THE ALARM
The man realized in that instant that he had been tricked. He snarled
like a beast and sprang to one side.
Muggs was upon him before he could utter a cry. They clashed, each
trying to find the other's throat. Muggs found that this would be no
easy battle. Here was a man who was used to rough tactics, such as did
not meet with the approval of the Black Star.
Across the room they fought, Muggs trying to get the advantage, trying
to keep the other from shrieking for help, trying to get in a blow that
would silence his adversary for a time.
The servant fought to carry out his orders that Muggs should be kept
prisoner; but Muggs fought with the knowledge that he was trying to
prevent the Black Star from having success in his latest undertaking,
trying to help Roger Verbeck to victory.
Back and forth across the room they continued to battle. They fought
fiercely, and both were becoming exhausted. Now they were on their feet,
wrestling, and now they were upon the floor, rolling over and over,
striking at each other, reaching for each other's throat and eyes.
And finally Muggs managed to get the grasp for which he had been
striving. The servant gave a groan of pain, and his hold on the valet
relaxed. Muggs choked--choked, and finally sprang to his feet and
looked down at the unconscious man.
He would be unconscious for some time, Muggs knew, as he did not intend
to waste precious time binding and gagging him. He ran to the door
through which the Black Star had gone, and stood there for a moment to
listen. He heard nobody outside--remembered that nobody had been
attracted by the sounds of combat.
Muggs lifted the curtain, opened the door, and stepped into a dark hall.
He had no weapon, no electric torch, not so much as a match in his
pocket. He ran lightly to the end of the hall and found another door.
This he opened cautiously, an inch at a time. He found that it opened
into a room that was dimly lighted, a room that did not seem to have
seen much use.
Muggs hurried in and closed and locked the door behind him. On the
opposite side there was another door; Muggs listened at that for a time,
and then opened it. He found himself facing another hall.
He hurried into it, and went on. He came to a flight of stairs and went
up. He realized, now, that he had been in a basement. At the top of the
stairs was a large room, half filled with rusted machinery and empty
packing cases.
Muggs stooped and picked up from the floor a short iron bar; he had a
weapon now. On he went, across the big room to a window. He looked out.
He was in the manufacturing district, he knew. This building was an old,
abandoned factory. He could see the yard filled with scrap iron, the
high fence around it, and, beyond, the empty street. Farther beyond that
was the city, flashing with light.
Muggs started to raise the window. It stuck, but he managed to pry it up
with the bar of iron, stopping now and then to listen and watch. He
couldn't convince himself that the Black Star had left no guard other
than the servant now unconscious below. That wasn't at all like the
Black Star, Muggs thought. There must be a trap somewhere.
Then he remembered that the Black Star had been forced to move quickly.
Perhaps this headquarters had not been completed when the master
criminal had taken up his abode there.
Muggs got the window up, put out his head and looked around. It was
pitch dark beneath the window and along the wall. Muggs got through,
lowered himself and dropped.
He crouched against the wall, listening, the bar of iron clutched in his
hand, ready for instant fight if occasion demanded it. Then he started
following the wall, going toward where he had noticed a gate in the high
fence.
He reached the corner of the building, and glanced around it cautiously.
Not far from him, he seemed to see something move. Muggs was not sure at
first whether it was an elusive shadow or a man. He decided an instant
later that it was a man.
He scarcely breathed now. He had escaped thus far, and he did not intend
to be stopped. He did not intend to waste much time, either. Even now,
perhaps, the Black Star and his followers were surrounding the Branniton
residence. Even now, perhaps, they were robbing women of their jewels,
rendering the three men they had decided to abduct unconscious, and
preparing to carry them away.
Like a shadow, the iron bar held ready, Muggs crept along the wall in
the direction of the guard.
He was within ten feet of him when a match glowed. The flame shot up,
and Muggs could see that the match was burning in the man's cupped
hands, and that he was trying to light a cigar. Muggs covered the ten
feet in two springs, the iron bar swept through the air and landed.
There was a little whimper, and the Black Star's guard was stretched on
the ground.
