He removed his robe, rolled it up, put it beneath his arm. He picked up his heavy ulster from the roof, where he had left it before descending into the bank, and put it on.
Once more he pointed the electric torch upward and flashed a signal. Then he touched match to cigarette, walked to the edge of the building, and glanced over.
He heard the sirens of police automobiles in the distance. He saw the machines stop and policemen spring from them. He watched as they gained entrance to the building, saw a crowd gathering in the street below. The Black Star chuckled again, took a vapor bomb from the pocket of his ulster, and hurled it at the street. It struck, exploded, and a cloud of white, pungent vapor drifted across the pavement. Shrieks and cries of alarm reached his ears. He saw one policeman stagger and fall, overcome by the gas.
The Black Star, still chuckling, walked back to the middle of the roof. He flashed another signal, and then returned the torch to his pocket.
He laughed again—and waited!
Police headquarters was thrown into a turmoil for the second time that night when the chief received the master criminal's telephone message.
Roger Verbeck and Muggs rushed for the roadster, sprang in, and drove like mad through the streets toward the National Trust Company's building.
The chief shrieked his orders, officers tumbled into department automobiles, and followed Verbeck. They reached their destination, and sprang out. Verbeck already had ascertained that the front doors of the bank were locked and bolted. He rushed around to the alley, followed by Muggs, the chief, and a dozen officers. A detective hurried to telephone Sheriff Kowen.
The basement door was open, and they rushed inside. They found the watchman bound and gagged—he was a member of the Black Star's band, but they needed him again, and so made the attempt to remove all suspicion.
"The Black Star!" he gasped when they had removed the gag and bonds. "He was here with his gang! They carried out gold—went away in autos and——"
Verbeck had rushed on to the vault room. The chief and some of the others followed. They found the door of the vault standing open, money scattered on the floor, papers in confusion.
"He cleaned out all the big stuff!" the chief said. "One of you men telephone the president of the trust company and tell him to hurry down here."
"Here's the letter he mentioned, chief," Verbeck said.
The chief ripped it open and read it, then thrust it into one of his pockets. As he turned away, there was a sharp explosion in the street, then a bedlam of shrieks and cries. They rushed to a window and threw it open.
"Bomb!" somebody in the street was shouting. "It came from the roof!"
"One of that crook's gas bombs!" the chief exclaimed. "On the roof, is he?"
Verbeck already was running toward the stairs, with Muggs just behind him, determined to be in the midst of the affair. Muggs had been complaining again that he was not playing a principal part in this drama, and that he felt he was entitled to one.
Half a dozen officers took after them, the chief bellowed orders and posted guards throughout the bank. He sent other men to the floors above to release the watchmen. And then he followed Roger Verbeck, running up the stairs, puffing and panting, wishing that the elevator was running.
They came to the little steel stairs that led to the trapdoor and the roof. Verbeck tried to open the door, and found that it was fastened on the outside.
"Either the Black Star or some of his men are up there!" Verbeck said. "The door wouldn't be locked on the outside, otherwise."
One of the detectives had procured a fire ax from the hall on the floor below. He ran up the steel stairs and attacked the heavy door vigorously. The chief sent a man for another ax.
More officers had come up the stairs now, and stood at the bottom of the steel steps, waiting for the trapdoor to be opened.
"As soon as we get through, rush up there and go at them," the chief directed. "We don't know how many are up there, so be ready to mix it! Shoot, if you have to, but get him alive if you can. And look out for vapor guns and gas bombs!"
"Somebody on the roof is asking for you, chief!" the man with the ax called down.
The chief hurried up the steps. "Well, who is it?" he demanded.
"This is the Black Star. Can't you recognize my voice? Still practicing violence, I see, and this time on a door!"
"Well, what do you want?" the chief cried. "Do you want to give yourself up?"
"Certainly not, my dear chief. I just wanted to let you know that I was here."
"And we're going to get you!" the chief cried. "If it is necessary we'll get you with a gun! If you start using that vapor stuff when we get the door open, my men will shoot. Understand that? I'll give you one minute to surrender and open the door!"
"Why on earth should I do such a thing as that?" the Black Star wanted to know.
"Because you are at the end of your rope, that's why!" the chief replied. "If you try to go down a fire escape, you'll be plugged. And that's the only way you can get off the roof."
"I have no intention of going down a fire escape," the Black Star replied. "I give you my word of honor—or dishonor, if you prefer it that way—that I shall descend no fire escape to-night. Does that satisfy you?"
"Are you going to give yourself up?"
"Dear me, no! I couldn't think of it. I have had a very pleasant evening, chief—very pleasant indeed—and profitable, also. By the way, did you get your letter?"
An exasperated chief descended the steps and motioned for the detective to go to work with the ax again. The heavy blows began raining against the door. Between them, they could hear the Black Star laughing.
"Get through that door!" the chief shrieked. "We've got him in a trap!"
"I wouldn't be too sure of that," said Roger Verbeck. "He seemed to speak with confidence."
"But how can he get away?"
"The Black Star used to be noted for doing some peculiar and seemingly impossible things," Verbeck reminded the chief.
"I want to be the second man through that door!" Muggs said. "I got it comin' to me, boss. You ain't let me do a thing to-day, and I want to get my hands on that big crook!"
"That's what we all want to do," the chief remarked. "Get ready, men; that door will be open in a minute!"
The detective had succeeded in cutting a hole in it. Now he put his face close to the aperture and looked out. He could see nothing but darkness. Cautiously, he extended a hand and felt for the bolt, located it, shot it back. He whispered the news to those behind him. The officers crowded the steel stairs, and Muggs got well in the van. Muggs declined to be sidetracked longer.
The detective threw the door open, and they stumbled up the steps and to the roof, their weapons held ready, to dart to either side, expecting a shot, or a vapor bomb at least.
Their electric torches flashed, and the roof was bathed in light. There was nothing behind which a person could hide, except two chimneys. The officers approached the chimneys, carefully, ready for instant combat. They circled them—and found nobody.
"He's here—got to be here!" the chief cried.
They rushed to all the fire escapes and found that nobody was on them. They shouted to officers in the street below, and were told that the fire escapes had not been used. They searched every square foot of the roof, looked along the parapet, found nobody.
"I tell you that crook's got to be here!" the chief shouted. "How could he get away?"
"Airplane," one of the detectives suggested.
