"Oh, fudge," said Maclean, "I can't write anything out of that at all. We had it before, all but you people. I hate to go back without a story, too."
The front door clicked, and I heard Mr Tabor's voice in the hall.
"Wait a minute," I said, with a sudden inspiration, "perhaps I can dig up another story for you. But I'll have to see Mr. Tabor first."
I found Mr. Tabor in his study, glooming over a paper. "What is it?" he asked, half rising. "Is anything the matter?"
"I don't know," I said. "I opened a letter of yours by mistake, and it looked as if I had better bring it to you myself."
He took the dirty envelop gingerly, and drew out the inclosure. Across the top was a badly drawn human hand smudged in with lead-pencil. Below this ran an almost illegible scrawl.
"If yu dont giv her back she wil be taken."
"What on earth does that mean?" I asked.
Mr. Tabor knit his white brows. "It begins to look as though Carucci had been let out of jail for want of proof against him. Evidently he is going into the black hand business. I suppose a demand for money will come next."