Instinct and experience told Verbeck that this sight might prove too
much for Muggs and he gripped the smaller man by the arm to indicate
that he was to maintain quiet. It was well he did so, for subsequent
proceedings were highly unusual and mysterious.
The Black Star nodded to the other man and stepped across the room,
where there was another small blackboard attached to the wall. When he
stood before it he nodded again, and the other picked up the chalk and
started to write, and thus they conversed, each writing on his
blackboard and erasing after the other had read.
“Number Six,” the man wrote.
“Countersign?”
“Florida.”
“Report,” wrote the Black Star.
“Carried out your instructions, but was caught by Verbeck and his
valet. Escaped when they went to call police.”
It seemed that the Black Star grew taller and straighter as he looked
at the other man, and Verbeck and Muggs could see his eyes glittering
through the black mask. They expected him to roar a rebuke, a
denunciation, but he did not. He faced the blackboard again and wrote
rapidly:
“You are a blunderer. We have no use for the man who fails.”
“I did not fail,” the other wrote on the board quickly. “I put a black
star on his bed and scattered others in library. I was putting letter
on desk when they caught me.”
“Did you come straight here?”
“No. I shook them off first. I got away before they raised an uproar.
Came on owl car, got off several blocks back, and cut down the hill.”
The Black Star motioned for him to erase this last, and then walked
slowly to the table. There was a pile of letters on one end of it, and
the Black Star picked up one and read it, shook his head, and put the
letter in the pocket of his robe. He pressed against the end of the
table, and a drawer shot open. Verbeck and Muggs could see that the
drawer was half filled with money and jewels.
The Black Star took out some money and threw it on the table. He
closed the drawer and walked back to his blackboard, and picked up the
chalk to write again:
“You will not be safe here for some time. Verbeck or his man might
recognize you. Take that money and catch the first train for Chicago.
Return and report one month from to-night at midnight.”
The other man read and bowed his head. There was no hesitancy in his
manner; he acted like a man who had received orders that he knew he
had to carry out. He went forward and picked up the money, and, with
it clutched in one hand, he backed to the door and lifted the other
hand in salute to the Black Star. The Black Star nodded, and the other
backed through the door and closed it.
Muggs hurried across the room to the window to watch, while Verbeck
remained gazing through the crack in the door at the Black Star, who
sat down in the armchair and began inspecting the letters on the
table. The minutes passed. Muggs returned and reported that the other
man had put the robe and mask in the box, and had slipped away through
the trees. Still the Black Star sat at the table, and that for which
Verbeck had been waiting did not come to pass—the master criminal did
not remove the mask from his face.
Another adventure appealed to Verbeck now. He decided to face the
Black Star in his den. He confided his intention to Muggs in whispers
and gave his orders, and, disregarding Muggs’ mouthings concerning his
“hunch,” slipped across the room to the window and let himself out.
He found the robe in the box and quickly put it on, then adjusted the
black mask. Beneath the robe, his hand clutched the butt of his
automatic. Searching the edge of the casement, he found a push button
and touched it with his finger. Inside, a bell tinkled.
A few seconds passed, and then there was a sharp click and the door
flew open. Verbeck entered and closed the door after him. Before him
was a long corridor, musty, the air in it rank, dust on walls and
ceiling. It appeared that the entire house had not been renovated,
only the one room.
Verbeck slipped along the corridor to where a streak of light entered
it, indicating a door. Holding the pistol ready beneath his robe, he
opened the door and stepped into the room, and stood beside the
blackboard as the other man had done. The Black Star was not there.
The seconds seemed hours as he waited, trying to keep his eyes away
from the door behind which he knew Muggs was watching him, his ears
strained to catch the first sound of the master criminal’s approach.
Then the other door opened, and the Black Star appeared and walked to
his station on the other side of the room. He nodded his head, and
Verbeck picked up chalk and eraser and turned to the blackboard.
He was playing a dangerous game, and did not know how soon he would be
detected. He felt small fear, for Muggs was waiting to help him, and
he had heard nothing, seen nothing to indicate that the Black Star had
allies in the house.
“Number Four,” Verbeck wrote on the board.
“Countersign?”
“Florida,” wrote Verbeck.
He turned to find the Black Star’s eyes glittering straight into his.
The flaming jet on the hood seemed to be dancing in derision. Verbeck
wondered whether he had made a mistake, and he soon found out, for the
Black Star turned to the blackboard and wrote rapidly:
“Number Four is a woman, and Florida is not her countersign.”
And then he faced Verbeck again.