"Don't be an ass!" the chief shrieked. "An airplane makes a lot of noise. And it wouldn't be easy to pick up a man from a roof in the dark, you fool! The only way it could be done would be to trail a rope and let him grab it, and that would mean a dead man on the pavement below. You ass, an airplane travels with speed!"
"Well, he doesn't seem to be here," Verbeck offered.
"But where could he have gone?" the chief cried. "Even the Black Star can't make himself invisible at will!"
Then they heard the Black Star laugh derisively.
They flashed their torches and again searched the roof. Once more they heard the laugh. Now it seemed to be to one side of them, and now to another. Above them, behind them, in front of them they heard it.
"This thing will drive me crazy!" the chief cried. "Flash those torches again! That crook is somewhere right here on the roof! Look for another trapdoor!"
They searched the roof, and found nothing; but again they heard the laugh, only it sounded far away now. Suddenly the roof was bathed in bright light that seemed to come out of the sky.
"He's up there—on something!" the chief shrieked.
They emptied their revolvers and automatics toward the sky. The light died out, flashed forth again and almost blinded them. Once more they heard the sarcastic laugh of the Black Star, as if far in the distance—and then the light was gone.
They stood silent, looking upward. Not the slightest sound came to their ears, except echoes of the shouts in the street below, where people were wondering about the peculiar, blinding light.
"What does it mean?" the chief cried. "Verbeck, what has that devil done?"
"I haven't the faintest idea," Roger Verbeck replied. "I don't understand that laugh, and I can't imagine where that light comes from. I'd think naturally, that it was an airplane, but, as you said, it would be almost impossible to pick a man off the roof at night—and an airplane makes a lot of noise. And we didn't hear a sound—remember that!"
Once more the voice of the Black Star reached their ears. He seemed to be shouting to them, and to be not so very far away.
"Good night, gentlemen!" he called to them. "It has been a splendid evening of amusement and profit. Good night—and let me express the hope that you'll have pleasant dreams!"
That was all. Though they waited on the roof for half an hour longer, they heard nothing more from him, saw nothing of him, and finally they turned and went back down the stairs, puzzled, angry, but determined to make the master rogue pay.
The newspapers the following day were full of the exploits of the Black Star. They explained that the master crook had inaugurated his campaign of crime and revenge by looting two of the richest financial institutions in the city. From the First National his men had obtained more than three hundred thousand dollars in currency. From the vault of the National Trust Company had been taken a quarter of a million in gold coin.
Banking officials were frantic. They made arrangements to safeguard their property, fearing to lose the confidence of their depositors. They engaged extra watchmen, men they knew personally, since to engage a stranger, no matter how good his references, might be to put one of the Black Star's men in the place.
Sheriff Kowen and his deputies were blamed, the chief and his policemen were declared incompetent and inefficient, and Roger Verbeck and Muggs were held up to ridicule.
The mysterious light that had come out of the sky was described at length, and many speculations made as to its nature. The scene on the roof of the building, told by one of the detectives, was played up, and there were many conjectures as to what it meant.
Had the master criminal come into possession of some wonderful new invention? Was he able to escape when and as he liked? Some inclined toward this belief, and others declared that the Black Star had gone down a fire escape under the noses of the officers, entered the building through a window at some floor, walked down the stairs and emerged into the alley and gone his way. The Black Star, one paper stated, was a mere man and did not call upon the supernatural to aid him. He merely had better brains than the police.
Where would he strike next?
Within three days, he had said in his letter to one of the papers, he would steal, with the aid of his band, jewels and famous objects of art. Thousands of persons had valuable jewels, and it was well known that the master criminal was a gem fiend, that he had a great collection and gloated over them. Perhaps he meant a jewelry establishment, a wholesale diamond house.
When it came to famous objects of art, there was a wealth of them in the city. Two millionaires had great collections. There was a famous museum that housed several hundred priceless paintings. Here and there throughout the city were others.
Jewels were carried to safe-deposit vaults. The guards at the museum were doubled. The two millionaires obtained police protection for their residences. And the city waited.
Two days passed, during which nothing was heard of the Black Star and his band. Sheriff Kowen and his deputies searched in vain for Mamie Blanchard. Roger Verbeck and Muggs drove about in the big roadster continually, watching people, trying to catch a glimpse of some known member of the Black Star's old organization.
The city was gone over, block by block, in an effort to locate the master crook's headquarters, but to no avail. The search extended to the suburbs, but nobody thought of the old farmhouse far up the river near the pleasure resort.
"Well, it's about time we heard from him again!" the chief said to Verbeck on the morning of the third day.
"I look for him to strike to-night," Verbeck said.
"And where do you think he'll strike?"
"That is the puzzle," Verbeck admitted. "I scarcely think he will attempt the museum. It would be a blow to civic pride if he did and succeeded, of course, but the odds would be against him."
"He seems to thrive on odds that are against him," the chief replied.
"Sooner or later, we'll get him!" Verbeck declared. "Sooner or later one of his people will make a slip that will give us the clew we need. They can't keep it up forever."
"But I want to land him right away!" the chief fumed. "Did you happen to read the morning paper? If this sort of thing keeps up, the mayor will be asking for my resignation, and I'll go out of office without having vindicated myself. Confound Kowen, anyway! Why couldn't he keep the crook when he had him? But for Kowen, the Black Star would be doing time in the big prison right now!"
"But he isn't—and it doesn't do any particular good to wail about it," said Verbeck. "The thing to do is to get him again. Made any plans?"
"I'm up in the air!" the chief complained. "What plans can I make? I've got men guarding the museum, and those millionaires' residences, and a few scattered near the jewelry establishments. And I'll hold men ready to go to any section of the city when we get an alarm. That is all I can do. If we knew where he was going to strike——"
A buzzer sounded, and the chief took up the telephone.
"Hello!" he called.
"That you, chief?"
"Yes."
"Ah, good morning. This is the Black Star! I have tapped a private line again, chief, to have a little chat with you! I've been resting for a couple of days, giving my men and women a holiday. But I'm eager to be busy again!"
"When I get my hands on you——" the chief began.
"Tut, tut! Why do you always grow violent when I do you the honor of calling you up?"
"Honor? Insult, you mean! We'll get you, and get you good, one of these days!"
"I'll have all the wealth in town if you delay it very long," said the Black Star laughing. "By the way, chief, I'd suggest that you keep a lot of your men at headquarters to-night. You are going to need them."
"Think so?"
