Lawrence peered through the window again, as the deputy made his way up the fire escape. The two women were putting on their hats and veils. Landers had stepped before Verbeck and Sheriff Kowen again, and was speaking to them.
"I shall report all this to the Black Star," he was saying, "and he will take great pleasure in relating it to the newspapers. We must give the dear public another chance to laugh, as I said before. I regret that the chief of police is not with you."
Just then the deputy reached the landing of the fire escape, and looked at Lawrence closely.
"We haven't any time to lose," Lawrence whispered. "Look inside the room."
Lawrence, realizing that the deputy was suspicious of him, stepped back, and the other man took a step forward and glanced through the window.
"I want to get in on this; Roger Verbeck is a friend of mine!" Lawrence declared. "What are we going to do?"
He looked through the window again as he spoke. Mamie Blanchard had picked up the bag and stepped to the door. The older woman was following her. Landers was preparing to leave.
"Don't worry, gentlemen," he was saying. "I'll notify the hotel to release you within an hour or so, I'll turn out the lights, of course."
The deputy waited no longer. He appeared to be convinced now that Lawrence was acting in good faith. He sprang forward, thrust his foot through the window, kicked at the glass repeatedly, rolled up the shade and sprang into the room. Lawrence was only a pace behind him, and eager for the fray.
Landers and his companions had whirled around at the first crash of the glass. One of the women screamed. Landers cursed, sprang to the light switch, and snapped off the lights. The door was hurled open, and the two women fled into the hall. Landers fired one shot from the vapor gun, sprang after them, stopped long enough to turn the key in the lock on the outside, and hurried after his female confederates to the elevator.
Lawrence and the deputy charged across the room, trying to keep from breathing, from inhaling those poisonous fumes. The deputy hurled himself at the door in an effort to break it down. But it was well braced against the woodwork outside, and resisted his efforts.
Lawrence staggered back to the window and took great gulps of the fresh air. Then he whirled around again, turned on the lights and began fumbling at Verbeck's bonds. Verbeck and the sheriff were weak, but the fumes of the vapor gun had not rendered them unconscious. The draft from the broken window had prevented that.
Lawrence tore the gags from the mouths of the bound men, and worked at the fastenings again.
"Down the fire escape!" Kowen shrieked to his deputy. "They called for a taxi. If you see a cop, get him to help. We'll be after you in a minute!"
The deputy darted to the window, and went down the fire escape with the agility of a monkey. Verbeck and Kowen, freed of their bonds at last, got upon their feet. Since it seemed impossible to break down the door leading to the corridor, Verbeck hurled himself against the one opening into an adjoining room. It crashed in, and they staggered into the apartment, startling a man who was dressing there.
"Officers—after crooks!" Kowen gasped.
They flung the hall door open, and rushed out. Lawrence was not far behind them. Verbeck ran at once to the elevators and glanced at the indicators above the doors.
"All at the bottom except one—and that is almost at the top," he gasped. "They surely haven't had time to get to the ground floor, unless they just happened to catch an elevator on the fly, or else went down the stairs."
The sheriff made no reply; already he was dashing down the wide, marble stairs. He reached the floor below, gave the lobby a single glance, and then hurried to the elevators.
"Two women and a man just come down?" he asked.
"Nobody's come down for the last ten minutes or so," the starter replied. "What's the row?"
The deputy had charged in from the street.
"They haven't come this way!" he said. "The taxicab is still waiting for them in front."
"Around to the alley!" the sheriff commanded. "Watch every exit there!"
The hotel manager was on the scene by this time.
"What is the disturbance about?" he demanded.
"We're after some of the Black Star's gang," the sheriff replied.
"In my house?"
"Yes; and they've been living here for some time, if you want to know. I thought this was an exclusive place, where a tenant had to have all sorts of references. Those two women who call themselves Whaley——"
"Why, they are all right!"
"Are they?" asked the sheriff. "One side!"
He took up a position whence he could watch both the stairs and the elevators. The deputy had hurried to the alley. Two policemen came in from the street, and the hotel detective put in an appearance. Kowen took instant command of the situation.
"Let nobody leave the building for the present—nobody!" he commanded. "Let nobody pass out unless either Verbeck or I give them permission!"
Kowen sprang up the wide stairs again. He reached the second floor, and stopped to listen. He heard no sound of pursuit or combat. The elevator came down from above, and the sheriff stopped it.
"Take two women and a man up?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," said the operator.
"Know them?"
"Miss Whaley and——"
"That's enough! Where did they go?"
"To the roof. They said they wanted to take a look at the city, as one of the ladies was going away."
"I'll go up and take a look myself!" the sheriff said. "And give us a little speed!"
The boy whizzed the elevator to the top floor; he didn't know what it was all about, but he sensed excitement.
"You take that flight of stairs to the roof," he explained. "There is a door at the top."
Kowen did not wait to thank him. He rushed for the stairs—and ran into Verbeck and Lawrence.
"They're on the roof!" Verbeck said. "And the door is locked, of course!"
"Then we've got them!" Kowen declared. "It's a cinch they can't get down!"
"Don't forget that we had the Black Star on a roof once, and he got down," Verbeck reminded him. "I just examined that door; it's a strong one."
"Why use the door?" Lawrence asked quietly. "I know this building pretty well, and I can get to the roof without going through the door at all."