The crisis had arrived sooner than Verbeck had expected. The Black
Star knew him for an intruder, and knew also that he must have
observed a great deal to be able to don robe and mask and start the
blackboard conversation. The master criminal could be expected to act
with dispatch.
Before the Black Star could make a move Verbeck’s robe parted and his
left hand emerged, holding the pistol ready for instant action. With
his other hand he waved toward the armchair, and then he spoke:
“Sit down! And put your hands flat on the table!”
His eyes still glittering into Verbeck’s, the criminal obeyed.
Standing at the end of the table, Verbeck confronted him, scarcely
knowing what step to take next. The man before him did not speak, but
those glittering eyes—burning, malevolent, ominous—seemed to cry out
with surprise, hatred, and threats.
“So you are the Black Star?” Verbeck said. “Quite a comedy you play
here, eh? Masks hide faces and blackboards take the place of spoken
words. A very clever crook—you. But I said a clever man could find
you, and I say it again. This is the best proof of it, isn’t it? You
challenged me—and I have come. So your man thought he had escaped, did
he? If ever you see him again, tell him that his bonds were left loose
purposely, so that he’d escape and could be shadowed here. Allow me,
sir—Mr. Roger Verbeck, at your service!”
Verbeck raised a hand and tore off his mask, and bowed low in irony,
meanwhile watching his victim, for he did not make the mistake of
underestimating the cleverness of the man before him, and he was alert
for tricks. He saw the Black Star’s hands contract and his arms
stiffen, and imagined the master crook calling down curses on the head
of the man who had led enemies to his stronghold.
Then the Black Star spoke—in a low, penetrating voice, almost a
monotone, obviously disguising his real tones.
“I suppose you think you are very clever?” he said.
“I don’t advertise my cleverness like some persons, and then fail to
live up to my estimation of myself,” Verbeck replied.
“You have done something no outsider has done before—you have seen the
Black Star in his workshop. That is, indeed, a rare privilege. And, of
course, you’ll pay for it in the end.”
“You think so?” Verbeck asked.
“I presume you started out with the intention of handing me over to
your stupid police. The greatest and most difficult thing, you perhaps
thought, would be to locate me. Well, you have located me—and your
task is but begun.”
“Indeed?”
“It takes evidence to convict.”
“Naturally,” said Verbeck. “Suppose I call the police now. How about
the robe and mask you wear, that star, these blackboards, those
printed letters identical with ones that have been received by the
police and the newspapers? Evidence? This room is full of it!”
“But, when you get right down to the point,” said the Black Star,
“you’ll want evidence of theft and burglary, you know.”
“I never heard of a gang yet where some one wouldn’t turn state’s
evidence.”
The Black Star chuckled, and through the slits in his mask his eyes
seemed to be dancing with delight.
“That is just where my cleverness comes in,” he said. “To show you how
little I fear you, Roger Verbeck, I’ll tell you things no man knows
except myself. I can tell you, for instance—and it is the truth—that
the Black Star does have a band working for him, but that not one of
them ever saw his face or heard his voice.”
“Nonsense.”
“Not nonsense, but the truth. So certain am I as to what is going to
happen to you, Roger Verbeck, that I’ll reveal secrets and show you
how useless it would be to fight me, before you—er—cease to trouble me
further. I say no member of my band ever saw my face or heard my
voice, and it is the truth. I say, moreover, that I never saw the face
of one of my band or heard his voice, that I know nothing of their
names or identities, and, whenever a crime is committed, I do not know
which person or group does the work. Can you understand that? Turn
state’s evidence, Mr. Verbeck? Not a man of them knows a thing to
tell, except against himself.”
“Rot!”
“The truth,” said the Black Star. “Attend me closely. I reveal my
methods to you, because you’ll never pass them on. I began my work
years ago. I have a genuine partner, who is not in this city at the
present time. When I decided to invade this town he came here. He
rented this old house and fixed up this one room in it. The
furnishings were carted one at a time, and they were unloaded several
blocks away and fetched here at night. When everything was ready, I
came.
“My gang? This one man who knows me got the gang together. Every one
of them is an expert in his particular time. Each was eager to work
under me, for I am in a position to insure success and big profits. My
organization extends farther than you dream. Each man was fetched here
and taught what to do. Here he comes to get orders and to report.
There is no conversation except on the blackboard; and masks are
always worn.
“At the first, these men drew numbers out of a box, and in addition I
gave each a countersign. I issue orders by number, and they report by
number. If I was on the witness stand at this moment and wanted to
betray my men I couldn’t do it. I could only say that a certain crime
was committed by Number One, for instance—but if all were lined up
before me I couldn’t swear they were members of my band, because I’d
not know. Do you understand that, Mr. Roger Verbeck? Very clever, eh?
