Verbeck and Muggs had taken many wild rides in the big roadster, but
nothing that compared to this. On the boulevard, the street cleaners
had removed most of the snow, but the slush had frozen, and the going
was treacherous. The car skidded from side to side, at times almost
turned end for end, lurched and swayed sickeningly.
Detective Riley gritted his teeth and clung to one end of the seat in
which Verbeck crouched. Muggs bent forward, squinting his eyes and
trying to get a clear view ahead. They turned corners and swept around
curves at dangerous speed, sprang down hills as if the car was some
wild thing running for life from a hereditary foe.
It was half past two o’clock in the morning, and few vehicles were
abroad, a fact for which Muggs gave devout thanks. They reached the
edge of the business district, yet he did not slacken the car’s speed.
Detective Riley had said no word since the start—now he was the sleuth
on the trail, the officer of the law ready to try conclusions with the
criminal. Neither did Roger Verbeck speak, not even to shriek orders
to Muggs, for Muggs did not need orders, and Verbeck was thinking of
the humiliation in store for him unless the master criminal was
caught.
Muggs dodged an owl car by less than a foot, and took a corner on two
wheels. Riley would have been dashed from the machine had not Verbeck
flung an arm around him. Down another hill they raced, and into a
cross street, where the heavy traffic of the day had obliterated the
most of the slush, and the going was safer.
They were within a few blocks of their destination now. Verbeck and
Riley were both wondering if the sergeant had been able to get to
another telephone and notify headquarters. The Black Star might have a
chance of escape if the block was not surrounded.
And they were not certain that he had not committed his theft and
escaped already. He had had plenty of time while they were following
the dictagraph wire, especially since it was certain his plans had
been made carefully. Would they arrive in time to find him at work?
Or, would they find the door of the vault open and a fortune in jewels
gone?
Riley bent over and screeched in Muggs’ ear:
“Stop that horn! And stop the machine at the corner this way!”
Muggs nodded that he understood. He drove around another corner, and
swung the roadster to a stop. Riley sprang to the walk, Verbeck and
Muggs following closely. They hurried around the corner and to the
entrance of the big building.
Automatics and electric torches were held ready now. There was no
watchman in the entrance, and they started to creep up the stairs to
the second floor. And there, at the top of the marble steps, just in
front of the heavy glass doors that opened into the establishment of
Jones & Co., they found the watchman.
He was stretched on the floor, bound and gagged and with a black star
on his forehead. Riley motioned for silence, and relieved the watchman
of gag and ropes.
“He slipped up on me,” the man whispered. “He’s inside now.”
“Only one?”
“Just one man!” the watchman whispered. “He tapped me on the head and
had me gagged before I knew what was happening. Then he bound me. I’m
sure there was only one man. He unlocked the door with a key.”
“How long ago?”
“Half an hour or more.”
“Then he’s gone out some other way,” Riley whispered to the others.
“He wouldn’t stay in there that long. What’s the matter with
headquarters, I wonder? I don’t hear any siren. Here, you, watchman,
go down and tell the men, when they come, to surround the block, and
send a few in here. We’ll go on in.”
The watchman tottered to the top of the stairs and started down. Riley
drew Verbeck and Muggs close to him.
“No lights until we’re sure where we stand,” he instructed. “He may be
ready to shoot, if he’s still in there, and a light furnishes a swell
target. There’ll be a faint light inside, reflected from the stairs. I
know this place. This is the only entrance except a freight elevator
at the rear. There are windows, of course, that open into the court.
I’m afraid he’s gone that way! Ready? Come on, then, and keep your
eyes open!”
Inch by inch Riley swung the glass door open, so as not to make any
sound. Inch by inch they crept inside and closed the door again. Here
the aisles were covered with thick carpets. An uncertain light came
through the door and made the interior of the gem store a mass of
shadows.
Before them was the general retail salesroom, with its rows of
counters and show cases on either side, and its divans and chairs in
the center. Slowly, carefully, holding weapons and torches ready, they
crept from shadow to shadow, scarcely daring to breathe, fearing they
would make a sound.
They soon were convinced nobody was in the salesroom. They came to the
partition in the rear, and found the door partly open. Here they
redoubled their caution. If the Black Star was present he was
somewhere behind that partition.
Riley opened the door carefully, and they stepped inside. Here they
found a dim light, too, coming in from the street. Here were tables
where diamonds were displayed to purchasing merchants, sets of mirrors
so an employee could see the entire interior at a glance, and, at the
opposite end of the room, the door to the great vault of Jones &
Co.—the vault that held always a fortune in jewels and was supposed to
be impregnable.
They crouched—and looked. Verbeck drew in his breath sharply.
The door of the vault stood open.
In it, his back toward them, gloating over a handful of jewels,
was—the Black Star!
As they watched, they heard him chuckle softly, saw him throw up his
head—_and walk into the vault_!
CHAPTER XXIV—HOW IT ENDED
Verbeck’s whisper was so low that Riley and Muggs scarcely could hear
it, yet they could detect the note of exultation:
“We’ve got him!”
That was all, and then they started to creep forward, their eyes on
the vault, from which not a bit of light came. The Back Star evidently
was working in the dark.
Foot by foot they made their way noiselessly toward the open door,
expecting every instant to see their quarry step forth and confront
them, ready to prevent him fighting his way to liberty. They listened,
too, for the sound of feet in the room behind them that would tell of
the arrival of the police, but the sound of feet did not come.
And now, at last, they were within six feet of the open door, staring
into the blackness of the vault, from which came not the slightest
sound. Verbeck felt his heart pounding at his ribs like a trip hammer
as they waited. The seconds passed.
Then Riley spoke in a low, tense tone, yet his voice seemed to roar
through the place:
“Come out, Mr. Black Star! We’ve got you!”
Silence their answer!
“Come out! Why delay the game?”
Still no answer. Riley reached out and touched Verbeck, touched Muggs,
a voiceless command for action. They crept forward again, Verbeck to
one side, Muggs on the other, Riley directly before the door. Now they
were in the shadows, and between them and the door was but a faint
streak of light that came through the windows from the street—a streak
of light they would have to cross to reach the vault door.
What would happen when they crossed that streak of light? Riley
imagined he knew. Verbeck felt sure that he knew. Muggs already
imagined he heard the cracking of an automatic, grunts of pain, faced
the whirlwind charge of a desperate, cornered man, fighting his way to
freedom.
“Come out!” Riley commanded again. “Come—or we’ll come in after you!”
Still no answer. Riley crouched and held the torch high above his head
in his left hand, ready to touch the button and send a shaft of light
into the vault. In his right hand he held the automatic, safety catch
off, ready to fire on the instant.
He touched the button.
Light shot through the blackness and illuminated a pathway through the
vault door and to the interior. From side to side Riley swung his
light, expecting every instant to hear the shot he anticipated. There
was no man in the light’s path, but it did not penetrate to the
corners.