"How?" Verbeck asked.
"I can get through that window, hang to the cornice, and draw myself up."
"You'd fall, man!" Kowen declared. "You'd kill yourself!"
"I can do it!" Verbeck exclaimed. "It isn't a bit harder than things I'm doing in the gymnasium all the time."
He hurried to the window, opened it, and looked at the cornice above.
"Don't try it!" Kowen said. "It's twelve stories to the pavement below, Mr. Verbeck."
"But I'm not going to fall!"
"They're not worth it——"
"What? The Black Star's first lieutenant, and the cleverest woman in his band? I'm going up! You go to the door at the head of the stairs and pound against it—make them think you are trying to break through—attract their attention! Do it now!"
He removed his shoes as he spoke. Kowen made a last protest, which drew no reply from Verbeck except a grin. Then the sheriff and Lawrence went back up the steps, and began pounding against the door.
Verbeck was cool and collected now. He realized the task that was before him, and he knew the danger he would be running. A fall would mean death on the pavement twelve floors below. Verbeck was thankful that it was dark.
Once more he looked up at the cornice. Then he got through the window, balanced himself on the sill, and reached up and grasped the edge of the cornice with his hands.
He hesitated a moment, took a deep breath, and started to draw himself up. It was a difficult task, even for a man who always had been known as an athlete. He managed to get one elbow over the edge of the cornice, and thus he held himself, and rested, and tried to reduce his breathing to normal.
The hardest part of the task was before him, he knew. He had swung away from the window below. If he was forced to lower himself, he doubted whether he could swing his legs in enough to brace himself on the sill.
"Have to do it, now!" Roger Verbeck told himself.
Again he started drawing himself up. He got his other elbow over the edge of the cornice, rested again for an instant, and then started to turn. Now his chest rested against the cornice. He exerted all his strength and managed to get one leg up. It was not difficult, after that, to draw up the other. So he remained stretched on a narrow ledge twelve stories above a busy street, panting, almost exhausted, dizzy.
Verbeck closed his eyes and stretched himself out to his full length. He realized that he could not hope to go the remainder of the way until he had recovered his strength. However, it did not take him long to recuperate.
He raised himself on his elbows and glanced upward. The parapet was above him, and not difficult to scale, but to reach the edge of it he would have to stand up straight on the narrow ledge upon which he now was stretched.
Verbeck took a deep breath and started drawing up his knees. Presently he was in a kneeling position. Then, inch by inch, he raised his body. His hands crept up the face of the wall before him, stretched out and grasped the edge of the parapet.
Once more he was forced to draw himself up. He was very quiet about it, too. He did not know but that Landers might be directly above him, ready to receive him, or to thrust him over.
He got his elbows over the edge, and stopped to breathe and to listen. He could hear Kowen and Lawrence pounding on the door, and he found that Landers and the women were not near.
Verbeck began to think that good fortune was with him. He continued to draw himself up, and finally was stretched, panting, on the top of the parapet.
He was in no hurry, now. He had no intention of clashing physically with Landers while in an exhausted condition. There was no way, he thought, in which Landers and the women could escape from the roof except through the door at which the sheriff and Lawrence were pounding.
Verbeck waited until he felt refreshed, and then slipped down to the roof. Noiselessly he made his way across it toward the door. He came to a chimney, and stopped beside it, to watch and listen.
He had no weapon on him, and he knew that Landers had a vapor gun. One shot from that might render him unconscious, put him out of the fight. He could hear Landers and the women talking not very far from where he stood.
"They can't get through that door for some time," Landers was saying. "I'm going to telephone."
"He'll not come!" Mamie Blanchard wailed. "Why didn't we go down the stairs instead of up? We might have known we would have been caught in a trap."
"We'll see whether he'll come or not!" Landers said. "If the telephone is not out of commission——"
During the hot summer months, the roof was used as a garden. There was a little building in one corner of it that was used as a refreshment stand, and there always was a telephone there.
Verbeck knew that Landers was rushing across the roof to the building. He heard him smash against the frail door, heard it crash in. The women, it was evident, remained near the door leading to the stairs that went below.
Leaving the shadow of the chimney, Verbeck crept forward toward the little structure where Landers had gone to telephone. He hoped to catch the Black Star's lieutenant at a disadvantage and subdue him. He was much interested, too, in what Landers' telephone message might be, and to whom it would be sent.
Without a sound, Verbeck crossed the roof and came to the side of the little building. Landers had flashed an electric torch, and was taking the telephone from beneath the counter. Verbeck saw him take down the receiver.
It was evident that the hotel switchboard operator was surprised to get a call from the roof.
"Oh, it's all right!" Verbeck heard Landers say. "I'm up on the roof with the Misses Whaley. One of the ladies is going to leave the city, and she wanted to call a friend from here—just a whim. I found the door unlocked."
Then he gave a number. Roger Verbeck made a mental note of it. Here might be a clew that would lead to something important.
Verbeck crept close to the door, and listened. Presently Landers spoke again.
"Hello! This is Landers! I'm trapped on the roof of the New Nortonia Hotel with Mamie and her sister. Kowen and his crowd are trying to break the door in now, but I think it'll take them some time, and then I can stand them off for a while. If you don't come for us, we're caught.... Yes, Verbeck and the sheriff. They walked in on us. I got them under control, but some others came. The place is a regular trap.... Thanks! But hurry!"