"I know it! And I have a faint idea that the newspapers are going to say more naughty things about you to-morrow. That was a pretty grilling theHeraldgave you, wasn't it?"
"I'll give you a grilling when I get my hands on you!" the chief said. "So you're going to pull off some sort of a stunt to-night, are you?"
"I am. Inaction bores me, chief. My men are eager to get to work again. They take great pleasure in helping outwit the stupid men on your force."
"We'll see who'll do the final outwitting!" the chief cried. "I'm going to——"
"Going to get me, I think you said before. Sorry to dispute you, chief, but I can't agree. How do you expect to accomplish it?"
"Tell me one thing," said the chief. "How did you get off that roof, and where did you go?"
"Sorry, but that is a sort of state secret for the present," the Black Star replied.
"Well, if you didn't go down one of the fire escapes, write a letter to the newspapers and say so. They're swearing that you walked right out of that building before our noses."
"All right, chief, I'll inform the papers that I did nothing of the kind. But I'll not explain at this time just what I did do. You see, I might want to do it again soon."
"If you are so blamed sure of your ability, why not tell me what you are going to do to-night?"
"Gladly chief. I am going to collect some jewels and some objects of art."
"Oh, are you?" asked the chief. "Going to collect them in any particular spot?"
"Naturally; but I do not intend to tell you the spot just now. That would be running too much of a risk, I am afraid. By the way, is Mr. Verbeck there?"
"He is!"
"I haven't time to speak to him, but will you kindly tell him for me that I hope he shows more speed in this little duel with me. I was disgusted with him the other evening—he showed no cleverness at all. Tell him that I hope he improves. And now, chief, I must end the conversation for the time being."
There was a click at the other end of the wire. The chief slammed the receiver into its hook and whirled around in his chair.
"Wanted me to tell you to show more cleverness and make the game more interesting, Verbeck," the chief said. "Make it interesting for him if we get the chance, all right! Says he's going to collect jewels and objects of art this evening."
"Then I suppose he'll do it," Verbeck said. "Have your men ready to jump out as soon as the alarm comes in. What is the sheriff doing, chief?"
"Kowen? Sleeping on the job, I suppose. He swears that he and his deputies will catch the Black Star—beat us to it. I had a row with him yesterday at luncheon. Kowen makes me tired! He's looking for that Blanchard woman."
"The Princess? He's not likely to find her," Verbeck said. "Either the Black Star has sent her out of the city, or she is in hiding some place where she'll not be located easily. You can wager that the Black Star takes good care of The Princess—she is one of the most valuable members of his band!"
That afternoon, about the hour of three, an elderly gentleman who looked like a person of culture and refinement, entered the Municipal Museum.
At the information desk, he asked concerning a certain painting, and was directed to the second floor. He thanked the woman at the desk and ascended the stairs, passing the close scrutiny of the guards and the police stationed there. There was nothing to cause suspicion in the appearance of an elderly man who evidently was a lover of art.
He found the painting for which he had asked, and stood before it for some time, looking at it, now stepping forward and now retreating, now and then walking to one side to get a better reflection of light on the canvas.
"Marvelous!" he said, in a thin voice, to one of the attendants. "Such coloring! And such technic!"
"Yes, them old boys knew how to sling the paint," the attendant informed him.
"Sling the paint? What a quaint idiom!" the elderly gentleman remarked and the attendant walked on, calling upon the world to witness that the crop of maniacs was getting larger every year, and that they all visited the museum.
Having inspected that particular picture to his evident satisfaction, the elderly gentleman went through the galleries, viewing other famous paintings. All the attendants and guides noticed him and put him down as a harmless art lover. There was a benevolent appearance about him; he appeared to be the sort of man who makes donations to museums and hospitals.
He finally made his way to the statuary hall. Here, at the time, there was but one guide, and he was handling a group of four tourists. The elderly gentleman gave them scant attention. He adjusted his spectacles and began viewing the statue nearest the door, finished with that and went on to the next, and to the next. The guide and his tourists left the hall—and the elderly gentleman was alone there.
He walked quickly to the other end of the hall, turned and looked back at the door, and made sure that he was not observed by any of the attendants or visitors.
Above his head there was a small trapdoor that opened into the attic of the building. The elderly gentleman betrayed agility remarkable for his years.
He sprang to the nearest window ledge, sprang again and grasped the heavy molding, hung with one hand, and with the other pushed up the trapdoor. Then he pulled himself up and disappeared—and the door was put back in place.
The attic was seldom entered, it appeared. There was nothing at all stored there, and the dust was inches deep everywhere. The elderly gentleman made his way carefully through this dust, obliterating his tracks behind him, and reached a corner of the attic, near a window. Here was a dark space in a gable, large enough to accommodate a hiding man. The elderly gentleman sat down there.
"This will be the death of me!" he growled. "Dust and heat and foul air! I wish the Black Star had picked some one else for this part of the job!"
He took out a handkerchief and tucked it around the edge of his collar, then stretched himself between the rafters.
"Can't smoke—dare not sleep," he grunted. "And it'll be hours before I can get out of here. This is one sweet game I'm playing! But there'll be a handsome profit in it, all right!"
The hours passed. In the big museum below visitors came and went, passing beneath the scrutiny of the guards and the police. Five o'clock came, and the rooms were cleared. Guards searched them well, made sure nobody was inside the building except those who had a right to be there. The custodian and his assistants left. The big doors were locked. Night guards and policemen remained, walking through the rooms. Down in the basement an engineer threw a big electric switch that sent a powerful current through the frames that guarded the priceless objects of art.
Much had been made of that scheme of protection in the newspapers. When that current was turned on, any person touching one of the paintings would be rendered unconscious immediately. Moreover, an alarm would be sounded in the building, another flashed to police headquarters, another to the sheriff's office.
"The Black Star will never tackle this place," said one of the policemen to a guard. "He's going after something else. His gang couldn't get near the building without the men outside spotting them, and we could put up a scrap and keep them out until help came from headquarters."
"I think he'll tackle the private collection of some millionaire," replied the guard. "I don't see how he could hope to get in here and get away with anything."
Outside the building, police paced beats beneath bright lights that illuminated every door and window. Inside, more police and the regular museum guards talked and smoked and wished the long night was over.
Up in the attic, a perspiring elderly gentleman, who was elderly no longer because he had removed a very clever wig, and perspiration had ruined his make-up, looked at the radium dial of his watch and grunted that, at last, the time had come. It was nine o'clock.
