It often happens in fiction that a man journeys to a far country and somewhere on the voyage sheds his identity like an old suit of clothes to proceed through years of adventure as another individual; in the movies it is no feat at all for a girl to disguise herself as a man and hoodwink the rest of the actors through several hundred feet of film; but it remained for a New York detective to discard his name and his associations for six months, and without once stirring outside his jurisdiction, without any disguise, and without miraculous power, to add to the records--and consequently to the efficiency--of his department a store of information of one of the most troublesome groups of anarchists in the United States. He bade his little family in the Bronx good-by, got employment at manual labor in a Long Island City factory, and hired a cheap room at 1907 Third Avenue. Throughout November he attended meetings of the Brescia Circle, listening to bitter speeches full of wild plans to overthrow the government, and the organized church, and getting the lay of the land. To such members as chose to speak to him he was courteous and friendly, but they were not many. The more important members had a way of gathering in corners and whispering to each other, and the new member was not invited to join the charmed inner circle. So he held his peace, and memorized names and faces, and presently his opportunity came. Polignani had noticed on November 30 a young Italian cobbler, named Carbone, who seemed to have influence in the Circle, and he confirmed this judgment on the next two Sunday evenings as he saw Carbone in whispered conversation with Frank Mandese and one Campanielli. The next Sunday night the same trio was in star-chamber session when a good-natured wrestling match started in another part of the room, and Carbone turned to watch it. Polignani was tossing various members to the floor, and as he was smoothing his ruffled hair after a short bout, Carbone tapped him on the shoulder and said, “You’re a strong fellow--I’m glad to see you a member of the Brescia Circle!” The detective smiled, and the two fell into conversation, which continued as they left the society’s rooms and strolled up Third Avenue. “The trouble with those fellows,” said Carbone, “is that they talk too much and don’t act enough. They don’t accomplish anything.” “That’s right,” Polignani agreed. “What they ought to do is throw a few bombs and show the police something,” Carbone continued. “Wake them up! Look--” he held up the stumps of five fingers of his right hand--“I got that making a bomb. Some day I’ll show you how to make ’em.”