“Money, I dare say,” he said tersely. “The usual thing! At least, I suppose that's what he had originally intended to come for—but we didn't get as far as that. The fight at Vinetto's seemed to have left him with but one idea. When he got here he was in a devil's rage. The only thing that seemed to be in his mind was to get some clothes that wouldn't attract attention, instead of the torn ones he had on, and to get out again as soon as he could with the object of getting even with this gang of Baldy's. He said they were the ones that 'sent him up' on account of their evidence at his trial, and that they were after him again now because of the stolen money that they believed he had hidden somewhere. He was like a maniac. He said he'd see them and everybody else in hell before they got that money, and he swore he'd get every last one of that gang—and get them in a bunch. I didn't know what he meant then. I tried to quiet him down, but I might as well have talked to a wild beast. I tried to get him to stay here and go to bed—instead, he laughed at me in a queer sort of way, and said he'd wipe every one of that crowd off the face of the earth before morning. I began to think he was really crazy. He put on the clothes I gave him, and went out again.”
Barjan nodded.
“You don't know it,” he said quietly; “but that's where the police lost track of him—when he ran in here.”
“I didn't even know the police were after him,” said Nicolo Capriano indifferently. “He came back here again about two o'clock this morning, and he had a small clockwork bomb with him. The fool!” Nicolo Capriano cackled suddenly. “He had found Baldy's gang all together down in Jake Morrissey's, and he had thrown the thing against the building. The fool! Of course, it wouldn't go off! He thought it would by hitting it against something. The only way to make it any good was to open the casing and set the clockwork. When he found it didn't explode, he picked it up again, and brought it back here. He wanted me to fix it for him. I asked him where he got it. All I could get out of him was that Tony Lomazzi had told him where he had hidden some things. Ha, ha!” Nicolo Capriano cackled more shrilly still, and began to rock in bed with unseemly mirth. “One of Tony's old bombs! Tony left the young fool a legacy—a bomb, and maybe there was some money, too. I tried to find out about that, but all he said was to keep asking me to fix the bomb for him. I refused. I told him I was no longer in that business. That I went out of it when Tony Lomazzi did—fifteen years ago. He would listen to nothing. He cursed me. I did not think he could do any harm with the thing—and I guess he didn't! A young fool like that is best out of the way. He went away cursing me. I suppose he tried to fix it himself under that arc light on the park bench.” Nicolo Capriano shrugged his shoulders again. “I would not have cared to open the thing myself—it was made too long ago, eh? The clockwork might have played tricks even with me, who once was——”
“Yes,” said Barjan. He stood up. “I guess that's good enough, and I guess that's the end of Dave Henderson—and one hundred thousand dollars.” He frowned in a meditative sort of way. “I don't know whether I'm sorry, or not,” he said slowly. “We'd have got him sooner or later, of course, but——” He pointed abruptly to the prison clothes on the bed. “Hi, take those,” he announced briskly; “they'll need them at the inquest.”
“There's some paper in the bottom drawer of that wardrobe over there,” said Nicolo Capriano unconcernedly. “You can wrap them up.”
Barjan, with a nod of thanks, secured the paper, made a bundle of the clothes, and tucked the bundle under his arm.
“We won't forget this, Nicolo,” he said heartily, as he moved toward the door.
“Bah!” said Nicolo Capriano, with a scowl. “I know how much that is worth!”
He listened attentively as Teresa showed the plain-clothesman out through the front door. As the door closed again, he called his daughter.