merely that he fears conviction, and is ready to resort to feigned testimony to secure his freedom.
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