Verbeck slipped to one side as Landers put the receiver on the hook and hurried out. He followed the Black Star's lieutenant back across the roof, and watched as he met the women.
"He'll come for us!" Verbeck heard Landers say. "It'll take him some time, of course—fifteen minutes at least. We'll have to hold off those men on the other side of the door. If it comes to the worst, some of them will get something more than a dose out of a vapor gun. I don't intend to spend fifteen or twenty years in prison!"
"If we had only gone downstairs——" Mamie Blanchard began.
"If we had, we'd have run into a few deputies. I tell you they planned to trap us! They've shadowed some of us——"
"Then it must have been you!" Mamie Blanchard told him. "I have not been out of the hotel, remember. It's your carelessness that got us into this mess!"
"Well, we won't quarrel about it," Landers said. "You women go to the other side of the roof and wait. I'll stay near the door and handle those men if they manage to break it open."
Landers approached the door, and Verbeck crept after him. The light was so faint that he could see little—just a shadow where the master crook's lieutenant was walking. Verbeck crouched as he advanced, made no noise, and was ready to stop if Landers betrayed any suspicion. But Landers, it appeared, did not expect a foe on the roof, and was intent only upon the door at which the sheriff and Lawrence were pounding.
Verbeck had picked up a piece of timber beside the little refreshment stand. It was the only weapon he had. He hated to use it, but he felt that the situation justified its use. Landers was about a match for him physically, and it was Verbeck's duty to make a prisoner of him, open the door, and let the others take the women into custody.
Landers was stamping upon the door.
"Get away, or I'll fire through it!" he called, as the pounding ceased for a moment.
He sent one shot crashing through the wood and Verbeck could hear a chorus of shrieks below. He knew Landers' plan—to delay them as much as he could. And for what? That was what Verbeck could not fathom.
To whom had Landers telephoned? How could he be rescued from the roof? Would the Black Star and his band face a battle with police and deputies, attempt to raid the hotel and save Landers and the two women?
Landers had stepped back, and was listening to what was being said below. Verbeck crept forward until he was within six feet of the other man. He raised the piece of timber.
He sent but one blow home, but he knew as it struck that it would send Landers crashing to the roof, even though it did not render him unconscious. He sprang past him, and fumbled at the heavy bolts on the door, drew them, and threw the door open.
"Up—quick!" he cried.
Glad cries from the sheriff and Lawrence greeted him. They sprang to the roof, two deputies at their heels. They seized the groaning Landers, and rushed across the roof toward the women.
"Torches!" Kowen cried.
The torches flashed. The women were standing near one of the big chimneys. Kowen led his deputies toward them.
"You don't get away this time!" he said. "It's handcuffs and a cell for you! You've played your last game with the Black Star, you two beauties!"
The fair prisoners were led toward the stairs. Landers had been handcuffed, and was being carried to the floor below. Verbeck and Lawrence followed them, but when they reached the floor below, Verbeck called the sheriff aside.
"Landers telephoned from the refreshment stand on the roof," he said. "I have made a note of the number; it might lead us to something. But here is the funny part—he asked somebody to come and rescue him. How they are going to try it, I do not know; but I think that message went to the Black Star."
"Maybe he'll try a raid here," Kowen suggested.
"Landers estimated, so he told the women, that he would be here in fifteen minutes, at least. But how could even the Black Star get enough of his men together to raid a place like this in that length of time? It's the roof we have to watch. You remember how the Black Star escaped from the roof of the National Trust Building, don't you? He seems to have methods of which we know nothing."
"Some more of that light stuff, and talking to us out of the air, probably," the sheriff said. "Well, what shall we do?"
"Have your deputies put the prisoners in a room and guard them. We'll stay here by the door and watch the roof!"
Sheriff Kowen gave the orders. He and Verbeck remained by the door, Lawrence with them.
"What's the big idea?" Lawrence inquired.
"Perhaps nothing; we are waiting to see," Verbeck replied.
"Well, can't you let a fellow in on it? If it hadn't been for me, those people would be far away by this time; and you'd be bound and gagged in that room, waiting for the public to laugh at you!"
"Simply this," Verbeck said; "Landers telephoned to somebody to rescue him from the roof, and we are waiting to see who comes to do it, and how he comes."
They waited for ten minutes without hearing or seeing anything. They left the door and walked to the nearest chimney, and stood there, watching, listening, like men who expected something to drop from the sky.
And something did come from the sky—that puzzling, brilliant light they were learning to know so well. It flooded the roof, swept across it, almost blinding the three men there. Verbeck and Kowen and Lawrence ran back to the open door, shading their eyes with their hands.
The light disappeared and they heard the Black Star's voice. "What have you done with my people?" he shouted.
"We've put handcuffs on 'em, you crook!" Kowen shrieked. "And we'll do as much for you one of these days!"
"Watch out!" Verbeck warned.
Some sixth sense seemed to tell him what was coming. And it did—a vapor bomb that burst not ten feet from the doorway. They darted back and away from it. They saw the bright light flood the roof again. Then the darkness came once more, and they heard nothing more, saw nothing more.