He got up and made his way slowly and carefully across the attic through the dust to the trapdoor. He lifted it a fraction of an inch and looked down.
The statuary hall was dark save for a small incandescent light that glowed in the wall near the door. No guard or policeman was in sight, and the door leading to the corridor was closed.
The trapdoor was opened wide, and the man dropped to the floor, making not the slightest sound as he struck. He had removed his shoes in the attic, and had put on a pair of rubbers. He darted behind a statue, and listened, and wiped the perspiration from his face.
Then, running lightly from statue to statue, he made his way toward the corridor door, watching it continually, ready to dart into hiding if it should be opened by guard or policeman.
At the door, he stopped again to listen, and then he turned the knob and opened it cautiously. There was nobody in the corridor as far as he could see in either direction. The guards and policemen, it was evident, were on the floor below.
He took one of the Black Star's vapor guns from his pocket and held it ready. He slipped into the corridor, darted into a niche in the wall, listened again. He could hear two policemen talking on the floor below.
A guard entered the corridor and disappeared into one of the rooms. The man in the niche waited until he came out and started down the hall. The guard passed within three feet of him. The silent vapor gun was discharged, the guard gasped and started to cry out, but unconsciousness claimed him.
The man who had used the vapor gun drew the unconscious guard back into the niche. He used a hypodermic needle on the guard's arm, drugging him so that he would remain senseless for some time to come.
"No need to worry about you for a few hours," he growled.
Still he waited, going to another niche on the other side of the wide corridor. Another guard came from the floor below and started along the hall. He received the same treatment the first guard had received.
Then the man who held the vapor gun hurried through the corridor and came to the head of the wide staircase.
"Ten men inside, and I've taken care of only two of them," he growled. "The boss certainly gave me my share of work to do in this little affair!"
He saw two policemen sitting at the bottom of the stairs. He saw a guard in the distance, another just emerging from one of the rooms on the floor below.
"Where are George and Fred?" he heard the guard ask.
"Went to the second floor," one of the policemen replied.
"Guess I'll go up and help them, and then we won't have to bother about the second floor until early in the morning. Get the card table ready, and we'll have a little game. Nothing to worry about. Looks to me as if the Black Star didn't intend to come here. I guess the boys on the outside would let us know if there was any danger."
The guard started up the stairs, and the man lurking at the top darted into the first niche and crouched there in the semidarkness. The guard passed, the vapor gun was exploded, and the guard toppled forward as had the others, and was drugged as the others had been.
"Seven more, and the engineer," growled the Black Star's man.
Once more he went to the head of the stairs. Four policemen were putting out a collapsible card table. Two guards were approaching along the corridor. The seventh member of the protective squad, the Black Star's man knew, was at the front door, where the officers outside could see him. He was supposed to show himself there at the end of each hour, to let them know that everything was all right inside.
The Black Star's man darted through the corridor and went softly down the rear stairs. He made his way through the hall toward the front. He knew where the light switch was located; he had found this out several days before, when preparing for this night's events.
He reached the switch, jerked it down, and plunged the lower floor in darkness. He darted forward as he heard the exclamations of the six men in front. He dropped behind a statue just as one of the policemen flashed his electric torch.
"Fuse out, I suppose," he heard one of the guards say. "I'll get the engineer—he attends to all that stuff."
He hurried toward the basement entrance. The man at the front door merely shouted to know what was the matter, and remained at his post.
The five others were clustered about the card table. The Black Star's man crept forward and took a vapor bomb from beneath his coat. This was the perilous moment, he knew. This particular bomb was a delicate one that would make no noise as it exploded. But unless the vapor struck into the nostrils of the five men, disaster might come. If one of them escaped unconsciousness for a moment, he would be able to give the alarm.
Another bomb came from beneath the coat. The first one was hurled to the marble floor at the back of the five men. The second followed it.
Clouds of vapor arose. The Black Star's man held a sponge to his nostrils, flashed his torch and watched. It had worked—the five men were staggering—had fallen!
He had swift work to do now. At any moment the guard might return with the engineer, or the other guard come from the front door. He knelt beside the first man, and drove home the point of the needle. He worked in the dark, for it was safer that way. One by one he drugged them, and then he darted noiselessly toward the door that led to the basement.
He was just in time—the guard and engineer were coming up.
"Guess it's a fuse," the guard was saying. "Lights on the upper floor are still burning."
They stepped into the dark corridor, and the guard called for one of the policemen to flash his torch. The Black Star's man stepped up close, and again the vapor gun was discharged. They staggered and fell.
The needle was used again, and then he darted toward the entrance. The guard there had reported to the one outside, and was returning.
"Hurry up with those lights!" he shouted.
He gasped; collapsed. The Black Star's man caught him and let him down to the floor. He was holding the sponge to his nostrils again.
"I'll be going asleep from that vapor myself in a minute, if I'm not careful," he told himself. "I've hardly any more of the stuff. It's a good thing they're all down and out!"
He lifted the unconscious guard and carried him to one side, where he could not be seen from the entrance. Then he ran through the corridor and threw the light switch again, so that those outside would think everything was all right in the interior.
Then he ran to the basement door, hurried down the steps, went to a big electric switch on the wall, and threw that. The deadly protective current was shut off all over the building.
Up the stairs he dashed to the second floor. He hurried to a window on one side of the building, took an electric torch from his pocket and flashed it seven times.
The flashes were observed by a man in a window across the street.
A half a dozen policemen were on guard outside the museum. They walked around the building continually, and communicated at the end of each hour with one of the guards inside. Now and then they gathered near the entrance to talk and wish their vigil was over.
Ten minutes after the Black Star's man had flashed his torch from the window, these six officers were startled by sounds of an altercation in the street. Two men, their voices raised, were quarreling. Others passing in the street stopped to listen. Threats were hurled back and forth. The men grappled, started to fight.
Two of the policemen left the museum and started running toward the combatants. When they were halfway one of the fighting men darted backward, drew a revolver and began firing.
There was a crowd on the corner now. The quarrelsome one continued to shoot; the other man fell in the street.
The four other policemen forgot the museum. They ran toward the corner, clubs in their hands, to beat back the crowd, to help take charge of the murderer, to send for an ambulance, if it proved to be necessary.
The Black Star's man observed this from a window. He flashed his torch again, and then ran down the stairs and to a little side door of the museum, which he unlocked.