We work together, yet were we to pass on the street we’d not dream we
knew one another. Absolute protection—you see? Hand me over to the
police this minute—if you can—and it will avail you nothing. No jury
would convict on the evidence that could be presented. And my
organization, in a hundred different ways, would come to my rescue.”
“I thought none of them knew you,” said Verbeck.
“That is the truth. You do not understand everything yet. I have a
band of men who do the real work. And I have an organization that
collects knowledge I must have. Every man and woman in that
organization has a very good reason for being loyal to me——”
“Women?”
“Yes,” said the Black Star. “Many women! People in every walk of life.
And, naturally, I have arranged it so that I could harm them, but they
never could harm me. I heard of your foolish boast of last night,
didn’t I? How do you suppose I knew that? And I can tell you the
combination of the safe in your dressing room, Mr. Verbeck, if you are
skeptical, and tell you also that there is nothing in it at the
present time that we desire. There is a bundle of stock certificates
and deeds in the upper right-hand pigeonhole, and a score or more old
coins in a drawer at the bottom.”
“How do you know that?” Verbeck demanded.
“I know a multitude of things, Mr. Verbeck. Get this idea in your
head—I do not know the names or faces of my real workers, but I do
know the identities of those who gather my information. I know them,
and could punish them—but they do not know me. Tidy little
arrangement? I fancy you’ll not find a flaw in it.”
“You have deluded yourself into thinking it is perfect,” replied
Verbeck. “Suppose one of your crooks is captured while committing a
crime, and brings the police down on you to save himself?”
“He would not. If he kept his mouth closed, the organization would
save him. If he played traitor, the organization would save me and see
that he got the limit. I could convince you if I wished to talk more,
but I do not; I must protect the organization as it protects me. You
have pitted your cleverness against mine, Mr. Verbeck, and you have
been successful in your first attempt—you have located me. And now
what are you going to do about it?”
“Suppose I hand you over to the police?”
“Even if you could do that—and I am not admitting it—you’d be laughed
at in the end, and I’d probably conclude by suing you for heavy
damages. Believe me when I say everything has been thought of, and for
every attack there is a defense arranged. Also, to hand me over to the
police would be to warn all the others, and you’d have a difficult
time convicting me without their testimony. And there is another
thing——”
The Black Star hesitated.
“Say it!” said Verbeck.
“I have said that my organization is far-reaching. If you meddled in
my affairs, the chickens might come home to roost. You are up against
something regarding the magnitude of which you know very little, Mr.
Verbeck. I have only just begun my organization in this city, but
already it is broad enough to cause you pain and chagrin, did I put it
to work.”
“I suppose,” said Verbeck, “that you imagine you are going to frighten
me by this lot of pointless talk.”
“You may be a very clever man in some things, Mr. Verbeck, but in this
you are no better than a babe. Did I take the fancy to do so, I could
make you one of my organization, too. But you have gone too far for
that—you have discovered too much.”
“You’d make me join your band of crooks!” exclaimed Verbeck, laughing.
“I could force you to be a loyal and obedient member, believe me, if
such was my desire. You do not realize, sir, the strength of the Black
Star and his band. You do not realize how very little you know. You
have heard my voice, that is true, and you have seen my workshop—but
even you, Roger Verbeck, have not seen my face.”
“And what is to prevent me taking a look at it now?”
“This,” said the Black Star. “You are standing at the end of the table
with a pistol in your hand. I am seated, and my hands are on the table
before me, so that you could fill me full of lead before I could get a
weapon from beneath my robe. But the toe of my left shoe, Mr. Verbeck,
is resting on a button in the floor—a button that works a trigger—and
you are standing over a cement-lined pit twelve feet deep. Before you
could shoot, my toe would press the button—so! And down you go, Mr.
Verbeck, through the floor and into the pit, and the trapdoor comes up
again—so!—and you are a prisoner in the darkness—you who tried to
match wits with the Black Star!”
It all had happened in a second of time. A section of the floor had
swung downward with a crash, and Roger Verbeck had been dashed to the
bottom of the pit. The one shot he fired went wild, the bullet burying
itself in the ceiling. The trapdoor closed again—and the Black Star,
standing at the end of the table now, threw back his head and laughed
uproariously.
And the laughter died in his throat as he sank suddenly to the floor!
For Muggs was through the door as Verbeck shot downward, and the butt
of his automatic had crashed against the Black Star’s head just behind
the left ear.