"I'd like to know how he does that!" Kowen said. "Does he hang around in the sky like a star? Well, he didn't rescue anybody, anyway! That's one comfort!"
"He hasn't been more than fifteen minutes getting here," Verbeck said. "But we don't know how he is traveling, and so we can't judge how far away his headquarters might be. That telephone number——"
"We can investigate that, at any rate, the first thing in the morning," Kowen said. "I'll get the telephone people busy. Now I'll take these prisoners down to the jail and give each of them a nice little room, American plan."
The prisoners were taken away, the excitement in the hotel died down, Verbeck went to Lawrence's suite to smoke a cigarette and get away from the crowd for a time, and finally started home.
He was worrying about Muggs, for one thing. He was hoping that the valet would find some way in which he could be of service, while he was a prisoner in the Black Star's headquarters. He knew that Muggs could be depended upon to make every effort.
The Black Star's threat—about doing something sensational the following night—also came to his mind. Was the master rogue to win again? Was there no way in which he could be stopped, recaptured, put behind prison bars? Already the city was in the grip of terror. No man could tell where the Black Star would strike next. He might loot another bank, or a jewelry store, or raid the jail in an effort to rescue his companions in crime. The public was considering everything—except the thing that the Black Star had actually planned to do.
Mrs. Richard Branniton completed her arrangements for entertaining the distinguished diplomats, Lord Sambery and Sir Burton Banks, and had no thought that the master criminal might pay her residence a visit while her guests were enjoying themselves.
Verbeck reached his rooms and threw himself into an easy-chair to rest. He did not fear for himself. He did not think that the Black Star would make an attempt to abduct him again, for prisoners were only in the way at the master criminal's headquarters. Also, there were half a dozen plain-clothes men in the apartment house, watching everybody who entered, ready to act in any emergency that might present itself.
It was too early to retire, so Verbeck smoked, and tried to read a magazine, but found that he could not get himself interested. He disliked to go to one of his clubs, for all the other members would want to discuss the Black Star and nothing else.
He started across the room to get a favorite book from the case, but whirled around and went back, because the telephone had rung.
"Hello!" he called.
"Verbeck?"
"Yes."
"This is the Black Star. Some of my men have informed me how Landers and the two women were caught. It took courage to climb to the roof the way you did, but that is not the point. Those three people are very necessary members of my organization, and I want them released."
Verbeck laughed into the telephone.
"Have you called the sheriff?" he asked. "He seems to be the man in charge just now."
"I have not called the sheriff yet. I thought I'd call you first, and get you to influence him. You see, Verbeck, I have Muggs here with me."
"What has that to do with it?"
"Simply this—if I have to descend to violence, I'll do it. Nothing shall stop me from having my revenge upon the city. Unless those people of mine are released by noon to-morrow, I'll blow the jail off the map—and I'll attend to Mr. Muggs."
"In what way?" Verbeck asked.
"I'll simply have him knocked on the head and dumped into the river. If I have to be violent, I'll be a proper thug! What have you to say?"
"Nothing, except that you have a wonderful nerve to speak as you do."
"Perhaps you think I can't blow the jail to pieces?"
"I do not say you can't, but I don't think you'll do it—not with Landers and The Princess inside it."
"And maybe you think I'd hesitate about making away with Muggs, do you?"
"I scarcely think you'll do anything of the sort," Verbeck said. "You would accomplish nothing, and you'd be hanged for murder after we caught you."
"You don't think I am serious," the Black Star replied. "I agreed to give you until noon to-morrow——"
"But I couldn't make the sheriff turn them loose! You may be sure that he'll guard them well, and see that they stand trial. Why, if they were turned loose——"
"I'll arrange that. They are to be freed and put in the middle of the polo field. I'll do the rest. On second thought, I'll give you more time, Verbeck, if you have to argue with the sheriff. I'm going to be busy to-morrow night, as I have said. I'll give you until the following morning. I'll ring you up then for your answer; and it had better be what I want to hear."
"You actually think we'd do such a thing?" Verbeck asked. "We'd look pretty, wouldn't we, turning three criminals loose because another criminal asked it!"
"Not an ordinary criminal—but the Black Star! And I don't ask it—I demand it! Muggs is here, and I am going to let him speak to you. Perhaps you don't really believe that he is here. He'll tell you that I am serious and mean what I say."
Verbeck waited, his heart pounding at his ribs. If Muggs only had the presence of mind, if he——
"Hello, boss!" came Muggs' voice over the wire.
"Hello, Muggs."
"I'm sure here in this big crook's headquarters, boss. I don't know what he intends to hand me, but it'll be plenty."
"Muggs, what do you want me to do?" Verbeck asked.
"Well, maybe I'm prejudiced," Muggs said, "but I don't care to be knocked on the head and thrown in any river. It wouldn't be a hard job for them—the river ain't far away!" That was a hint, at least. "And it ain't exactly nice to be croaked with music ringin' in your ears——"
Verbeck heard an exclamation of rage, the sound of a blow, a gasp, and then nothing more except a little click that told him the wire was dead. Muggs had tried to give a tip, and had not been given a chance to complete it.
Verbeck tried to remember the exact words that Muggs had spoken. He had said plainly that the headquarters of the Black Star were not far from the river. That in itself was a help, but not a very great one.