Riley expelled his breath in a great gasp of determination, and
slipped forward. Verbeck and Muggs closed in. If the Black Star was
waiting for them to rush, then the moment for the rush had arrived.
Muggs could endure the suspense no longer. His nerves were on edge. He
gave a subdued squeal and sprang across the path of light, grasped the
door, hurled it shut, twisted the handle.
“We’ve got him—got him!” he screeched.
Riley’s light showed the perspiration standing out on his forehead in
great globules.
“Why did you do that?” the detective demanded.
“We’ve got him! Turn on the lights! The police will be here in a
minute, then he’ll have no chance to escape!”
Riley would have had it otherwise, and Roger Verbeck had anticipated
having the Black Star in shackles by the time the police arrived, but
that could not be helped now. Riley went around the room until he
found the electric switch; he threw it, and the room was suddenly
brilliant with light.
“Well, we’ve got him, anyway,” Verbeck said. “The Black Star may be
able to get into a vault, but I’ll defy him to get out of that one
except by the door.”
“Yes, and he’ll be dead before he gets out that way, if some one who
can open that vault doesn’t come soon. Where’s a telephone?”
He saw one in a corner, and rushed toward it and gave the private
number.
“That you, chief?” he asked. “This is Riley? Have you sent men? What’s
that—just started? Great Scott—— He did, eh? Say, chief, have the desk
sergeant telephone to the manager of Jones & Co. to hurry down here.
We’ve got the Black Star locked in the vault, and have to get it
unlocked. Yes—sure!”
He hung up the receiver and turned to the others.
“Men on the way,” he said. “The chief says he just got the telephone
message. Says the sergeant said he tried three phones near your place,
and all of them had wires cut. Pretty smooth article, that Black
Star—but we’ve got him! There they come now!”
From the distance came the sound of a siren, the clanging of a
patrol-wagon bell. Then the pounding feet on the marble stairs, loud
commands, and men rushed into the establishment of Jones & Co.
“We’ve got him!” Riley exulted. “Caught him at it! Locked him in the
vault! And now we’ll stand around until the manager gets here and
works the combination. He played a smooth game, all right—ask Mr.
Verbeck about it. But we got him! I reckon he’s mighty sorry now that
he stayed in town to make a fool out of Mr. Verbeck.”
They waited, crowding about the place, talking excitedly in whispers,
debating whether the Black Star would put up a fight when the door was
opened, whether he’d commit suicide and cheat the law, now that he was
cornered.
Then the chief came beaming, dreaming of the vindication of his
department the newspapers would have to grant. He grasped Verbeck by
the hand warmly, patted Muggs on the back, congratulated Detective
Riley.
“I didn’t tip off the reporters this time,” he said. “Too late for
’em, anyway. They’ll get it in the noon editions to-day, though. Laugh
at the police department, will they? Not after this!”
And then the manager of Jones & Co. arrived, a gentleman the
personification of dignity generally, but at present the
personification of excitement and dread. He stammered when he talked,
and threw up his hands in horror when he saw his establishment crowded
with police, and it took the chief some minutes to assure him that his
property was safe and the would-be thief locked in the vault.
He advanced to the door and prepared to work the combination. His
nervousness caused him to make a mistake at first, but finally he
nodded that all that was necessary to open the door was to turn the
handle.
The manager retreated then, to hide behind a show case in fear of
flying bullets.
“Might as well come out, Mr. Black Star, and take your medicine!”
Riley cried “We’ve got twenty men here, with guns pointing at that
door. You make a hostile move when we open it, and you’ll see your
finish!”
He nodded to the police, twisted the handle, and threw the door open.
Light flooded the interior of the vault. Half a dozen officers, Riley
at their head, rushed.
A cry of consternation came from the detective. Verbeck and Muggs
crowded through to look inside.
On the floor of the vault were empty trays that had held jewels. Among
them were empty chamois bags. Mountings of inferior value were
scattered about. But no master criminal stood before them, ready for
battle, or in token of surrender!
“Gone!” Muggs cried.
“But he can’t be gone!” Riley shrieked. “We saw him step into the
vault! We came right up, never taking our eyes from the door! Muggs
slammed the door and twisted the combination. There’s no way in or out
except the door!”
“Gone!” Verbeck echoed.
The chief of police swore. The manager of Jones & Co., who had left
his place of safety, tore his hair and lamented his loss and berated
the police.
“He—he can’t be gone!” Riley reiterated.
Verbeck, his heart sinking, stepped inside and looked around. Fastened
in the corner of one of the trays was what he had feared he would
find—a letter written by the Black Star and addressed to himself. He
read it swiftly, then handed it to the chief, and threw wide his hands
in a gesture of momentary despair.
And this is what he had read:
Mr. Verbeck and Aids: I am leaving this because I assume you’ll
find my other note at the house and follow me here. I dare say
that, when you entered you saw me standing before the open door
of the vault. You watched, and saw me enter the vault. Did you
not? You did not! Your eyes deceived you! I intend waiting here
until you arrive, to add one more small bit to my evening’s
entertainment.
Illusion, my dear Mr. Verbeck—all illusion. The dim light coming
in from the street, you know, helps some. You will notice that
there are many mirrors scattered around the room. I took the
liberty of moving a few of them to serve my purpose. Go back to
the door at which you entered and look at the vault. Have your
silly Muggs stand ten feet to the right of the door to the room.
Now look at the vault, Mr. Verbeck, and it will appear that the
silly Muggs is standing in the vault door. You follow? Simple,
old-fashioned mirror illusion that won’t even go at country
fairs any more. And you fell for that!
For, when you enter the room, I shall be standing within ten
feet of you, and you’ll imagine you see me in the vault door,
and creep forward. I’ll take two steps to the right, and you’ll
think I have entered the vault. You’ll advance toward it, and
I’ll step outside quietly to the window that opens on the court,
let myself down a rope already prepared, and be on my way—with
this excellent collection of diamonds. All thought out
beforehand, you see!
I have made you a laughingstock, as I promised, but I am not
done with you yet. I defy you again, Roger Verbeck, as I defy
the police. You’ll hear from me soon.
*****
They snapped out the lights and tried it—Muggs standing where the
Black Star had said—and found it was so.
They went to the court and found an open window from which a rope
dangled to the ground floor below.
Then they placed a guard and went out, leaving the manager to estimate
and bemoan his loss.
“He’s a devil—a devil!” the chief was muttering.
“He’s human—and we’ll get him yet!” Roger Verbeck answered, and the
fighting look was in his face when he spoke.
CHAPTER XXV—SHADOWED BY THREE
Roger Verbeck’s powerful, four-seated roadster, its curtains up
against the fine drizzle of rain, and with Muggs at the wheel, drew up
when the traffic policeman raised a warning hand, and waited for the
cross-town stream of vehicles and pedestrians to pass.
It was eight o’clock in the evening, and the streets were thronged.
