“Sit down, Tony,” he whispered in Italian. “We’ll find out about this later.”
“Suppose Savoli learns — ” There was no fear in Anelmo’s voice. His words carried only grimness.
“Savoli will not learn,” said Genara, in the same undertone. “Wait. We will talk later.”
“You mean — “
Genara released his grip on Anelmo’s arm. Tony nodded very slightly. He understood.
He and Genara had talked much together, particularly in that corner of Marmosa’s gambling den. Their words had been no more than veiled ideas. But they were schemers who understood each other.
They had a plan which now would be forced to its culmination. For some man — who, they did not know — knew the secret of their latest crime. With such men as Genara and Anelmo, a third person’s knowledge meant danger.
The room became quiet. Waiters had cleared the tables and gone away. The big shot was about to talk business, and while he had the floor, all must listen.
But even as Nick Savoli spoke, Genara and Anelmo were not listening. The sinister Sicilians were thinking only of that mysterious voice which had reminded them of their crime.
Had they known the source of the words, which had been uttered with the skill of a practiced ventriloquist, they would have realized that they were encountering a personage as sinister as themselves.