There were thousands of places in the city, not far from the river, where the Black Star could hide and where the members of his band could visit him. The headquarters might be in a warehouse on the water front, in some pretentious mansion on the hills overlooking the stream.
And what else was it that Muggs had said? That he didn't want to die with music ringing in his ears! Verbeck wondered what that might mean, for it was the statement, evidently, that had caused such a quick end to the conversation.
Verbeck paced the floor and thought it out. He knew the city from one end to the other. He had been born there, reared there, had watched it grow. Music ringing in his ears——
"The resort park!" Verbeck gasped. "That's what he must have meant! The Black Star's headquarters will be found near the river and near the resort park, where the band plays every afternoon and evening!"
Verbeck rushed to the telephone, called the sheriff, and asked him to come to his apartment immediately.
"I've got a tip that's better than the last one," he said. "Muggs gave it to me."
"Muggs?"
"Don't ask me to explain now. Hurry up here. And have the telephone people investigate that number I gave you, and report to you here about it."
Then Verbeck called the chief of police, finally locating him at his home.
"Chief, there's no use keeping up the bluff any longer," he said. "The Black Star knows very well that I am still after him. I wish you'd get over to my apartment as soon as you can. I've got something important to tell you. Kowen will be here——"
"Why did you call Kowen?" the chief demanded. "Couldn't we handle it alone? I understand Kowen won enough glory to-night to last him a month."
"Come over, and do your quarreling here!" Verbeck said.
Kowen was the first to arrive, fifteen minutes later.
"What's the big tip?" he asked. "Anything to it?"
"Wait until the chief gets here."
"Did you send for the chief? Was that necessary, Verbeck? It seems to me that we worked pretty well together this evening. Why give the police some of the credit? I lost the Black Star, remember, and I ought to have a chance to get him back!"
"There'll be work enough for all of us—and glory enough," Verbeck assured him.
Then the chief came storming in and exchanged glares with the sheriff.
"Before we begin, it might be well to have an understanding," Verbeck said. "You gentlemen must stop scrapping and become allies. We have a big job on hand, and we want to wind it up as quickly as possible."
Then he told them of his conversation with the Black Star, and of what Muggs had said.
"Let them go?" Kowen screeched. "I'd let him wreck the town first! Those crooks are in jail, and they're going to stay there!"
"That isn't the point," Verbeck interrupted. "It's the little tip Muggs gave that interests us. According to what he said, the Black Star's headquarters are near the river, and I believe, when he spoke of the music, that he meant the resort park."
"I think you're right!" the chief exclaimed.
"But where could the headquarters be in that locality?" the sheriff wanted to know.
"It's our job to find out," the chief said, "and we'll start at daylight. If we can locate it before night, perhaps we can stop whatever it is that the big crook intends to do."
The telephone bell rang again. The call was for the sheriff, and he spent some time listening to the person at the other end of the wire. When he turned toward them again, his face was beaming.
"It begins to look good," he said. "That was from the manager of the telephone company. He looked up that number that Landers called. It is a little summer cottage far up the river beyond the resort park."
"Great!" the chief exclaimed. "We'll land 'em yet!"
"But that isn't the funny thing about it. The manager says he sent a man out there in a machine. There is nobody living in the cottage, and there hasn't been for months, yet the telephone bills have been paid regularly."
"Meaning," said Verbeck, "that the bills are paid by one of the Black Star's organization. Of course his headquarters are not in the cottage. But we'll find the place somewhere in that locality."
"Where do you get that?" Kowen asked.
"It means simply that somewhere between the cottage and the next station on the line, the Black Star has plugged in on the wire. When that number is called, the bell rings in his own headquarters. When he calls, it appears to the switchboard operator that the number is calling."
"I believe you've got it!" the chief cried.
"In the morning, you can go to that cottage and follow the wire, examine every foot of it, discover where the other wire is plugged in, follow it, and find the place that we want. Other men can search through the neighborhood. We're on the right track!"
For another hour they worked perfecting their plans, and then the chief and the sheriff, friendly again, took their departure. Verbeck left a call at the office for an early hour, and made haste to retire and fortify himself with sleep.
He was up soon after break of day, had his bath and breakfast, and went down to get his roadster from the garage, feeling particularly fit. He drove immediately to police headquarters and went into the private office of the chief, who with Sheriff Kowen was waiting for him.
"I had twenty men out there at daybreak working on that telephone line," the chief said. "They are scattered, of course—look like linemen. In fact, they are making a bluff at stringing a new line—but they are searching for the place where the Black Star taps the wire. It wouldn't surprise me much to find that the Black Star knows as much about our plans as we know ourselves—he seems to be able to get all the information he wants—but maybe we can get the better of the fiend this time!"
"Are we going to wait here for that wire squad to report?" Kowen asked.
"No; there is no use in that," the chief replied. "I have sent twenty more men out there—all in plain clothes. They went out a couple at a time; have been going out since midnight. Some are near the resort park and others are scattered through the woods. Did you send your deputies to the other side, sheriff?"
"I did; between us we have men on the north, east and south, and the river is on the west. Maybe we have that crook's headquarters surrounded, and maybe we haven't."
"We may as well start out there," Verbeck put in.
The chief got into the roadster with him; the sheriff had a car of his own, driven by a deputy. They drove rapidly through the city and out along the river road. They came to the resort, and got out and parked their cars. The sheriff and the chief began receiving reports from their forces.
