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WE HAVE YOUR SON. PRICE OF HIS SAFE RETURN IS $10,000. DO THIS NOW: WITHDRAW $10,000 IN SILVER CERTIFICATES (DENOMINATIONS OF $100) FROM YOUR BANK. PLACE CERTIFICATES IN SEALED BOX OR OTHER CONTAINER NO LARGER THAN TWELVE INCHES LONG, EIGHT INCHES WIDE, AND SIX INCHES HIGH. HAVE MONEY BY 6 O’CLOCK TONIGHT. AWAIT OUR NEXT COMMUNICATION. DO NOT DOUBT WE WILL KILL YOUR SON IF YOU FAIL TO FOLLOW THESE INSTRUCTIONS.

It was signed, in a malevolent flourish of ink, THE BLACK HAND.

The police were called at once, and Chief of Detectives John J. O’Connor personally took charge of the investigation. He ordered a thorough canvassing of the neighborhood, which included the busy shops of the Chicago, St. Paul, Minneapolis, and Omaha Railroad, where a thousand men worked. Someone, the chief believed, must have seen or heard something. But the canvass turned up only one piece of useful information. A boy playing in the yard of his home saw Kirchmeyer walking down Lee Avenue toward the brewery. He was alone and gave no sign of distress. Beyond this meager report, not a single clue emerged as to the young man’s whereabouts or how he might have been spirited away. It was, O’Connor remarked, as though Kirchmeyer had been “snatched up by the devil himself in broad daylight.”

Like most of St. Paul, Shadwell Rafferty learned of the kidnapping that afternoon when the Dispatch reported the story under a headline that read, BLACK HAND GRIPS BREWER’S SON. The reference to the Black Hand was well understood by readers of the newspaper, which in recent months had presented a series of sensational articles about a supposed “terrorist organization” of that name. It was said to be controlled by “a gang of foreign-born criminals” operating from the shanty town that sprawled along the Upper Levee flats beneath the new High Bridge. Various acts of extortion and even murder were attributed to the shadowy group, though details were regrettably sparse, and no criminal charges had ever been brought against any of the alleged gang members.

A newsboy had brought in the Dispatch as Rafferty and his longtime friend and chief bartender, George Washington “Wash” Thomas, were enjoying a late lunch of roast beef and boiled potatoes at the saloon, which was blessedly quiet after the noon rush. Rafferty read the kidnapping saga aloud in his powerful basso, pausing now and then to chew over a particularly intriguing detail.

When Rafferty had finished, Thomas said, “Well, it’s a strange one, Shad. Maybe you should call Mr. Kirchmeyer and see if you can help. Don’t you two go back a ways?”

“We do, Wash, though it’s been awhile since I’ve seen him. Fact is, I think the last time we talked was after that business a few years ago when Jimmy O’Shea was cartin’ away his prized lager.”

Thomas, who was not fond of confined spaces, remembered the case all too well. He and Rafferty had spent hours in the dank brewery caves setting a trap for the elusive O’Shea, whom the police seemed unable to track down. Kirchmeyer had been so pleased by the thief’s capture that he sent a month’s worth of lager to Rafferty’s saloon as a token of gratitude.

“What about Kirchmeyer’s son? Do you know him at all?” Thomas asked.

“Met him once or twice. ’Tis said he’s a bit on the wild side. Of course, so were you and I at that age. I seem to remember hearin’ that the lad went off to school out east for a while to study surveyin’ or some such thing but didn’t stay for long. There was woman trouble, I think.”

“I know all about that kind of trouble,” Thomas said, a mischievous grin spreading across his broad black face.

“Yes you do,” Rafferty agreed. “You are a regular expert in that department, Wash. Now then, what do you think about this kidnappin’ business? Do you believe it is the work of the Black Hand, assumin’ there is such a thing?”

Thomas knew that Rafferty had been skeptical of the earlier news stories. Unlike the reporters who wrote for the Dispatch, Rafferty actually knew many residents of the Upper Levee. If a cutthroat gang had been operating there, Rafferty thought, he would have been aware of it.

“I’m guessing you’re not convinced,” Thomas said. “Any particular reason why?”