Dick examined the letter closely. It was written on a soiled sheet of cheap, ruled paper, and the handwriting was evidently disguised. Towards the bottom of the page were crude drawings of a black hand, a coffin, and a hat-pin!
“When did you receive this, Mr. Attorney General?” he asked.
“By the four o’clock post. Wait a moment,” as Dick started to speak. “The mail was delivered just as I was leaving the Department to go to the White House, and I hastily gathered up what I thought were my personal letters, leaving the rest of my correspondence for Clark to look over. I opened this while driving home.”
“Can I see the envelope?”
“Certainly; but I am afraid you will find no clew there. It is postmarked ‘Times Square Station, N. Y.,’ and was mailed early this morning. It is next to impossible to trace anonymous letters through the post office, for they are usually mailed at an hour when no one is about.”
Dick tossed the envelope on the table. There was nothing to be learned from its ordinary exterior. It was addressed in the same disguised writing as the letter.
“Who is Fabriani?”
“An Italian importer. He and two other Italian merchants have merged their business, and have crowded out the smaller importers. Fabriani has resorted to illegal measures to force his rivals out of business. They have appealed to the courts to protect them against the merger.”
“I see.” Dick balanced the letter in his hand. “Do you think that it is Fabriani who is trying to intimidate you by making use of a Black Hand threat?”
“It has that appearance. Come,” glancing keenly at Dick, “what is your opinion?”