Four men darted across the street and through this door. It was locked again immediately.
"All of them down and out!" the man who had been inside reported. "We'll have to work swiftly. They'll be expecting a guard to show his face at the door at the end of the hour. Come with me—I know the paintings the boss wants."
"How about that electric current?" one asked.
"I turned it off, of course. Hurry!"
They ran up the stairs and into one of the galleries. The man who had been inside indicated six paintings. Men crawled beneath the protecting railings, drew knives and started cutting the paintings from their frames.
"No time to waste!" the leader informed them. "We've got about fifteen minutes more."
He ran to one of the windows and glanced out at the street. The crowd was growing larger. The police had ascertained that the man who had fallen was not shot, but had stumbled in his mad haste to get away. The two men had been arrested, and the patrol auto called. None of the police had started back toward the museum, though some of them glanced in that direction now and then.
Inside, the paintings had been cut from their frames and made into rolls. The rolls were tied up with rope and then lashed together.
"Out you go!" said the man who had hidden inside.
They hurried down the stairs and to the little side door. The one ahead opened it and glanced out.
"Coast all clear!" he announced.
Two went first, carrying the roll of paintings with them. The others left one by one, darted across the street, and each went in a different direction. Those with the paintings had an automobile waiting; they jumped in and were driven rapidly away.
The men who had fought were carried away to jail; their part had been done well. The policemen went back to the museum, joking about the fight they had witnessed.
"They'll make it up in the morning and get fined for fighting and discharging firearms," one of them declared. "Business quarrel, eh? Pretty vigorous business men, I think!"
"Suppose everything's all right inside?" another asked.
"That gang inside is so busy playing cards that they wouldn't know it if a battle was staged in the street."
The end of the hour came, but no guard showed himself at the front door to say that everything was all right. One of the policemen pounded upon it, but got no response.
"That's funny!" he said. "They ought to answer—that's their orders!"
He pounded upon the door again, and still he got no reply from those inside.
"Think we'd better go in?" one of the others asked.
"We've got orders not to do it unless we know there's trouble inside."
"Well, there may be trouble."
"Card game—that's all. You listen to me—hand that guard a call down when he shows up. He's a sort of fresh guy, anyway—thinks he owns the museum, I guess!"
Once more he pounded on the door and got no response. The police began to look serious.
"Aw, how could anything happen?" one of them asked. "Nobody could get into the museum, could they? And there was nobody in there when it was locked up except them that belonged. Ain't we been on watch?"
"Well, that scrap called all of us across the street for a time, remember."
"Yes, and we'd better forget that if there happens to be any trouble inside. I think we'd better go in and investigate. This doesn't look exactly good to me."
He took a key from his pocket—a key to the front door of the museum, that had been given him for just such an emergency. He unlocked the door and went in with two of the others, locking the door behind him.
They hurried through the entrance and started down the corridor toward the wide stairs that led to the floor above. The one in advance gave a cry of horror and started forward. Stretched on the marble floor were policemen and museum guards, unconscious, and plainly drugged in some manner.
"Call headquarters!" one of the policemen shrieked. "Get the chief!"
Another ran to the nearest telephone, which happened to be in the office of the custodian. Within a short time he had the chief on the wire.
"This is Officer Riley, at the museum," he said. "There's something wrong here. No guard showed up at the front door at the end of the hour, and so we came inside. We found all the guards and officers unconscious, laid out!"
"What's that?" the chief cried. "What laid 'em out? What's happened out there?"
"We just got inside the building—haven't had time to investigate—don't know what's been going on!" Officer Riley gasped. "Thought I'd better call you at once."
"Keep your eyes open—we'll be right up there!" the chief cried. "Keep right on the job!"
"Better bring the police surgeon with you, chief. There seems to be something wrong with these men."
That telephone conversation caused another tumult at police headquarters. The chief bellowed his orders, then ran with Verbeck and Muggs to the former's roadster, which was in readiness at the curb. With Verbeck at the wheel, the powerful car dashed through the streets toward the museum, and behind it came half a dozen police department autos filled with detectives.
They reached the museum, left the cars and hurried to the entrance. One of the men inside unlocked and opened the door.
"They are still unconscious, chief!" he reported. "Looks to me as if they had been doped."
The police surgeon made a swift examination.
"They have been drugged," he announced, "and pretty badly, at that. I'll have to get busy on them at once, or we'll have dead men on our hands."
"Bring them around as soon as you can," the chief said. "I want to hear what they've got to say. And you men search the entire building! We'll look into this! One of you call up the superintendent of the museum and get him down here. Lively!"
The officers scattered throughout the big building, turned on all the lights, and began their search. They found the unconscious guards on the upper floor and carried them below for the police surgeon to work on. The surgeon sent in a call for his assistants.
Policemen who searched the statuary hall discovered the open trapdoor. They got up into the attic, and investigated there, and found nothing except dust and footprints in it. Down to the first floor they went to report this.
Verbeck and Muggs hurried to the attic and investigated for themselves.
"Very simple," Verbeck said. "Some member or members of the gang got up here during the day, remained in hiding until night, and then got down and handled the guards and officers."
"Yeah, but where are they now?" Muggs wanted to know.
"Not in the building, you may be sure. They managed to get out in some manner."
"And what did they swipe?"
"The superintendent will have to tell that, I suppose. There are several thousand things in this place, Muggs, that are almost priceless. The Black Star has done it again. Let's go downstairs and see if there is anything in the nature of a clew."
They hurried down the stairs. The superintendent of the museum had just arrived—a worried, frantic superintendent who immediately telephoned for more guards and one of his assistants.
"I am almost afraid to look," he announced. "Do you suppose anything has been taken?"
"That little side door is unlocked," one of the detectives reported to the chief.
"It shouldn't be," said the superintendent. "It always is locked except when we are receiving new exhibits, which are delivered at that entrance."
Verbeck grasped one of the officers by the arm.
"Have you watched closely all night?" he demanded.
"Yes, sir."
"Didn't leave the museum at all?"
"For a few minutes. There was a shooting scrape at the corner——"
"Did all of you go there? How long were you gone? Speak quickly, man!"
"Weren't gone more than half an hour. But we watched the museum, just the same. It's light——"
"From the corner you couldn't see that little side door!" Verbeck thundered. "Any of the Black Star's men who had hidden in the museum could have rendered these guards and officers unconscious, taken what they wished, and walked right out of that side door with it, while you were over at the corner. That fight was staged for a certain purpose!"