All the buildings in the resort had been searched well, and nothing found. Men had discovered nothing suspicious in the woods. There was a large fish cannery near, and it had been investigated thoroughly. The men scattered around the woods were closing in, drawing the net tighter.
The wire squad was at work. They had followed the wire from the little cottage, after making an investigation there and being sure that the cottage was not the entrance to a subterranean abode used by the Black Star. Even while the man in charge of the squad was making his report, word was flashed down the line that the extra wire had been found.
The sheriff and chief got into Verbeck's machine, and he drove them a quarter of a mile down the road. The wire had been tapped in a very clever manner, as one of the electricians of the department explained. It was running underground, through a small cable.
The chief called for more of his men, and they began unearthing the line. It seemed to run straight toward the east, and through the woods. The chief sent a captain and half a dozen men ahead of the wire squad.
"We're getting close to them, I think," the chief declared. "I feel that this is going to be our lucky day."
After a time they found a telephone instrument attached to the wire and hidden beneath a heap of brush. Next they came upon the old farmhouse, with the wire fence around it. There the telephone wire left the ground and ran from tree to tree through the grove, to disappear into the building.
"There!" the chief said. "We'll get the place surrounded——"
He gave quick orders, and the force of officers began closing in. Within a few minutes, the house had a circle of determined men around it. Verbeck and the chief had been watching it closely, while the sheriff placed the men. They had seen no sign of life.
"Probably gone—if this is really the place," Verbeck said. "It wouldn't have been difficult for the Black Star to learn our plans, and he had all night in which to get away."
"Well, we'll get in there, anyway," the chief said. "It may be our luck that he is still there with some of his gang. If he is gone, and had to get out in a hurry, he might have left something behind that will give us a clew as to what he intends doing to-night."
"And we could put a lot of trust in that, couldn't we?" said Roger Verbeck. "He won over us before, because we gave considerable attention to some bogus orders he left on a table in a bogus headquarters—don't forget that."
"I'm not liable to; the precious newspapers won't let me," said the chief.
The men were creeping through the brush now, approaching the fence. Verbeck had the chief issue an order for them to stop.
"I don't like the looks of that fence," he said. "You'll notice that the house is old and weather-beaten, and about to fall to pieces, from its appearance; but the fence is a substantial one, and new. I have an idea that the man who touches that fence will meet with serious trouble."
"By George, it is a new fence!" the chief admitted.
"Wait!" Verbeck said.
He crawled forward alone, foot by foot, stopping now and then to glance toward the old farmhouse, and made his way toward the fence that held the deadly current.
Half a dozen feet from the fence Verbeck stopped. He watched the house for a couple of minutes, and then advanced another pace. He was within three feet of the fence now, and he saw what he had expected—wires and cables of metal cunningly woven in the mesh of the structure itself, and in such manner that the whole thing would be charged when a current was turned on.
The chief had crawled up behind Verbeck.
"That fence is deadly!" Verbeck said. "The Black Star used something like this once before, you'll remember, and half a dozen men were seriously shocked and burned. We don't dare try to pass it at present. The current may or may not be running through it. We can't take the chance. If the gate was open, we probably could pass through without danger, but the gate is a part of the circuit."
"Well, are we going to let a fence tie us up?" the chief asked. "If the Black Star and his band are inside, every minute we spend out here gives them a chance to get ready for us."
"Warn the men!" Verbeck said.
The chief sent the word around the circle of officers—nobody was to touch the fence, since it probably was charged with a deadly current, and shocks and burns would result. Sheriff Kowen had crawled up to them through the brush.
"Look!" he exclaimed suddenly.
A dog, attracted by the men in the woods, had been running from one group to another. Now, chasing a stick one of the men had thrown, he brushed against the fence. A single yelp came from him; and he was stretched on the ground, apparently lifeless.
"You see?" Verbeck said. "Perhaps it wouldn't kill a man, but it would burn him badly, and put him out of the game."
"We've got to get through!" the chief declared. "And how are we going to do it?"
One of the electricians had crawled forward, and they explained the situation to him.
"If the current is that strong, we can't fool with it," he said earnestly. "Electricity isn't a timid plaything at best, and a dose like that fence hands out is too much for anybody. You'll notice that the dog hasn't moved; he's dead. And since we can't get through that fence——"
"We can go over it!" Verbeck added.
"How?" the chief and sheriff asked in chorus.
"Bridge the thing," said Verbeck. "We've got men enough, and there are trees enough."
"It'll be one ticklish job," the electrician warned.
"But it can be done," Verbeck declared. "Chief, have all your men watch the house closely. If anybody in there tries to interfere with me, bombard the place."
Verbeck sprang up and ran parallel to the fence for a distance of half a hundred feet. He had spotted a big tree there that had a projecting branch not fifteen feet from the ground—a branch half a foot in diameter that extended over the fence and into the yard about the house. He swung himself into the tree, reached the branch, and crept out along it. He crossed over the deadly fence, hesitated a moment, and dropped. Roger Verbeck was inside.
He found that he was partially screened from the house by a clump of brush. He turned his back upon the house and crept toward the fence again. The chief and sheriff hurried to meet him.
