Mr. Dreux flushed angrily. "If he isn't one of the gang," he cried, "what was he doing with Salvatore di Marco and Frank Garcia the night after Donnelly's murder? What's he doing now with Caesar Maruffi if he isn't after him for money?"
Blake's amusement suddenly gave place to eagerness.
"Maruffi!" he exclaimed. "What's this?"
"Joe Poggi is blackmailing Caesar Maruffi out of the money to defend his friends. He was at di Marco's house an hour before Salvatore's arrest. I saw him with Garcia and Bolla and Cardoni more than once."
"Why didn't you tell this to O'Neil?"
"I tried to, but he wouldn't listen. When I said I was a detective he laughed in my face, and we had a scene. He told me I couldn't find a ham at a Hebrew picnic. Since then I've been working alone. Poggi has been lying low lately, but—" Bernie hesitated, and a slight flush stole into his cheeks. "I've become acquainted with his wife—we're good friends."
"And what have you learned from her?"
"Nothing directly; but I think she's acting as her husband's agent, collecting blackmail to hire lawyers for the defense. Poor Caesar! he's rich, and Poggi is bleeding him. Since Joe is on the police force he knows every thing that goes on. No wonder you can't break up the Mafia!"
"By Jove!" said Norvin. "I was warned of a leak in the department. But it couldn't be Poggi!"
He began to question Bernie with a peremptoriness and rapidity that made the little man blink. Mingled with much that was grotesque and irrelevant, he drew out a fairly credible story of nocturnal meetings between the Italian detective and Caesar Maruffi, which, taken in connection with what he already knew, was most disturbing.