"Oh, you fools!" the chief cried. "The newspapers are right—the police force is a gang of imbeciles! Idiots! You've let him get away with it again!"
The superintendent of the museum had been going through the building with a couple of detectives, and now they heard his cry of surprise and rage from the upper floor.
"What is it? Find something missing?" the chief cried.
"Six famous paintings!" the superintendent shrieked. "Six of them gone! Six priceless masterpieces—cut from their frames—carried away! The protective current—it must have been turned off! Six of the most priceless pictures!"
"Great Scott!" the chief ejaculated.
"Now there will be a fine row!" Verbeck said. "We've got to catch the Black Star and get those paintings back! Every art lover will howl until we do! And, worst of all, they didn't belong to the museum—they were merely loaned. And the six are worth more than a million dollars!"
At his headquarters, the Black Star was pacing the floor nervously, his hands clasped behind his back. A buzzer sounded, and he hurried to the telephone, taking it from its hiding place in the niche in the wall.
"Hello!" he said.
"Number Eleven."
"Countersign?"
"Kokomo."
"Report," ordered the master crook.
"Everything went off as planned, sir. I got into the attic without much trouble, and subdued the guards and policemen when the proper time came. The fight was started as soon as the men received my signal."
"How about the loot?"
"We got all six of the paintings, sir, and they are on their way to you now."
"Good! That is all for to-night. Report at the usual time in person to-morrow."
The Black Star hung up the receiver, rang the bell three times, took the receiver down again. The ring was heard by men at a telephone instrument in the woods a quarter of a mile away.
"Hello!" one of them answered.
"Start!" the Black Star said; and then he hung up the receiver again and touched the bell button. The servant came into the headquarters room.
"Tell the mechanic to be ready to start within five minutes," the master rogue ordered.
The servant hurried away, and the Black Star took off his robe and put on the heavy ulster once more. Presently he hurried from the room, closing and locking the door behind him.
In the woods, six men left the hidden telephone and hurried along a narrow, winding path through the darkness, going toward the bank of the river.
They did not speak as they hurried forward, single file, like Indians following a trail. They reached the shore, and in a little cove came upon a motor boat hidden beneath overhanging willows. The six got into the boat.
They moved the craft out into the stream and pointed its bow toward the city. The six were dressed as fishermen, in uncouth clothing, stubbles of beard upon their faces, their sleeves rolled up. In the launch was fishing gear. There was nothing in the appearance of the craft to create suspicion, but a mechanic, had he looked at the engine, would have marveled that common fishermen could possess such a perfect piece of machinery.
The regulation lights were burning. The launch made ordinary speed down the stream. Two of the men were singing raucously. To all appearances here were six fishermen going to the city to carouse at some cheap resort on the waterfront.
At the lower end of town, the launch turned toward the shore. At a small dock she was moored. But only five of the men left the boat—one remained curled up in the stern, hidden by a mass of canvas and fishing gear.
The five entered a cheap resort and drank, and then went upon the street again, as if starting to another place. They slipped through a dark alley, emerged on a side street and hurried along it, maintaining a conversation that had to do with fish and market prices.
After a time they came to a public square in an old section of the city. Here were business houses that had been there for scores of years, famous establishments that scorned to move to a more modern district of the town.
They stopped on a corner and talked loudly, half quarreling, as intoxicated fishermen might be expected to do. A policeman warned them to lower their voices and behave, and they went on up the street, slowly, staggering a bit, laughing now and then.
On the next corner was a bakery. The basement door was open, and a baker stood in it. Odors of fresh bread and cakes poured out.
"Um!" one of the fishermen gasped. "Any chance to get some hot bread?"
"Do you happen to have the price?" the baker asked.
"We sure have!"
A passing pedestrian heard the conversation, smiled, and walked on.
"Come downstairs, then," the baker said.
They descended the stairs and entered the oven department. They threw coins on a table, and each was given a loaf of warm bread, and they began eating, still laughing and talking. The baker's assistant had finished his work and washed up, and now was telling his employer good night. He hurried up the steps and went away.
The baker led the five fishermen into a rear room to show them more ovens, where cakes were baking. He closed the door between the two rooms. Instantly the demeanor of the five men changed.
"Everything all right?" one of them asked.
"There is one guard in the diamond room. The others are on the two floors," the baker replied.
"How many in all?"
"Only four."
"Cinch!" said one of the five. "Let's go!"
"I'll have the other stuff ready," the baker informed them.
He opened the door and glanced into the other room, closed the door again and motioned that everything was all right. The five men hurried to the other end of the room, and one of them pressed against the wall. A small door swung open.
They passed through the wall and into the basement of the building adjoining. An engineer was asleep in a chair before his table, and he was rendered unconscious immediately by means of a vapor gun. The five hurried up a flight of stairs, opened a door, and entered a rear hall.
They were at the back of a famous jewelry establishment now, one that had a famous name in the business world, one which scorned to move to better quarters, but which was protected by every known device. Another door was opened, and they were in a storeroom.
They moved with more caution now, for this was dangerous ground. The Black Star had planned this attack on the assumption that he would be expected to rob a more pretentious establishment. Few men knew that a large shipment of gorgeous diamonds had recently been received by this firm—but the Black Star knew it. One of his band was a trusted clerk in the house.
Moreover, at that moment, the Black Star was creating a diversion. In the principal retail district of the city there was a fashionable jewelry store housed in a modern building. It was being heavily guarded this night, for the proprietors had taken cognizance of the master crook's announcement that he intended to purloin rare jewels, and they flattered themselves that their establishment would be the one visited.
More than a score of special watchmen and police officers were in this building. One of the proprietors himself was on hand, aiding in safe-guarding the jewels. The entire establishment was brilliantly lighted. The shades and fire curtains at the windows were raised, and the door of the vault room stood open so that it could be seen from the front street. The Pioneer Diamond Company was taking no chances of being looted.
And suddenly the building that housed the diamond company was bathed in brilliant light that seemed to come out of the sky! People in the streets, remembering what had happened three nights before, began shrieking that the Black Star and his men were at work. An alarm was sent to police headquarters, and relayed to the chief at the museum. The Black Star was robbing the Pioneer Diamond Company!