"Almost all your men can do as I have done," Verbeck said. "We don't even have to bridge it. Have them come over, one by one, and have the others watch the house closely. If the Black Star or any of his men are in there, they know we are after them and are watching us."
The chief issued the orders. The men made the perilous trip one at a time, and dropped to the ground beside Verbeck. Twenty men in all crossed over, and left the others to guard outside the fence, maintaining the blockade around the house.
Not a sign had come from within to show that their presence was known. But Verbeck and those who had fought against the Black Star before knew that that did not mean safety. It was like the Black Star to wait for the proper moment before striking.
"Be careful, you men!" Verbeck warned. "We are fighting the Black Star, please remember, and he can be unscrupulous at times. You may consider yourselves in danger from the moment we start toward the house. In his old headquarters he had some of the most diabolical traps known to man; and you always find them where you least expect them. Beware of the doors and windows. Investigate them before you touch them; and if we get inside the place, be alert continually. You may expect pitfalls, vapor bombs—anything!"
The officers scattered and surrounded the house inside the fence. Those on the outside crept as close as they dared, weapons held ready, and watched the doors and windows.
On and on went those inside the fence, until they were almost against the walls. The chief, the sheriff, and Verbeck were at the front.
"Doesn't seem to be anybody around," the chief said. "They got wise and left, I suppose. Well, we'll investigate the place anyway, since we are here."
He started up the steps that led to the small veranda at the front of the house. His foot struck the lowest step.
There was a sharp explosion, and half the veranda was torn away. Verbeck and the others reeled backward. A cloud of smoke filled the air; and it was not the pungent vapor used by the Black Star in his bombs.
"That was the real thing!" Verbeck declared.
The chief was pale and trembling as he retreated.
"I'll get that fiend!" he declared. "Look at the hole that explosion made in the porch floor! If a man had been over that——"
"They set it off too quick!" the sheriff said. "We've got to move carefully, or we'll be having casualties."
"We must take that chance!" the chief said. "We've got to get that fiend, and policemen are paid to run into trouble when it is necessary. Into the house, men! Get in any way that you can! Try to take care of yourselves, but get in!"
The officers cheered and shouted. They plunged toward windows and doors. They smashed panes of glass in, and hurled themselves against doors as if they knew no fear.
Half a dozen explosions came, but no man was injured. Here and there a policeman made an entrance, and others followed him. Within five minutes Verbeck and the chief and Kowen found that all were inside, gathered in the big hall at the front of the house, and that no man had received a scratch.
"I guess we're on the right trail, sure enough!" the chief said.
"And this is where we must be careful," declared Roger Verbeck. "This is where we are liable to run into traps."
The search of the house began. There were but two floors and the basement, and the search started at the top. There the officers found nothing except unoccupied rooms that were filled with dust. They even went into the garret, and found nothing except a heap of discarded clothing that looked as if it had been there for years.
Next they searched the ground floor. In the rear was a kitchen, almost immaculate, with its pots and pans and stores of food. There were three bed-chambers that appeared to be in constant use. And that was all.
"I suppose it is in the basement, as usual," Verbeck said.
"Careful, men!" the chief warned. "If they are in the basement, they'll put up a fight. That big crook knows what is in store for him when he's caught, so you don't want to bank too much on that old bunk of his that he abhors violence. A cornered rat will put up a stiff fight!"
They found the basement door. Roger Verbeck went forward, grasped the knob, and jerked the door open suddenly. Again there was a rending explosion, and the panels and framework were shattered. Back through the hall staggered Verbeck and the others. The vapor the master crook used was mingled with the smoke of the explosion, and was sweeping through the hall.
But the police had been prepared for it. They ran to the open windows and inhaled the fresh air, remaining there until the poisonous fumes had been swept out of the open front door. Then they rushed back into the hall.
Before them was a stairway shrouded in dense darkness. Verbeck took an electric torch in one hand and his automatic in the other, and began the descent, a detective immediately behind him. He flashed the torch on the stairs, hesitated before treading upon each one, made his way step by step toward the bottom, expecting every instant to hear the crash of another explosion.
He reached the end of the flight, and found himself in a narrow hall. Along this he went, a file of other men behind him. He came to a door.
"This seems to be the place," he whispered. "If they are inside, we are due for a warm reception."
He grasped the handle and jerked the door open. This time there was no explosion. He flashed his torch again. In front of the door was a heavy curtain of some sort.
Verbeck put out his hand and moved the curtain aside gently. He could see into the room—could see in the path of the electric torch, and that was all.
Verbeck knew that the situation was precarious. It meant something to enter a dark room in which the Black Star and some of his men might be waiting. It took courage, the more so since Roger Verbeck was well acquainted with the master rogue's methods, and realized that the Black Star was fighting for freedom now.
"Hold the curtain—and wait!" Verbeck whispered to the man nearest him.
He slipped inside the curtain and stood with his back against it. He had extinguished the torch. There was not a glimmer of light, not the slightest sound.
Verbeck held his automatic ready, and suddenly flashed the torch in his left hand. He played it down the length of the room, sweeping the streak of light from side to side.
"In!" he cried to the others. "Torches!"
They crowded into the room, their lights flashing. The room was thoroughly illuminated. The chief gave a cry that was echoed by the sheriff and the others.