Crowds were hurrying toward the theaters; more crowds were making for
a big automobile show, and others were hastening toward a large hall,
where there was to be a mass meeting, at which infuriated speakers
would demand that the police department of the city capture instantly
the Black Star, the notorious master criminal, who, with his band of
clever crooks, had terrorized the city for half a year.
Verbeck’s car was of foreign make and of peculiar appearance, and it
was natural that it should be recognized. Muggs bent over the wheel
and gritted his teeth as he heard the expressions passed by
pedestrians, and the young man beside him looked straight ahead as if
seeing nothing and hearing nothing.
“When you goin’ to get the Black Star?”
“What’s Black Star payin’ you to hold off, Verbeck?”
“That crook’s too much for you, ain’t he?”
“Well, well—so he hasn’t caught you again?”
Those were samples of the remarks being passed, and they made Muggs
want to get from the roadster and fight his way into the midst of the
mob. Muggs knew better than any one else how Verbeck, since the
memorable day when the Black Star had dared the young millionaire to
capture him, had tried every means in his power to get hands on the
master criminal.
The Black Star had written again to Roger Verbeck, saying that he and
his man Muggs would be abducted by the Black Star’s men, taken to the
master crook’s new headquarters, for which they had been searching in
vain, and from there taken to the scene of a big crime. They would be
forced to stand by under guard and watch the crime committed, and then
they would be treated to shots from the vapor gun the Black Star and
his men used, and left unconscious on the spot—laughingstocks for the
public.
That letter had been sent to the newspapers three weeks before, and as
yet the Black Star had not abducted Roger Verbeck and Muggs. The
criminal, in another letter to the papers, insisted that this was not
because he had not had an opportunity to effect the abduction, but
because preparations had not been completed for the next big crime.
So now, as Verbeck’s roadster waited at the corner, those who
recognized the car and its occupants enjoyed a few moments of
sarcastic abuse. It was nothing to the general public that Verbeck had
spent time and money in an effort to capture the master criminal after
the police had failed, that he had risked his life half a score of
times, and once even had been accused of belonging to the Black Star’s
band himself.
The unthinking public looked only at results—and there had been none.
Muggs and Verbeck and the few thinkers in the city knew well that, if
the Black Star was caught, these thoughtless ones would be the first
to praise Verbeck loudly; but in the meantime the sarcasm was highly
unpleasant.
After a time the traffic cop turned and raised a hand, and Muggs
growled again and threw in the clutch and piloted the heavy car across
the street and down the broad avenue. They were out of the congested
district within a few minutes, and speeding along a boulevard that led
to a section of the city where large and modern apartment houses were
to be found.
Half a block behind Verbeck’s roadster a man trailed on a motor cycle,
seemingly paying no attention to the car ahead, but in reality keeping
close watch on it. A short distance behind the motor cycle trailed a
runabout with one man in it. The runabout was a small car, but a
mechanician could have told after a second glance that it was a
powerful one. The man in the runabout was watching both the motor
cycle and Verbeck’s car.
A short distance behind the runabout was a lightweight truck. Behind
the wheel of the truck was a young man, who appeared eager to get home
after an overtime delay in making deliveries. He wore greasy overalls
and jumper, and a slouch hat pulled well down over his eyes. The
collar of the jumper was turned up to keep out the drizzle.
Thus the procession moved along the broad boulevard, and, after a
time, Verbeck’s roadster drew up at the curb in front of an imposing
apartment house. Muggs remained behind the wheel, but the man he had
been driving got out and hurried into the building. It was natural
that he did so, for on the ground floor lived his fiancée. The threat
of abduction, it appeared, did not keep Roger Verbeck from paying his
customary visits to his sweetheart.
The man on the motor cycle pulled in at the curb on the opposite side
of the street, dismounted, and appeared to be tinkering with his
machine. The runabout passed him, and its driver bent out and spoke a
few words as it passed, the motor cyclist nodding in reply. Then the
runabout went around the next corner, where it stopped, its driver
getting out and walking slowly back up the boulevard, like a belated
laborer on his way home.
The light truck did not pass Verbeck’s car. It turned into an alley
and pulled up behind a garage there. Its driver got out and walked
quickly back to the mouth of the alley, and there he peered around the
corner of a high fence and down the boulevard. He noticed that the
motor cyclist had left his machine and crossed the street and was
approaching Verbeck’s roadster. He saw the man who had been driving
the runabout walking slowly from the other direction.
The driver of the truck chuckled lightly to himself and remained at
the mouth of the alley in the shadows, watching.
CHAPTER XXVI—A MAN OF MYSTERY
Muggs, crouched down behind the wheel, watched the fine rain beat
against the wind shield of the roadster, and hoped he would not have
to remain in that position of inaction for long.
He observed a man approaching along the sidewalk, a man who glanced at
the apartment houses as if seeking a certain one. Directly opposite
the roadster this man stopped, looked around for an instant, and then
hurried over to Muggs.
“Know where the Albemarle Apartments might be?” he asked.
“They might be almost any place, but I’ve got an idea you’ll find them
in the middle of the next block,” Muggs replied. “It’s a big, white,
brick building.”
“Thanks,” the other growled.
He turned away—and as quickly turned back again. Reflection from the
light on the corner flashed from something he held in his hand. A
small cloud of vapor rushed at Muggs’ face. Muggs gasped, and his head
fell forward.
Instantly the other man sprang into the roadster, lifted the
unconscious form of Muggs from the driver’s seat, and placed it in the
rear seat, afterward throwing a robe over it. Then he took Muggs’
place behind the wheel, crouched forward, waiting.
The motor cyclist stopped beside the roadster at this moment.
“Got him all right?” he asked.
“Cinch! Muggs is now sleeping peacefully in the rear beneath a heavy
robe. I sure caught him off guard.”
“Well, Verbeck is the next job. He may stay in there talkin’ to his
girl half the night, and he may be out in three minutes. It’ll be a
game of wait, I guess. I’ll hang around to give help, if you need it,
and be ready to jump in as soon as you get him. You gave Muggs a heavy
shot, didn’t you?”
“I guess he’s good for half an hour in dreamland, all right.”
“Verbeck wants to get a heavy shot, too. When we get out on the river
road we can bind and gag the two of ’em. Careful now. If we miss out
on this the big boss’ll half kill us.”
“I ain’t never failed him yet, not the Bl——”
“Cut it!” the motor cyclist exclaimed. “Be gentle with that name
around these parts. This is the home of Verbeck’s fiancée, remember,
and Heaven knows what sort of cops might be posted around here. I’d
better duck now.”
He left the roadster and walked a short distance down the street,
finally coming to a stop against a wall. There he waited in the
shadows, as did the driver of the light truck at the mouth of the
alley. The truck driver had witnessed the undoing of Muggs, and had
chuckled some at it, but had made no move to interfere. Little cared
he if the Black Star’s men rendered Roger Verbeck’s chauffeur
unconscious and hurled him into the rear of the roadster!
