Naturally a crowd rushed
up in a moment, for it was in the middle of the day. Before the
injured man could make it understood who had struck him the assassin
was down the street and lost in the maze of old Naples where he well
knew the houses of his friends who would hide him. The man who is
known to have committed that crime--Francesco Paoli--escaped to New
York. We are looking for him to-day. He is a clever man, far above the
average--son of a doctor in a town a few miles from Naples, went to
the university, was expelled for some mad prank--in short, he was the
black sheep of the family. Of course over here he is too high-born to
work with his hands on a railroad or in a trench, and not educated
enough to work at anything else. So he has been preying on his more
industrious countrymen--a typical case of a man living by his wits
with no visible means of support.
"Now I don't mind telling you in strict confidence," continued the
lieutenant, "that it's my theory that old Cesare has seen Paoli here,
knew he was wanted for that murder of the old music master, and gave
me the tip to look up his record. At any rate Paoli disappeared right
after I returned from Italy, and we haven't been able to locate him
since. He must have found out in some way that the tip to look him up
had been given by the White Hand. He had been a Camorrista, in Italy,
and had many ways of getting information here in America."
He paused, and balanced a piece of cardboard in his hand.
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