Collins promptly wrote out a telegram and sent it to police head-quarters, and when the train left he followed the second man, who had been earnestly talking meanwhile to the first suspect. Collins was now taken up-town to One Hundred and Sixtieth Street, to what is known as "Little Italy," a locality entirely given over to Italians. Just near the famous "Gas House" the followed man stopped and looked carefully about him. He saw Collins, but took him to be only another Italian like himself. Reassured, he crossed the street and entered a saloon known as the "Slaughter-House," because of the many "knifings" which had taken place there. Collins walked right into the place and called for a drink. His man was nowhere to be seen, but the detective noticed that several men who had been seated at different tables slowly walked to the rear of the place and ascended a stairway leading above. After a minute or two he turned to the bar-tender. "Have you seen So-and-so"--mentioning some imaginary person--"about to-day?" he inquired. The man replied that he did not know the man referred to. "That's strange," continued Collins. "He told me down at the bank to meet him here." "What bank?" queried the bar-tender. "Barracola's," replied the detective. In an instant the young Italian had grasped Collins by the arm, and, pulling him toward him, whispered fiercely, "You confounded fool! Don't you know that name is forbidden? You must be an outsider." Collins professed ignorance of what was meant, and the youth, evidently fearing he had said too much, then tried to turn the matter off. One of the loungers in the place now walked forward and engaged the detective in conversation, trying to discover whether he was a member of any one of the various legitimate societies formed by Italian workmen. Collins, however, returned nothing but stupid answers, and the man turned away disgustedly, saying, half to himself, "He's only some fool!" [Illustration: "IN AN INSTANT THE YOUNG ITALIAN HAD GRASPED COLLINS BY THE ARM."] Having finished his drink, the officer left the place. No thought of the "Black Hand" had entered his mind in all this, but he seemed to scent something wrong, and the detective instinct in him was aroused. He was curious to know what the Boston saloon-keeper's business with so prominent and respected a man as Antonio Barracola, the Italian banker, could be; and so, his business in New York finished, Collins returned to Boston. His chief there, on receipt of the New York telegram, had placed a watch on the saloon-keeper's movements from the moment he had arrived back in town. The man, whose name was Guido Conto, had, after leaving the railway station, gone direct to his place of business, and his movements ever since had been quite in keeping with his usual demeanour. Nothing whatever of a suspicious nature had been noted.