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Updated: May 1, 2025
But inquiry always elicited the fact that their desire to give him encouragement was greater than the accuracy of their memories. Of course Antonio Strollo, who had become Toni's inseparable friend, shared all his eagerness to find Vito.
"Will you come to New York to identify the body?" Strollo hesitated. "Why yes certainly. I will go to New York." Then he added, thinking that his words seemed insufficient, "I am sorry if Torsielli has been murdered, for he was a friend of mine."
I swear upon the cross the revengeful Black Hand could save me. New York, Oct. 12, 1905. Sir Strollo, knowing you only by name, eight days after that I leave this letter will be sent to you. I leave at seven o'clock with the Steamer Britain the Harbor. Therefore I leave betraying my oath that I have held for the last three years belonging to the Black Hand.
Strollo made no attempt to explain the possession of this letter, which, if sent at all would naturally have come into the possession of the addressee. "And what was Vito's address at Yonkers?" inquired Petrosini. "1570 Yonkers," answered Strollo. "Is that the street number of a house or a post-office number?" asked the detective. "Neither," said Strollo. "Just 1570 Yonkers."
But Monday morning, walking lazily down the street near the railroad station, Strollo found himself suddenly confronted by a heavily-built man with a round, moon-shaped face thickly covered with pockmarks. Strollo did not like the way the latter's gimlet-like eyes looked him over. There was no time to turn and fly, and, besides, Strollo had no fear.
He told Petrosini that Toni had left Lambertville in the company of Strollo on Thursday, August 16th. This was Saturday, August 18th, and less than thirty-six hours after the murder. Strollo, reading "Alto Amore," and drinking in the saloon, suspected nothing. New York was seventy miles away too far for any harm to come.
As they proceeded they suddenly had seen a man standing under a tree and Torsielli had said to Strollo: "That man standing under that tree looks like my brother." Strollo had replied: "You know I am not acquainted with your brother." As they reached the tree the stranger had stepped forward and said to Torsielli: "Who are you?" "Who? Me? My name is Antonio Torsielli," had been the reply.
Many innocent men convict themselves in precisely this way. Accordingly it was by no means with confidence that the People went to trial, but throughout this remarkable case it seemed as if it must have been preordained that Strollo should not escape punishment for his treacherous crime.
As there is no local delivery in the town, she explained, "drop letters," or letters mailed by residents to other residents, may be franked for one cent. Now, in the first place, no Italian in Lambertville, except Strollo, so far as Miss Phillips could remember, had ever mailed a letter to another Italian in the same town.
Toni was now so faint that he begged his friend to stop. "Can we not get some food?" he inquired; "I can hardly walk." "There is a man in that field," said Strollo. "Go and ask him." So Toni plodded over to the man who was digging mushrooms and asked him in broken English where they could get something to eat. The man told him that it was a long way. They would have to take the trolley to Yonkers.
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