_The one hope for these boys now rests in the hope that we may be able to unearth new facts. This means endless investigations. It means that every clue as to the real bandits must be followed up expertly and carefully. As you know this means money._ Thus, briefly, Moore stated his problems for the next three years, and the last problem would always be the most harassing, the one that would seem to be squatting like a dollar sign on the doorstep of Rollins Place each time he returned. For him money was a wretched commodity, something that arrived in the morning and went out in the afternoon, a means merely through which he might obtain more publicity, wider investigations. His restless and inventive mind never stopped thinking of new angles to explore. One week would find him at the federal penitentiary in Atlanta on a tip that two inmates there were connected with the gang that, it was rumored, had really pulled off the Bridgewater job. The next week might find him uncovering the bigamous career of a prosecution witness. Pressed constantly for funds, he wrote countless dunning letters, cajoled his old radical friends and associates from coast to coast, unabashedly appealed to prominent strangers, cultivated sympathetic old women. Given enough money, he was sure he could win. The trial had been over for half a year, the sentencing of the two men lay somewhere in the months ahead. General interest dwindled. Only the most faithful sympathizers still sent in contributions. The Defense Committee had moved from Battery Street to the more central Hanover Street, where most of the North End Italian shops were located. Eugene Lyons, returned from Italy, now replaced Art Shields. The new headquarters at number 256 was on the third floor, a large garret anteroom leading into a small inner office. Every Thursday night the committee members would climb the warped, narrow stairs to listen to a repetition of what had been said the week before. Three or four times a year there would be a meeting of several hundred sympathizers at Paine Memorial Hall in the South End, most of them Italian comrades, with a sprinkling of Back Bay dissidents, members of the Civil Liberties Committee, and the more radical trade-union officials.