"They told me to hide or the Americans would kill me. Madonna mia! I am no Mafioso! I—I wish to see my father."
"I will take you to him now."
"You will not harm me?"
"No. You are perfectly safe."
But the boy still hung back, stammering:
"I—am afraid, Si'or. After all, you see, I know nothing. Perhaps I had better wait here."
"But you will come, to please me, will you not? Then when you find that the policemen will not hurt you, you will tell us all about it, eh, carino?"
He led his shrinking captive out through the front of the house, whence the crone had fled to spread the alarm, and lifted him into the waiting cab. But Bernie Dreux was loath to acknowledge such a tame conclusion to an adventure upon which he had built high hopes.
"L-let's stick round," he shivered. "It's just getting g-g-good."
"Come on, you idiot." Blake fairly dragged him in and commanded the driver to whip up. "That old woman will rouse the neighborhood, and we'll have a mob heaving bricks at us in another minute."