Fifteen minutes passed. The motor cyclist left his retreat and walked
up and down the street now and then. The man in Verbeck’s car remained
crouched behind the wheel of the machine, and the truck driver at the
alley’s mouth did not change his position.
Then the front door of the apartment house was opened, and a man and
woman stood framed in it for a moment. The woman stepped back, and the
door was closed again; the man turned up the collar of his raincoat
and stepped briskly down the steps and toward the waiting roadster.
The watcher at the mouth of the alley betrayed some interest now. The
motor cyclist left his place of seclusion and walked forward slowly,
head bent as if against the force of the storm.
“Home, Muggs!”
The man who had taken Muggs’ place reached forward as he heard the
words and found the seat beside him occupied. And for the second time
that evening he turned swiftly and discharged a cloud of vapor from
the pistol he carried. For the second time also that vapor rendered a
man unconscious instantly.
“Great! Walked right into the trap!” It was the motor cyclist who
spoke. He got into the car and aided his companion in putting the
second unconscious man in the rear, under the robe. “Better let her
out now!” he went on. “We’ve got ’em both—Verbeck and Muggs. I reckon
we caught ’em off their guard. They didn’t expect to get that vapor
stuff right here on the boulevard. Great idea of the boss to always
give a man what he doesn’t expect! I guess this’ll put a crimp into
young and handsome Mr. Verbeck. Nail the boss, will he? Huh!”
The other had turned the roadster, and now it darted up the boulevard
at a speed perilously near the limit allowed by city ordinance. From
the mouth of the alley darted the light truck, and took up the
pursuit. The driver of it was chuckling again, evidently at the ease
with which the Black Star’s men had made Verbeck and Muggs captives.
The Verbeck roadster led the way up the boulevard, and, after a time,
turned into a side street. Down a long hill it dashed, with the light
truck following less than a block behind. Traffic was passing in both
directions, but the speed of roadster and truck did not diminish to
any great extent.
Now the residence district was left behind, and the two machines were
passing through the dark wholesale district. Here the truck dropped a
short distance behind, and its driver glanced around frequently to see
whether any other machine was following.
And then a railroad crossing was reached, and the roadster was forced
to stop against the gates while a long freight train was pulled slowly
by. The truck drove up and stopped behind it. The driver got down and
stepped across the sidewalk and into a cheap saloon on the corner
there. He came out again almost instantly, puffing at a cigar he had
purchased. He stood beside his truck, looking at the train, shaking
the raindrops from his coat collar. The two men in the front seats of
the roadster glanced at him, but apparently he gave them no attention.
The end of the train rattled past; the gates began to lift. The
roadster started slowly forward across the tracks. The man who had
been driving the truck gave a quick spring—and landed on the rear of
the roadster, where there was a broad bulge in the body, with an extra
wheel lashed upon it. Top and curtains were up; the men in the
roadster could not see him.
They were in the poorer part of the city now, and presently at the end
of the paved streets. Here there began a road that curved along the
river, and, after striking this road, the man driving the roadster got
all speed possible out of his machine. The other crept into the rear
end, lifted the robe, gave the two prisoners fresh shots from the
vapor gun, and then bound and gagged them.
On and on they rushed through the night, the wheels hurling mud in all
directions, the brilliant headlights cutting a path through the
darkness.
They came to a bridge, and so crossed the river. Here the man who rode
on the rear end of the car was exposed twice as it flashed under the
bridge lights, but no bridge tender observed him. It was a bad
night—the tenders merely stepped to the doors of their tiny houses,
saw that a motor car was passing, and let it go at that.
On the other side of the river, the speed of the car decreased. After
a time the machine was driven from the main road into a sort of lane.
Here the going was slower yet, for the mud was deep and the roadbed
cut into deep ruts. The car lurched from side to side in such fashion
that the man who rode behind was almost hurled off.
He could hear the men in the car talking now.
“Nearly there—better dim the headlights,” one of them was saying.
Instantly the headlights were dimmed, and in the semidarkness the car
plowed on through the mud. Now it approached an old house, from one
window of which a light flashed. The car was stopped. The man who had
been riding behind dropped off into the mud and crept through the
black night toward the fence.
One at a time, the two unconscious prisoners were taken from the
roadster, carried through a gate up a walk, and to the front door of
the old house. A bell would tinkle, the door would be opened, the
prisoner handed over. After that had been done, the roadster, with all
lights out, was turned around and left in front of the gate. Then the
men who had accomplished the abduction entered the house, and the one
light that had shone from a window was extinguished.
Now the man who had been crouching against the fence moved rapidly,
yet with extreme caution. He crept past the gate, and where a great
tree threw its branches over the fence he vaulted over. Standing
against the trunk of the tree, he waited for a time in silence,
listening intently for some noise that would tell of a human being
near. He heard nothing but the moaning of the wind, the beating of the
river against the shore, the soft patter of the rain on the leaves.
He crept forward again, a few feet at a time, and finally reached the
side of the house. He listened near a window, but could hear nothing.
He found the window fastened, went on to another, and found that
locked also.
Now he sensed something near him, but it seemed to be animal rather
than human. His hand dived into a pocket and came out with one of the
Black Star’s vapor guns. With his back against the side of the house,
he listened and waited.
He was sure now that he could hear breathing. Then he made out two
eyes glaring at him in the darkness. Those eyes seemed to flicker for
an instant, and in that instant the man lurched quickly to one side.
A body fell against him; he heard a snarl. He sank to his knees,
grasped a hairy throat, discharged the vapor gun, and felt the body
relax. His hands worked swiftly in the darkness on a mission of
exploration. He was chuckling again as he got upon his feet. So the
Black Star did not depend wholly on human beings to guard him—he had
trained dogs!
Should there be another dog, he might sound an alarm before the vapor
gun got in its work. The prowler knew that, and so he hesitated no
longer, but hurried around the end of the house. Here he found a
cellar window unlocked. A moment later he was inside the house.
He had an electric torch in a pocket, but feared to flash it here.
Again he listened for a time, and then felt his way around the wall,
and so came to a flight of steps. Up these he crept, to find a locked
door at the top.
Once more he listened, and seemed to hear voices coming from a
distance. He reached in another pocket, drew forth a key of peculiar
shape, and worked at the lock of the door for some time. On the other
side a key fell out with a clatter. He waited fully a minute, scarcely
daring to breathe, but decided at the end of that time that the noise
made by the falling key had not been heard.
Now he turned the knob, and presently opened the door half an inch.
Bit by bit he threw it back, and finally stepped into the room. He
closed the door behind him as carefully as he had opened it, and even
searched and found the key and locked the door again. Hurrying
noiselessly across the room, he entered another, and finally passed
into a narrow hallway. He carried the vapor gun in one hand now and
his electric torch in the other. At any instant, he knew, discovery
might come. Some place in that hall a door might be opened, and light
flood it. He was liable to stumble against one of the Black Star’s men
in the darkness.
When he reached the other end of the hall he stopped to listen again.