Leaving a small police guard at the museum, the chief hurried to the scene with the remainder of his men. Verbeck and Muggs went ahead in the roadster, charging through the streets, the horn shrieking a warning. As they arrived, the bright light had disappeared, but soon they saw it again.
"That's the Black Star," Verbeck said. "I can't figure out how he does it, but I suppose the solution will be simple enough when we learn it."
"I'd like to beat it out of him!" Muggs said.
The police had entered the building, and the chief had ascertained that nothing had happened. As far as they knew, there was nobody in the establishment who did not have a right to be there. But that did not mean that the danger was over.
"I don't like the looks of this!" Verbeck said. "I am inclined to believe that the gang is doing the real work in some other place."
"I've got men every place where there is any quantity of precious stones," the chief said, "and they have orders to send an alarm to headquarters the instant they see or hear anything that seems to be suspicious."
The bright light from the sky had disappeared again. Out in the street there was a series of explosions, and Verbeck and Muggs and the chief rushed to a window, and saw clouds of vapor rising from the pavement.
"He's got some scheme!" the chief declared. "Watch yourselves, you men, and be ready to go into action! More of you go into the vault room and watch there!"
The proprietor was like a maniac, and the chief whirled upon him angrily.
"What's the matter with you?" he demanded. "You don't see any of the crook's gang around here, do you? How can we do anything until they show up? You give me a pain."
"There is a fortune in the vault——"
"And it'll probably remain there!" the chief said. "We are playing a game that is tough enough without having an insane man raving around us!"
Another shower of vapor bombs came from the sky. The people in the streets were scattering, seeking cover. Once more the bright light blazed forth. Out into the street rushed Verbeck and Muggs. The light disappeared, and presently they heard the voice of the Black Star.
"Better watch those diamonds, gentlemen!" he shouted. "You'll be missing a lot of them the first thing you know. I love gems, and I happen to know that there are some glorious ones in the vault of the Pioneer Diamond Company."
The voice died away, and they heard no more. Verbeck and Muggs rushed back into the store. The chief was in the vault room.
"Are all your diamonds and expensive jewels in that vault?" the chief asked the member of the firm who was spending the night in the store.
"All except a few small stones such as the Black Star would not bother about."
"Then Mr. Black Star is going to fall down on the job!" the chief declared. "We'll just pack this vault room full of officers. The only way those crooks can get in then will be to tunnel through the bottom of the vault!"
"They can't do that—the vault is impregnable!" the member of the firm declared.
The chief laughed scornfully. "It may be impregnable as far as ordinary criminals are concerned," he retorted, "but we are dealing with the Black Star, please remember, and he dotes on supposedly impregnable things. Vaults do not seem to bother his men much. Open the door of the vault, and sit in it yourself. We'll watch the inside as well as the outside."
The door of the vault was opened. An investigation showed that everything was all right. And so they waited for the blow that they expected.
A telephone bell rang, and the member of the firm hurried to the instrument to answer.
"It's a call for you, chief, from your headquarters," he reported.
The chief rushed to the telephone. He was experiencing a feeling of apprehension.
"Hello!" he cried.
A desk sergeant at headquarters answered him.
"That you, chief? The Black Star's men are raiding a diamond store downtown. I just got the tip from a watchmen who dodged them. Wait—I'll give you the address!"
Far downtown, the five fishermen passed through the storeroom and entered another hall. They walked through this to the end, making not the slightest noise. Each man held a vapor gun in his hand and was prepared to use it if occasion demanded.
At the end of the hall, another door was opened with a duplicate key one of the men took from his pocket. The five crept through, and closed the door again.
"Two men on each floor, and one in the diamond room," the leader whispered. "Make sure that we get them all."
The band scattered. Two remained on the lower floor, two started to the floor above, and one made his way toward the diamond room in the rear. Dim lights were burning here and there, and the men moved from shadow to shadow, noiselessly alert.
On the lower floor, the two watchmen were eating their night luncheon. They sat close together, talking in low tones. A light was burning above the table upon which they had put their lunch boxes, but the spot could not be seen from the street through the windows.
The Black Star's two men advanced carefully. One of them made a sign, transferred the vapor gun to his left hand, and took a bomb out of his pocket. He hurled it behind the two watchmen.
They sprang to their feet, gasped, dropped. The two members of the Black Star's band turned away and darted to the foot of the stairs, ready to help their companions if help should be needed.
On the second floor, the two watchmen were found separated and rendered unconscious immediately. The man who had gone toward the diamond room stopped just outside the door and peered in. The watchman inside evidently feared no interruption. He was sitting with his back to the open door, reading a newspaper.
A shot from the vapor pistol, and he was unconscious. Three of the other four men hurried into the room. The other remained below, on guard at the end of the hall through which they had entered.
Tools were taken from pockets, and work began on the door of the vault. Two of the band were experienced workmen in whom the Black Star took pride. They worked swiftly, yet thoroughly. They knew that opening the vault would take some time.
On the lower floor the two watchmen remained stretched on the carpet. Presently, one of them opened his eyes, then raised his head and looked around carefully.
It happened that he had inhaled very little of the vapor from the bomb. As he fell he had tottered to one side, and the draft from the nearest ventilator had carried the fumes away from him. He was a man who had read all the newspapers ever had printed concerning the Black Star's methods, and he guessed immediately what had occurred.
He did not know with how many men he had to contend. He supposed they were raiding the diamond room, and that there were guards posted, but could not be sure. He listened intently, glanced around again. He saw nobody, heard nothing except a slight sound that came from the diamond room, the rasping of tools against steel.
The watchman had been long in the service of the firm, and was a trusted man. But he also was an old man, and not very strong. He was not the sort to combat the Black Star's band single-handed, though he had a revolver in his pocket.
But he was the sort who would take a chance to give an alarm. He glanced at his unconscious companion, looked around the room again, and started crawling slowly over the floor, a foot at a time.
He came to the first aisle, and looked down it. There was nobody in sight. He crept along the counters, behind them, stopping now and then to listen. He was not making fast progress, but he was afraid to risk everything in the interests of speed.
Finally he reached the end of the counter, and once more he looked around and listened. He could still hear the slight noise in the diamond room, but that was all. He had an open space of twenty feet to cross now, and he proceeded faster, and finally reached the door of a private office.
He raised himself, opened the door noiselessly and entered. Then he sprang to his feet, locked the door, and darted to the telephone on the desk.
