"Tell him," he said to the restaurant-keeper, "that I shall say nothing about it, that I am not a policeman, nor a spy; tell him that so far as I am concerned I do not know that he had anything to do with it, and return him the paper."
And bending forward, he reached out the paper to the Italian, who first snatched it eagerly, and then, having secured it, made a ceremonious bow. The proprietor of the restaurant translated the boy's words, and with a brief reply, which Hamilton rightly construed to be thanks, the stranger left the store. No sooner was he gone than the restaurateur, with a word of apology, sank into the nearest chair, fairly exhausted with fright.
"I tell you, sair," he said, as soon as he could get his breath, "I had-a nothing at all to do with that-a man."
"It's pretty hard to know about these things," said Hamilton, who was somewhat unnerved himself, "but I don't believe you had. Anyway, there's no harm done. I've always heard about the Black Hand society, but I didn't expect to run across it first thing, that way."
"There is no Black-a Hand society," the Italian said, "at least I do not think there is."
"How do you mean there's no Black Hand?" asked Hamilton a little indignantly, "haven't I just seen it?"
The Italian shook his head.
"What were you so scared about, then?" queried the boy impatiently.
"Mafia," said the other, his lips just shaping the syllables.
"You mean that the Mafia use the Black Hand?"