Once more he heard voices coming as if from a distance, and decided
that they came from some room on the second floor. He was bold enough
to flash his torch once now, and discovered a rear staircase. To this
he made his way, and up it, and into a hallway on the second floor.
Now he felt that he was on more dangerous ground. He could hear the
voices plainly, and could locate the room from which they came. Toward
the front of the hall a thin streak of light streamed from beneath a
door.
He managed to slip into the room adjoining that from which the light
came. After listening for some time there, he flashed his torch again.
The room was large, bare, dusty. On one side were two windows, the
panes filmed with dirt. On the opposite side from which he had entered
was another door, with some old curtains hanging before it.
He crept across to this door, careful that the boards of the floor did
not creak with his steps. He bent and peered through a keyhole into
the room beyond. He did not chuckle now, for a chuckle might have
meant disaster, but he did smile, and the expression on his face was
one of lively satisfaction. He had arrived at an opportune moment.
Caution remained with him, however. He hurried back across the room
and locked the door with the key from his pocket. Then he journeyed to
one of the windows and made sure that it was unlocked and that from it
a man easily could drop to the ground. That done, he went back to the
keyhole again and bent down to watch.
As he took up his position a deep voice came from the other room, a
voice that seemed to be issuing orders in a tone that meant the
speaker generally had his orders obeyed instantly.
“All ready now! Bring those two back to earth, and we’ll have the
show!” the voice said. “Number Ten, get out of the house and down to
the river and see that everything is prepared. It is now nine-thirty
o’clock, and we want to leave about eleven.”
CHAPTER XXVII—IN BLACK STAR’S HANDS
The man who peered through the keyhole saw a large room, furnished
lavishly. The furniture was massive and antique; the rugs on the floor
were valuable; tapestries of rare worth were there; cut glass was on a
heavy buffet at one side of the room; an antique lamp standing near
the center of the room shed an uncertain yellow light that made some
things look grotesque and others fantastic.
At the end of a long table and beside this lamp stood the Black Star,
his robe and hood and mask in place and the star of flaming jet
flashing on the hood. Behind him was the blackboard upon which he
wrote orders to those of his band not enough trusted to hear his
voice. To one side were six members of the band, each dressed in black
robe and mask.
On two chairs a short distance in front of him, their hands and feet
bound and their mouths gagged, were the two prisoners of the roadster.
As the man of mystery watched, one of the Black Star’s followers
approached the chairs, and for an instant he held a small sponge
beneath the nostrils of each of the two men.
He stepped back near the others. A moment passed, and then Muggs
groaned and opened his eyes. Those eyes seemed to flash fire when he
took in the scene.
“Well, my dear Muggs, here we are again,” the Black Star said,
laughing a little. “You regain consciousness a second sooner than Mr.
Verbeck, as I have noticed before. That, I presume, is because you are
a tougher specimen of humanity.”
“You—you——” Muggs stammered.
“What’s this? Your gag has slipped? That is well, for I was about to
have it removed, anyway. So you can talk, eh?”
Muggs waved his head from side to side and caused the gag to slip
again.
“I’d talk to you with my fists if I had th’ chance!” Muggs said.
“There you go again—always violence! I have wondered many times how
Mr. Verbeck can put up with you. Ah, Mr. Verbeck is in the land of the
conscious again, I perceive!”
Muggs turned his head and looked at the man beside him. Then he faced
the Black Star again.
“Them ropes on his arms are too tight and that gag’s chokin’ him,”
Muggs complained. “You treat me rough if you want, but you treat my
boss decent or I’ll have somethin’ to say to you some time.”
“You scarcely are in a position to threaten just now, Mr. Muggs,” the
Black Star replied, laughing. “However, Muggs, it is not my intention
to cause Mr. Verbeck any great degree of physical discomfort. Mental
discomfort, of course, is another thing.”
He made a motion, and one of his men hurried forward and removed the
gag. He looked at the ropes, too, but shook his head as he regained
his former position at the Black Star’s left.
“There, Muggs, are you satisfied?” the Black Star asked. “Your beloved
master has had his gag removed, and may talk or shriek to his heart’s
content. My man indicates, however, that the ropes are all right. You
cannot tempt me, Muggs. Once, or twice before you and Mr. Verbeck were
able to unfasten your bonds. I want nothing like that to happen
to-night.”
He walked around the end of the table and toward the two prisoners,
and he laughed aloud as he looked down upon them.
“Well, Roger Verbeck, here is the Black Star’s new headquarters,” he
said. “You often have wished to see the place, I believe, so take a
look. You still think you can match wits with the Black Star, eh? I
have done as I threatened. I have had you and Muggs abducted, and I am
going to take you along to-night when we do our little trick, and then
leave you unconscious on the spot for the city to laugh at. Aren’t you
about ready to admit that the Black Star is too crafty for you?”
“Scarcely,” came the reply in a firm voice.
“Why, my men tell me it was like kidnapping babies to get you and
Muggs to-night. It really was a shame to do it. So you are going to
continue your efforts to capture me, eh?”
“I am—certainly!”
“Um! Your voice almost has the note of fear in it. You do not seem as
sure as you did the last time I had the pleasure of entertaining you
for a few minutes.”
“A few minutes is right!” Muggs put in. “You’ve got your dirty hands
on us three times now, but you’ve never kept us longer than a few
minutes. And you’ll not keep us to-night——”
“I fear you err, my dear Muggs. I am taking no chances with you or
your precious master to-night. As I live, Mr. Verbeck, your face
appears changed. Your cheeks are somewhat thinner. That comes, I
suppose, from living in continual fear of me. Let me see! Um! It has
been about three weeks since I informed you of my intention to abduct
you and make you a laughingstock again. You’ve been worrying about it
all that time, eh? Been fearing to sleep or eat or ride abroad? Small
wonder your face is thinner and your voice expresses fatigue.”
“He’s been off his feed!” Muggs blurted out. “And he’s had a bad cold.
You needn’t think me, or my boss, either, would let anything you said
throw a scare into us!”
“Indeed? Had a bad cold, eh? I truly am sorry I did not give you this
little entertainment when you were in good physical condition. But
everything is prepared, Mr. Verbeck, and also you neglected to inform
me you had a cold and wanted to discontinue this fight until you were
better.”
The Black Star laughed again as at a good joke, and Muggs growled
imprecations deep down in his throat, but the other man merely looked
the Black Star straight in the eyes and remained silent.
“I trust you understand the program, Mr. Verbeck,” the master criminal
went on, his laugh at an end. “It has been about six months since you
made your foolish boast that you could capture me. You should know by
this time that it is an impossibility. However, you have had some
excellent fun trying it, and I have enjoyed the battle immensely. But
now it must end. It is getting to be a bore.”
“Really?”
“Exactly. You’re a sportsman, I believe. I’ll make a deal with you. If
Roger Verbeck does not capture the Black Star within the next
twenty-four hours, after being right here and seeing the Black Star’s
headquarters, and being taken by the Black Star to the scene of
to-night’s crime—then Roger Verbeck gives his word of honor that he’ll
stop his feeble attempt and not bother the Black Star more.”