He had expected to find the telephone useless, and was gratified that such was not the case. Once more he paused to listen, and then lifted the receiver from the hook, and put his lips close to the transmitter.
"Number?" asked the girl at central.
"Police headquarters—quick!"
It seemed to him that he waited an eternity before the voice of the desk sergeant came to him over the wire.
"Robbery!" he gasped. "Black Star's men!"
"Where, man—where?" demanded the sergeant.
The watchman gave the address.
"This is one of the watchmen," he added. "The gas bomb didn't put me out, and I managed to crawl to the office. Hurry—hurry! They are in the diamond room now—I don't know how many of them! But hurry!"
Then the old watchman sank into the chair before the desk, weak and trembling. He had done his part, and he could not do more. He took out his revolver, and tried to decide whether he should attack them. It would be better, he thought, to wait until the police came—they would not be long.
Up in the diamond room the Black Star's men had opened the vault door, finally. They reached for three certain trays, and swept the diamonds from them. They had orders what to get and what to leave—the master rogue wanted only some stones recently received, one hundred superior stones upon which a high valuation had been placed by experts.
With the gems in their pockets, they left the diamond room and closed the door behind them. They started down the hall to meet the men who had remained on guard.
And suddenly they heard police sirens shrieking, and the front of the establishment was bathed in light.
"The cops are on us!" one of them gasped.
"We needn't worry if we can get through the basement wall and into the bakeshop. But we'll have to hurry," another replied, rushing along the hall.
They darted down the stairs, closing and locking all the doors as they went, for they did not want the police to guess the manner of their entrance. The Black Star might have need of the baker in some other enterprise.
They came to the wall and tapped upon it. The baker swung the little door open, and they stepped into the shop.
"Cops all around the place!" he reported. "Must have been tipped off in some way. Where are the stones?"
"Here!" one replied, and tumbled them on the table.
Before the baker was a pan of dough. He worked swiftly, forming it into light biscuits—and into each biscuit he put diamonds. He put the biscuits into a pan, greased the tops of them, put the pan into one of the ovens.
"Two bottles of beer there—open them!" he ordered in a whisper.
One of the five fishermen obeyed. They poured the liquor out, drank a part of it, put their glasses down upon the table.
There was bedlam in the streets now. The police had surrounded the block. They were battering at doors, and the old watchman was letting them in at the front entrance. A crowd already had started to gather.
"Tight hole!" one of the fishermen said.
"Not unless you lose your nerve!" the baker answered. "Beginning to get scared?"
"I guess I've got as much nerve as the next man!"
"Then show it!" the baker said. "Make a wrong plan, and all of us will be in trouble. They are sure to come in here in a minute or two."
Verbeck and Muggs had entered the establishment with the chief. The old watchman told his story in a few words. Lights were turned on, and the place searched, and the unconscious men found. Then Verbeck hurried to the diamond room, with the others at his heels.
The door of the vault was open. Empty trays were on the floor; and at the bottom of the vault was a sheet of white paper, upon which had been pasted a row of little black stars.
"Looted!" the chief gasped. "But where can they be?"
"Gone before we got here!" Muggs said.
"The watchman says he heard them just as we came up. There are only two exits to the ground floor—the front door and the rear one—and no windows in the back large enough to permit a man to pass through."
"And the back door is bolted on the inside—I investigated it," Verbeck said.
"Then, where have they gone?" the chief cried. "This thing is getting on my nerves! But we've got the block surrounded, and every man inside the lines will give an account of himself."
The search of the block began, and it was a methodical and thorough one. Building by building, room by room it went on, while the crowds gathered outside. The chief took up his station on a corner and received reports that were highly discouraging. It appeared that the master criminal's men had disappeared into thin air, or else had left the place before the police arrived.
Verbeck and Muggs conducted an investigation of their own, but found nothing to help them.
"This gets my goat, boss!" Muggs said. "I think it's a hoodoo to work with the cops."
"I'm beginning to think that myself, Muggs," Verbeck replied. "The Black Star tricks the police, and when we are with them we get tricked, too. Beginning with to-morrow, Muggs, you and I tackle the job on an independent basis."
"That's great, boss! And we'll get that big crook, too!"
"We'll get him!" Verbeck promised.
"And when we do, you turn your back for about five minutes, and let me handle him," Muggs begged. "I want to give him the sore throat, and give it to him bad!"
"Maybe you'll get the chance," Verbeck said.
Down in the bakeshop the five fishermen were making merry around the table. Upon them entered half a dozen policemen, a captain at their head.
"Who are you, and what are you doing here?" the officer demanded, looking at them suspiciously.
The five fishermen showed alarm in their faces. The baker rushed forward.
"Why, they're friends of mine, captain," he said. "They're fishermen, and come up from the wharf now and then at night to have a little drink of beer with me. I've known them for years."
"What are your names, and where do you live and work?" the captain asked.
They were ready with that information. They had prepared it in advance; and, if their answers were investigated, they would stand the test.
"Well, maybe you're all right, but we can't afford to take any chances," the captain said. "The Black Star's gang has made a haul in the jewelry house on the other side of the block, and we're taking a good look at every man around here. You'll have to stand a search, or be taken in!"
The five fishermen announced that they were willing to be searched. The search was carried out immediately. From their pockets were taken knives, bits of twine, chewing tobacco, soiled handkerchiefs—things one would expect to find in the pockets of such men. They had, of course, hidden their vapor guns and their drilling tools in a safe place under the cellar flagstones before the police came upon them.
"Well, what are you hanging around here to-night for?" the captain demanded.
"They just came up to have a little drink with me, and to get some fresh bread," the baker explained. "They are waiting for it now—fresh-bread and light biscuits. Jim, there, is a fiend for my light biscuits."
As he finished speaking, the baker turned to his oven and opened the door. A delicious aroma streamed forth, and the men sniffed. Bread and biscuits were tumbled out, and the baker started wrapping them up.
"What did that gang get in the jewelry store?" he asked the captain.
"Don't know exactly—diamonds, I suppose. You men get your stuff and get out of here. I guess you're all right. How are you going to get home?"
"We've got a launch down at the wharf," one of them replied. "She ain't much to look at, and ain't any race horse, but she does manage to get through the water a bit. Good enough for our business, I reckon."
"Get your stuff and come along. I'll see you through the lines," the captain told them. "We'll have to search your shop, baker. I'll leave a couple of men to do that."
"All right. But I ain't in the diamond business," the baker said, grinning.