Muggs turned and ran across the yard. He had decided not to try the
gate, for there might be another guard there. He sprang, grasped the top
of the fence, running the risk that it might be charged and deadly,
found that such was not the case, and drew himself up. A moment later,
he was in the street.
Muggs never had been much of a runner, but he ran to-night. Up the
street he went, his elbows glued to his sides, head bent forward,
stumbling and staggering over the rough cobblestones, but making
excellent progress. There was no person on the street, no vehicle in
sight. This was an old manufacturing district far down the river, where
there was nothing to attract people. Only a few street lights were
burning, and they were far apart.
Almost breathless, Muggs ran on. His heart was pounding at his ribs, his
side pained, his breathing was labored. He turned a corner into another
street, and continued running!
Would he never reach a telephone? Would he never run across a member of
the police force? Was there nobody in that end of town who could help
him? Block after block he ran, always looking for a light, for a dingy
saloon, for some place where he could get into communication with police
headquarters and give the alarm. He was in despair; he felt that he
could not keep up much longer.
Presently he saw lights ahead of him, and felt hope and joy surge within
him. Ahead, only two blocks away, was one of the barns of the city
street railway.
Panting, exhausted, Muggs stumbled through the entrance and ran into the
little office. Half a dozen conductors and motormen sprang from their
benches and hurried toward him.
"Quick--telephone!" Muggs gasped. "Police----"
He saw the telephone instrument on the wall, and lurched toward it. He
grasped the receiver, tore it from the hook, began calling into the
transmitter. One of the conductors was trying to talk to him; one of the
motormen was trying to stop him from using the instrument until he
explained. Muggs threw out a foot and kicked him away.
"Police headquarters! Police headquarters!" he shrieked. "This
headquarters? Give me the chief! This is Muggs! Yes--Muggs!
Hurry--hurry!--That you, chief? Mr. Verbeck there? This is Muggs. I
just--got away. Black Star's gang--going to raid--Branniton house--get
jewels--kidnap them swells----"
And then Muggs sank slowly against the wall.
His words had electrified the conductors and motormen. They picked him
up, and one of them continued the conversation, telling what had
happened, but he soon found himself talking to nobody. The chief had
recognized Muggs' voice and that had been enough.
The conductors and motormen threw water into Muggs' face, and he gasped
and sat up. They helped him to a bench and sat him there, while he
fought for breath, grasped his chest where it pained, struggled to
regain his strength.
"Got--to get there----" he gasped.
"Where?" one of the men cried.
"Richard Branniton's house--in the--West End!"
"The foreman's flivver's out in front; he'll let us use it," a conductor
cried. "I don't go on duty for an hour yet. Come on!"
He ran toward the curb, and Muggs staggered after him. Muggs got into
the cheap little car. The obliging conductor cranked it and sprang in
beside him.
"We'll get there quick, or we'll shake every bolt and nut off the blamed
thing!" he said.
The flivver lurched away down the street.
* * * * *
It would have done Muggs good had he been able to see the effect of his
message at police headquarters. The chief sprang from his chair
shrieking the news. Verbeck and the sheriff dashed with him through the
assembly room and out to the street, and as they went, the chief shouted
his orders. The reserves ran out and sprang into the automobiles, the
deputies did the same.
"Good Muggs!" Verbeck cried, as he drove like a fiend through the
streets. "I knew he'd do it--if he had a chance!"
Verbeck swung between two street cars, causing two motormen to turn pale
for an instant, and then to curse joy riders. Strung out behind the
powerful roadsters were the police cars. The sirens were not working
now. The chief had issued orders that they were not to be used if it
could be avoided, as it would indicate to the Black Star and his men
that they were coming.
"Hope we get him this time!" the chief shrieked into Verbeck's ear.
"Drive, man, drive!"
Verbeck drove. He forced the powerful roadster to do its utmost. He
called upon the expensive engine to pay for itself this night. He swung
around other vehicles, dashed around corners, swept up hills like a
comet.
They passed through the retail district, and got on a wide avenue where
there was not so much traffic, and where better speed could be made. And
now they were in the section of better residences, speeding on.
They turned another corner--and the Branniton house was but four blocks
away.