“Roger Verbeck does nothing of the sort!”
“Still determined, eh? Very well. Then, Mr. Verbeck, we are going to
take you and your man Muggs with us. We’re going to give you a dose
from a vapor gun and leave you where the crime is committed, as I said
we’d do. We’ll give the alarm ourselves and have the police find you
two there unconscious. Then let the public laugh! I fancy you’ll hear
a howl go up for you to be ordered off the case. I’d not be surprised
if you were hounded out of this town, which has been your home all
your life.”
“I think not.”
“Which shall you do—make the deal I proposed or be made a public
laughingstock again?”
“I make no deals with a crook!”
“And what’s more, you’re wastin’ your breath,” Muggs put in. “You
leave my boss alone! He’s about half sick. He’s said a hundred times
that you’ll get too fresh some day. Some day you’ll overlook a bet,
make a mistake, and then he’ll get you. And I’ll be right there, I
hope when the gettin’s got!”
“You are a very boisterous man, Muggs,” the master criminal said.
“You’d be very vicious, I imagine, under some circumstances. Please do
not be so violent. I abhor violence.”
“You’re right; you’ll abhor it if I ever get my hands on you proper!”
Muggs exclaimed.
The Black Star brought the palms of his hands together sharply.
“Enough of this chatter!” he commanded. “We have scant time before
leaving here for the scene of the evening’s festivities. You have
decided, Mr. Verbeck, to be made a laughingstock! Very well!”
“And where is this to take place?” came the question.
“Ah! Roger Verbeck thinks I fear to tell him in advance, does he? Why,
sir, I’ll even tell you every detail of the proposed crime, if you
wish. You are most certainly my prisoner, and cannot warn the police,
and, could you, it would avail those stupid police nothing. One could
steal the buttons off their uniforms and they’d not know it until the
next day.”
“I’m listening!”
“Such impatience!” the Black Star exclaimed. “Attend me closely, then,
Mr. Verbeck—you also, Muggs. Little good it’ll do you! It is my
intention to-night to reap a harvest of some three hundred thousand
dollars in money and securities. Quite ambitious—that? Merely an
ordinary task for the Black Star, I assure you.”
“You’re th’ original shrinkin’ onion!” Muggs declared.
“Silence, please, while I explain. The money and securities I
mentioned are in the vaults of the National Trust Company. Those
vaults are impregnable, it is said. This is a joke, of course. With us
it will be as easy to get that fortune as it would be to purchase a
new cravat.”
“You’re some modest violet!” said Muggs.
“Keep quiet, Muggs, and hear the plans,” the Black Star said, his eyes
glittering through his mask. “Within the past two months there has
been formed in the city a new lodge called the Knights of Certainty.
When one understands things that title is rather a good joke. Many
good men have heard of the order and wondered why some one did not ask
them to join, I presume. The membership was strictly limited. Members
of my own band form the lodge.”
“And you’re the supreme boss crook!” Muggs said.
“Another remark, Muggs, and you get the vapor gun. Mr. Verbeck, you’d
better warn your man to remain silent!” The Black Star evidently was
getting angry.
Muggs turned his head and found his fellow prisoner indicating that he
was to be quiet. Muggs obeyed.
“It would be a difficult task to get into a meeting of the Knights of
Certainty,” the Black Star went on. “We’re mighty particular who sees
things. I may mention that, from the moment we hired our hall and put
in furniture, the room has been under close guard, one of our own men
even doing the janitor work. This hall is on the third floor of the
American Building, adjoining the National Trust Company. We have been
making our preparations nightly, of course, working from our hall.
Some excellent carpenter and mechanical work has been done, and now,
when we wish, we have merely to pass through a wall to a stairway and
then make our way over a trail we have prepared to the vaults of the
bank and loot them.
“Everything is prepared, I assure you. At this moment my men are in
the uniforms of the watchmen, and doing their work. There will be no
one to molest us. The vault locks have been fixed so that a few turns
of the knobs will unlock them, and yet an expert would swear that time
locks and other protections are in perfect working order. It has taken
us some time to get this state of affairs prepared, but the reward
will be well worth our trouble. The bank received a heavy gold
shipment two weeks ago. Negotiable securities are piled in the vaults.
The bank, in addition, always carries a heavy cash balance, for it has
numerous branches and small affiliated banks. Yes—I fancy we will be
well repaid for the work we have put on it.”
“If you get the stuff!” said Muggs.
The Black Star whirled toward him, and one of his men stepped forward,
but the master criminal decided to let the remark pass. He walked to
the head of the table and glanced at his watch.
“We start in half an hour,” he said. “Number Six, go down to the river
and inform Number Ten to be ready to get away instantly.”
Once more he faced his prisoners.
“How do you like my new headquarters?” he asked. “Only a few chosen
and trusted men of mine come here. This is a ramshackle old house, but
I have three rooms fixed up comfortably. And there are things of value
in it, believe me! I find it advisable to dispose of loot slowly. I’d
hate to flood the market and lower prices.”
He laughed again, and once more turned toward his men. For a moment he
conversed with them in whispers, ignoring his prisoners. A bell
tinkled presently; the Black Star touched a button on the end of the
table, and a few seconds later the man who had been sent away
returned.
“Everything ready, chief,” he reported in a low tone.
“Ah! Number Four, telephone Main 5782, ask for Gregg, and say that Mr.
Stewart will have four cases of eggs to-morrow. That will tell those
at the other end that we are starting.”
The man designated moved swiftly across the room to the telephone and
sent the message. The Black Star waved a hand, and another man
approached the two prisoners, a vapor gun in his hand. They twisted
and turned in their bonds, but the gun did its work; the Black Star
laughed again as their heads fell forward.
“Clever Mr. Verbeck and clever Mr. Muggs,” he said. “Their attempts to
capture me are childish, to say the least. Get ready now, for we must
be off.”
The men removed their robes and masks and put on overcoats and soft
hats. The Black Star took off his robe, but his hood and mask remained
in place, and the overcoat he donned had a wide collar that, when
turned up, effectually hid his face. No one, without looking at him
squarely under a bright light, could have seen the mask.
The master criminal waved his hand, and his men picked up the two
unconscious prisoners. He led the way, and they followed, and the last
man out turned off the light. Their steps sounded in the front
hallway, the door latch clicked—they were gone.
The man who had been watching all this through the keyhole chuckled
aloud now, and presently he opened the door with his key and slipped
into the headquarters room.
There he stood for some minutes to listen, for he wanted to be sure
that he was alone in the house, and then he crossed the room to the
telephone, took down the receiver, and called a number in a soft
voice.
The number was that of police headquarters.
CHAPTER XXVIII—THE POLICE LAUNCH
Down on the bank of the river a speedy launch was concealed under
overhanging trees. Two men were waiting in it when the Black Star, his
other followers, and the two prisoners arrived. The prisoners, still
bound, were stretched on a robe in the bottom, the Black Star and his
men got aboard, and the launch slipped almost noiselessly out into the
stream and started down it toward the city.
