Place Buddy onι the North of the length unboxing This is the World Adventurers Club, a group of daredevils, explorers, and sensational adventurers who will thrill you with dazzling accounts of their rendezvous with death. We open the meeting with a quartet. Some think the world is made for fun and frolic, and so do I, and so do I. Some think it's well to be a melancholic, to pineside, to pineside. I'm allowed to spend my time singing some joyous song, some joyous song, to set the air with music bravely ringing, far from wrong, far from wrong. Parking, parking, music sounds afar. Parking, parking, music sounds afar. Funiculi, funicula, funiculi, funicula. Music sounds afar, funiculi, funicula. Gentlemen, the speaker of the evening will be a member whose life has had all the glamour of an adventurous novel and the additional attribute of truth. May I present the eminent criminologist, Professor D'Agostino. Gentlemen, you have honoured me by assuming I might have an interesting story to tell you this evening. We know you're here. Yes, tell us some strange adventure. Yes, in a strange land. Perhaps I could not tell you of a land stranger than my own. Italy, eh? Yes, at least a strange town of my land, the inhabitants of which were to the last man disciples of the once dreaded Mafia. Oh, called the Black Hand, wasn't it? Yes, the Black Hand. Real organization title was La Camorra, invented by a Spaniard. The name Camorra means to obtain by force, grasped. Oh, they were definitely organized? Yes, and it took tireless years of work to check these vultures and buzzards who preyed only on their own people, the Italians. Indeed. Oh, they were wiped out, weren't they? Yes, by the Iron Man of Italy, Benito Mussolini. Oh, the dictator, eh? Yes, he heard and heeded the cry of outraged Italians who begged to be saved from these extortionists. Tell us the story. Yes, go on. Well, the Camorra had squirmed its slimy way around the world in a maze of spectacular misdeeds, from murder to petty lasny, all directed from Palmyra, the headquarters, by an evil half-breed, one Capilani. Gentlemen, tonight I take you into the midst of the infamous organization, rubbing elbows with the Black Handers. Listen, be quiet, meet the notorious Capilani. Come in, Gaspar. How well you knew it was me. I know the knuck of everyone in the organization. Did you bring the money? Gold, yes, here it is. Good, but hardly enough for Senor Marcel the banker to pay not to be kidnapped. Perhaps later you may extort more. There will be no later for me, Gaspar. After tonight I leave the Camorra. I thought you were leaving for Rome in a month. I have changed my mind, I leave tonight. That is, if that merchant comes through on the way to Sicily. He'll be on time. That method of signaling you are devised shows just how devilishly clever you are, Capilani. Yes, well, if I can keep the ritual of the Camorra from falling into the hands of Mussolini, then you can call me smart, but until then... But what? Go on, you can trust me. Mussolini, the dictator is determined to wipe out the mafia. I have made my pile out of it, so I am going to return to Rome to my family. A family? Yes, I have kept it quiet for reasons of safety. I have never told a soul. Leaders sometimes make enemies who strike at them across the shoulders of their loved one. You surprise me. You're being capable of love. Gaspar, I am insanely fond of my son. I haven't seen him in 15 years since I founded the Camorra here in Palmieri. There goes that noise again. One of my means of communication. You see, woodchoppers are stationed along the road, and when someone unknown to them approaches, they start chopping on the trees, spelling out the danger code. Another, the bell in the church all soaring. Everybody is of the Camorra. You can understand the code? Yes. Listen, a short man is coming. I wonder if it can be the merchant from Rome. Maybe it's one of Mussolini's agents. No, no, listen. It is one of my agents. He brings returns from Genoa. Come in. I greet you, Capilani. Here are the bags. Good. How goes it in Genoa? All fair. The Depression has wiped out many fortunes. Too bad. Well, that is all. You may repair to the inn. You leave for Genoa in the morning. Rest well. Good night. Good night. Singing reminds me of home. My son. He was a great singer. The song Angela Mia, that was his favorite. He sang to me for hours. Well, let's hope that you'll see him soon. Well, let's hope so. There's the train from Rome, pulling into the station. Yes, soon I will know whether the rich merchant with the gold is on the way to the inn. To be robbed and murdered. This is a queer business I am in. Yes, very queer. Listen, the station agent telegraphs me. The rich merchant has started toward the inn. When will they rob him? Maybe on the road. Maybe they will wait until he goes to sleep tonight. He carries a black bag. The money. Yes. He's supposed to meet another merchant here. The Camorra is the merchant he will meet. How do you get a line on these rich merchants? Our Rome headquarters arranged it. This man is the agent for a wine merchant. He plans to buy the wine from the wine farmers in Sicily. Come in, Francesco. Chief, the merchant is coming down the back road. Shall we wait until he goes to bed at the inn? Use your best judgment. Strike while the iron is hot. Is this merchant strong or weak, young or old? About your size, your build. About 20 years younger than you, but looks much like you. Enough to be your brother. Very, very good looking. Fratering your chief, eh? Francesco, you devil. Here is gold for your compliment. Now get out. Attend to the merchant. Let there be no slip. My tools are sharp. There'll be no slip. It will be over quick. A devilish fine fellow, Francesco. A wizard with a knife. Yes, he looks it. Listen. The merchant sings before his death. Francesco is trailing him. That's all. Your favorite. Your son sang it, didn't he? Yes, Angela Mia. My son sang it to me. Wait. The merchant came from Rome? No, it couldn't be, Apple Army. The merchant looked like your son. Francesco said so. Zacheradio. Could it possibly be my own son? Good heaven, do not let this happen. Pray, Gaspar, that this merchant is not my own son. No, no, Gaspar. Do not pray. It couldn't be. The song has stopped. Francesco has cut his throat. It couldn't be, my son. You're trying to frighten me, Gaspar. Apple Army is not easily frightened. Oh, it couldn't be, my own son. God plays queer tricks. Only the ignorant and the weak think there is a God. It is over, chief. One stroke of the knife. Francesco never slips. Here is the belief. Oh, heavy too with gold. Gaspar, look at the name on that police. What is the name? Antonio Capilani. My firstborn, Antonio. What is the matter? You have killed my son. Not I. It was the Camorra. They hated you. They knew you were getting out. They trapped you in the They trapped you in the sun. Francesco, you wizard draw your knife. You shall fight me. You kill the sun. You'll have to kill the father. As you will. Francesco will fight. Fight for the Camorra. Francesco, come on. Try to kill the father. My knife is sharp. I'll kill you. And Francesco killed the father. This resulted in a wholesale roundup of black handers all over the world by Mussolini. He built immense steel cages in the courts. Tried and convicted them by the hundreds. He wiped out the Camorra. Yes, but what about Gaspar? He was a secret agent of Mussolini. He has just told you the story. You professor? Right, the professor himself. In your flesh. And now folks, the World Adventurers Club bids you adieu. Bringing to you soon again a distinct surprise. A strange but pleasant adventure in a strange land. Gierdy boat ride of sufferings. One and all of age. You