The craft showed its lights properly, but it kept away from all other
vessels, and the men aboard crouched down low and spoke in whispers.
In time the two prisoners groaned and opened their eyes, the effect of
the vapor having worn off, and at a sign from the Black Star one of
his men inspected bonds and gags and made sure that they were secure.
The Black Star did not want any slip this night with a fortune at
stake.
“Your attitude this evening puzzles me, Mr. Verbeck,” the master
criminal whispered in a sarcastic tone. “You do not seem to be your
usual self. Three or four times now I have had you as prisoner, and we
have exchanged some conversation, and while I cannot say that I know
you well, yet you do not seem the Verbeck of old. Apparently you have
given up the fight; you are passive. Been worrying, eh? Afraid I’ll
abduct your fiancée, as I almost did once, and through her force you
to join my band? Stop your silly attempt to capture me, Verbeck, and
your worry will end. No? Very well, then!”
Muggs gurgled behind his gag at this baiting of his comrade, and the
Black Star laughed at his ineffectual attempt to speak and at the
angry glint in his eyes.
“Nor do you seem to be up to standard, my dear Muggs,” he went on. “I
am disgusted with you this evening. Here you have been in my power for
a couple of hours, and have not made a violent move. Generally you
manage to slip your ropes by some clever means. Losing your fighting
spirit, are you?”
Muggs gurgled again, and the Black Star laughed softly and turned
away.
“We do not go into a wharf,” he told his men. “We will take no chances
of the police being informed and in wait for us. We stop at a certain
place and transfer to touring cars. Get those fantastic robes from the
locker and dress Verbeck and Muggs in them. We’ll mask them, too, and
so, when we reach the city, if any one gets inquisitive we are merely
initiating two gentlemen into the Knights of Certainty.”
They were halfway to the city now, and his men began carrying out his
orders. Suddenly the engineer of the launch growled something, shut
off the power, cut out all the lights, and let the craft drift.
“Police launch!” he hissed over his shoulder.
Up the river and directly at them rushed a high-powered craft that was
hurling back the water from her bows. Her searchlight was sweeping the
river. The Black Star growled orders, his men stretched beside him on
the bottom, and the engineer hurled quantities of sacks over them.
Then he snapped on the lights again and started the launch forward
slowly, for he would be able to escape suspicion that way better than
if discovered by the searchlight and found to be drifting without
lights burning.
For a moment the searchlight rested on the launch, which continued on
its course. The police craft swung in and headed directly for it. A
hail came across the water. The launch was slowed down and the police
boat stopped almost alongside.
“Who are you, and where are you going?” an officer demanded.
“This is the launch _Speedy_,” the engineer replied. “I’m runnin’ to
th’ fish market with a load o’ sacks. What’s th’ matter?”
“Seen any other launch?” the officer demanded.
“Nope!”
“How far have you come?”
“From the mouth o’ th’ river. Good fishin’ there now.”
“I’ll come aboard and look you over,” the officer said.
The police boat started slowly and swung nearer. In that instant the
Black Star’s engineer acted. He threw on the power and dropped, for
the wheel was locked. The screw churned the water and hurled a great
wave at the police boat.
Behind, the men in the police boat were shouting, and a fusillade of
revolver shots spattered around the Black Star’s craft. But the police
found themselves at a disadvantage. The Black Star’s launch was
swifter, and the police boat was headed the wrong way and had to be
turned. While the turn was being accomplished, the firing continued,
and the searchlight kept the prey in sight but that prey was gradually
putting distance between itself and the boat behind.
The Black Star’s boat was a hundred yards in the lead by the time the
police launch had straightened out and taken up the chase in earnest.
The grim race was on, with the police firing at times, and the
searchlight always playing on the vessel ahead. The Black Star had
crawled from beneath the sacks now, and was directing operations.
“All the speed you have, and get around the bend,” he ordered. “We can
leave the boat and take to the touring cars. We’ll be lost in the city
before they can telephone headquarters or get cars and trail us!”
The bend in the stream was not far ahead now, and the master criminal
issued further orders. The two prisoners were treated to shots from
the vapor gun again. The siren of the launch shrieked a message to the
men ahead waiting with the touring cars.
Around the bend—and the launch dashed for the shore. As it was
reached, the police boat came into view, its searchlight trying to
pick up the quarry. The Black Star and his men tumbled out, carrying
the prisoners. From the road a short distance away came the honking of
an automobile horn.
Then the searchlight struck them, and the police launch turned and
headed for the shore. More flashes of flame split the darkness, and
bullets whined through the trees and underbrush.
But the Black Star and his men were in the dense woods now and
hurrying along a narrow path that led to the road. They reached the
two waiting motor cars and tumbled in, and the automobiles started
toward the city.
The police were just leaving their boat and rushing into the woods,
flashing their pocket torches, their revolvers held ready, calling to
one another. They reached the road in time to hear the roaring of two
motors and to see two cars disappearing down the highway. They wasted
another fusillade of shots, and then hurried back toward the boat.
CHAPTER XXIX—BLACK STAR TAKES A TRICK
The Black Star rode in the first car with his two prisoners and three
of his trusted men, and the others followed in the second car as close
as safety would permit.
Both chauffeurs got all the speed possible out of the machines they
drove. The police had been left behind for the time being, but there
was danger of them getting to a telephone in some way and sending an
alarm to headquarters. If the Black Star’s autos were headed off as
they were entering the city, disaster might follow. If they could gain
the city’s streets and separate, undoubtedly their chances for getting
to the lodge hall unobserved would be excellent.
The Black Star was not worrying about the police. He deemed it a
coincidence that the launch had run upon him. He believed the officers
had been looking for river thieves, and that they would continue to
look for them. He did not think for a moment that the police in the
launch were looking for the Black Star and members of his band. How
could that be possible? How could the police know that this was the
night the Black Star had chosen for a crime and that he would be
coming up the river in a launch?
“We’ll be at th’ bridge in a few minutes,” the master criminal’s
chauffeur warned.
“The road curves up to the bridge,” the Black Star replied. “I do not
think it possible that word could have been sent ahead, but it is well
to be prepared. Slow down as you reach the curve and shut off your
lights. The car behind will do the same. We’ll stop this side of the
curve and investigate.”
On dashed the cars, and presently the Black Star’s chauffeur decreased
his speed, forcing the chauffeur behind to do the same. The lights of
the two cars went out; they rolled along the road with scarcely any
noise, and presently came to a stop.
Here the road ran close to the river, and by getting from the car and
walking a hundred feet the master criminal could look down at the
bridge. He took one of his men with him and went to make his
investigation. He saw at a glance what was happening.
The police, it was evident, had reached a telephone. The bridge at the
moment was swinging open. And when it was open it remained so, though
there was no boat in sight to make the passage through. And, as the
master criminal watched, he saw the police launch darting up the
river. Its searchlight flashed upon the bridge, and its siren
bellowed. It turned toward the shore and touched. The police sprang
out and ran up the bank. The Black Star could see them reach the floor
of the bridge and run along it to the tender’s shanty. Then they
scattered, hiding among girders and along the bridge approach.
“Um! Very clever!” the Black Star said to his man. “There is only the
one road, too. We drive at a furious pace on to the bridge; we see the
draw open, and we stop—and the clever police spring out and make us
all prisoners. Very clever—except that I anticipated it.”
“Maybe we could turn around and get back to our launch,” his man
suggested.
“Fool! In the first place, we’d lose valuable time, and then, when we
did come up the river, we’d have to clash with the police boat again.
Also, my brainy friend, if our launch is where we left it, you may be
sure there is a police guard there waiting for us to return. If you
happen to have any brains, try to use them.”
The Black Star’s man gulped and kept silent.
“Go back to the cars and have all the men come here, bringing Muggs
and Verbeck,” the master criminal ordered.
The man obeyed; within two minutes all were grouped around the Black
Star, and the unconscious prisoners were on the ground at the foot of
a tree. The Black Star explained their predicament.
“You chauffeurs, get back in the cars, turn on the lights, and drive
on to the bridge,” he instructed. “When the police question you,
simply say you have been out to that road house on the river bank
earlier this evening—which will be true—and not finding fares there,
or prospects of any, are on your way back to the city. Admit you heard
firing back on the road, and saw men rushing through the trees. Say
you didn’t stop because you were afraid of being held up—there have
been several automobile holdups in that vicinity recently. And argue
with the police as long as possible, while we do our part.”
The chauffeurs hurried away. They ran some risk, they knew. They might
be put under arrest, but they had little fear of that. Both held
licenses as public chauffeurs, and they had established the road-house
alibi on the master criminal’s orders. And, if held, the Black Star
would see that they were bailed out—and then they’d simply jump their
bail.
“We’re going through that bridge and to the city, and we’re going in
the police launch,” the Black Star told the others. “That’ll be rather
rubbing it in, but the police deserve it. I’ll write a letter to the
papers afterward, telling just how we did it. There is only one man in
the launch. We must seize it and make a quick get-away. Run under the
bridge and straight up the river. We’ll desert the police boat a short
distance down the stream. I’ve arranged for two taxicabs to be there.
I wasn’t exactly sure where it would be best to leave our own launch,
and I always prepare for emergencies.”
He led the way through the brush on the bank of the river. They had
but a short distance to go, and they were directly opposite the police
boat and about a hundred feet from it when they heard the two
automobiles run up on the bridge and stop at the command of a
policeman.
The Black Star was a wise general; he did not send all his men forward
at once. Had he done that, the engineer of the launch would have been
suspicious and instantly sounded an alarm. The master criminal
selected one man, and had him walk boldly through the brush and down
to the launch. In the semidarkness the engineer of the launch would
believe him to be one of the plain-clothes men returning with orders.
The Black Star’s man was within a dozen feet of the boat before the
engineer was aware of his approach, for he was busy with the
searchlight. He turned when he heard the man splashing through the mud
at the edge of the river, and before he could ask a question he
received a shot from a vapor gun and collapsed in the bottom of the
boat, unconscious.
The searchlight had been playing on the bridge approach. The Black
Star’s man swerved it aside for a moment, and then back into position,
thus notifying his master that his work had been accomplished.
Down through the brush crept the Black Star and his men, carrying
their two prisoners. They reached the launch and boarded it, and the
master criminal’s engineer hurried to his machinery. The police
engineer had been tossed out on the shore.
But the escape was not to be made without trouble. There was a captain
in charge of the police squad who thought quickly. When the two empty
automobiles reached the bridge, and the questioning of the chauffeurs
began, this captain ordered half his men to return to the launch and
go back up the river to look for traces of their quarry. They broke
through the brush just as the launch’s engineer was put on the shore.
The mere sight of men aboard the launch was enough to tell the police
what had occurred. They charged forward, shooting wildly and yelling
alarms to their companions up on the bridge. Bullets smashed into the
sides of the craft as it backed slowly away from the shore. The
engineer was doing his best, but he could not turn and put on speed
until safely away from the shallows.
It was a perilous moment for the Black Star and his men. The criminals
returned the fire, but made no attempt to hit their targets, for the
master crook’s orders always stood against inflicting wounds or
causing death, unless it was absolutely necessary. Crouching in the
bottom of the launch, they waited for the engineer to back out into
the stream. More police were hurrying down from the bridge, and soon
would be firing at the launch. And they would be able to keep up their
volleys until the launch was some distance away, endangering the Black
Star and his men and prisoners every moment of the time.
But the master criminal, it appeared, though he pretended to abhor all
violence, was no physical coward. He sprang to his feet, away from the
protection of the bulwarks, and jumped forward to the searchlight.
While bullets rained around him he reached the light and turned it. It
flashed straight into the faces of the foes on the shore, blinding
them at that short range, making them easy targets, and rendering them
incapable of aiming at the men on the launch.
Some continued firing in the path of light; others sprang for cover in
the brush, expecting the men on the boat to fire a volley. The laugh
of the Black Star rang out; he continued playing the light on them.
The launch was out in the stream now and turning; a moment later the
engineer gave her the maximum amount of speed, and she dashed beneath
the bridge and toward the city.
“Too bad our prisoners could not have been conscious and enjoyed this
little battle,” he told his men. “Really, Muggs and Verbeck are not in
the thick of it at all to-night. Generally they cause a part of the
trouble, but to-night all our trouble has come from others.”
He chuckled as if well pleased with himself.
“Some joke this—stealing the enemy’s boat,” he observed.
CHAPTER XXX—MUGGS IN ACTION
For fifteen minutes they ran in silence, and then the Black Star went
forward and stood beside the engineer.
“Put in at the alley between National and Washington Streets,” he
ordered. “Out with your lights, and make as little noise as possible.
The two taxicabs should be waiting at the end of the alley. Get ready,
men, and pick up Verbeck and Muggs. We don’t want to lose any more
time—we’ve lost enough already.”
He was not chuckling now; he spoke in a stern voice, and his men knew
that the Black Star was thinking only of the big-planned crime now, of
getting the money and securities from the vault of the National Trust
Company and removing the fortune to his headquarters. Then the band
would scatter as usual, and in the morning the police would discover
that the lodge hall of the Knights of Certainty had been a crooks’
workshop and the robbery made possible because of it—but they would
make the discovery too late, as usual.
They would find little black stars pasted in the lodge hall and on the
vaults, and none of the members of the Knights of Certainty would be
seen again. The Black Star and his men would leave behind a couple of
hundred dollars’ worth of furniture—and take away between two and
three hundred thousand in coin and negotiable securities. And the next
blow perhaps would be struck in a different section of the city and at
an unexpected moment, as usual.