Without a doubt, they were in the Black Star's headquarters. Verbeck knew the room instantly for the one in which he had been prisoner for a short time. There were the long table, the blackboards, and on the table a black robe and mask that had been discarded by some member of the band.
"Careful!" the chief warned.
"I don't think there is any need of caution," said Roger Verbeck. "I have an idea that neither the Black Star nor any of his people are around the place. He knew we had got on the right trail—and he has moved. The Black Star always has another headquarters prepared, remember. He moved half a dozen times the last time we fought against him. There is a lamp on the table—one of you men light it."
Verbeck walked across the room to the blackboard, upon which there was some fine writing.
"I thought so!" he exclaimed.
This is what he read:
Gentlemen: I am aware that you are going to locate the place where I live and work, and so I suppose I am forced to move. Had not that fool of a Landers telephoned me from the roof of the hotel, had not Roger Verbeck overheard the number he called, I would have been safe here as long as I wished to remain.I am leaving for a new place that already has been prepared for me. I am taking Muggs along as a sort of hostage. There is no rush, since I have all night to make the move.When I go, I shall leave bombs attached to some of the windows and doors, and connected with the veranda steps. They will annoy you, perhaps, and make you think that you are brave men rushing into danger. It is just a little joke.For this inconvenience, the city shall be made to pay dearly, of course. It costs me something each time I move my headquarters. I have to leave furniture behind, and I have to inform all my people of the new location. But the people of the city shall pay! To-night, I strike, and I shall strike hard!
Gentlemen: I am aware that you are going to locate the place where I live and work, and so I suppose I am forced to move. Had not that fool of a Landers telephoned me from the roof of the hotel, had not Roger Verbeck overheard the number he called, I would have been safe here as long as I wished to remain.
I am leaving for a new place that already has been prepared for me. I am taking Muggs along as a sort of hostage. There is no rush, since I have all night to make the move.
When I go, I shall leave bombs attached to some of the windows and doors, and connected with the veranda steps. They will annoy you, perhaps, and make you think that you are brave men rushing into danger. It is just a little joke.
For this inconvenience, the city shall be made to pay dearly, of course. It costs me something each time I move my headquarters. I have to leave furniture behind, and I have to inform all my people of the new location. But the people of the city shall pay! To-night, I strike, and I shall strike hard!
"Fooled again!" the chief shrieked, in rage. "And we were on the right trail, too!"
"We'll get him yet!" declared Sheriff Kowen. "Some of his people will make another slip——"
"And, in the meantime," Roger Verbeck interrupted, "we'd better be preparing for to-night and what it may bring forth. After this, the Black Star will strike with twice his usual strength and cunning. He has said he would—and the crook always keeps his word!"
Reduced to a state of unconsciousness by means of a vapor gun, Muggs was moved, some time during the night, to the new headquarters. When he regained consciousness he found himself in a room similar to the old one, except that it was somewhat smaller. Muggs did not know in what section of the city he was.
The Black Star was speaking over the telephone, and as Muggs sat up on the couch, he hung up the receiver and turned around.
"Well, Muggs, we have had a bit of excitement," the master crook said. "Verbeck risked his life to get to the roof of a certain hotel, but he managed to get a telephone number that caused us considerable trouble. I have just received a report from one of my men. He tells me that Verbeck, and a squad of police and deputies, have surrounded the old house and are creeping upon it as if it contained a crowd of desperate characters. They will have some excitement, too, Muggs, and then will discover nothing but an empty nest."
"Yeh?" Muggs asked. "They'll discover you, too, one of these days; and then I hope they give you life!"
"Inclined toward violence again, Muggs, when I have been treating you so nicely? I am really ashamed of you."
"As if I cared!" Muggs scoffed.
"I am thinking of taking you along to-night, Muggs, when we call upon Mrs. Richard Branniton and her guests. But if you are not a good boy, I shall leave you at home."
The Black Star chuckled and turned toward the end of the table. The bell on the wall tinkled, and a robed and masked man entered and went to the blackboard, which here was installed on one side of the room.
"Number Three," he wrote.
"Countersign?"
"Colorado."
"Report," wrote the Black Star.
"Lord Sambery and Sir Burton Banks arrived on time and now are at the Branniton house."
"Any new developments?"
"None have been learned. We are watching closely," wrote Number Three.
"I have decided to seize Branniton himself to-night, with the other two, and hold him for ransom," the Black Star wrote. "You will have your squad attend to it, and be sure that they do not fail. The man who prosecuted me must be punished."
"I shall attend to it, and warn the men that they must not fail."
"There have been no changes in transportation means?"
"None whatever."
"That is all. Retire," the Black Star wrote.
The man backed through the door and closed it after him.
"You're goin' to run against a snag," Muggs told the Black Star. "You're bitin' off more than you can chew, and it's likely to choke you!"
"I scarcely think so, Muggs. This little affair is so well planned that there can be no failure. It is the master stroke of my career. It will add to my fame, and, at the same time, it will be highly profitable. When the news gets out, the country will be shocked."
"You go to monkeyin' with the government, and you'll get yours!" Muggs told him again. "Them gents are guests of the government, ain't they?"
"I should think that they were, Muggs. They are here on very important international business. I may mention that it is so important that I expect to collect the ransom within forty-eight hours. I understand there are certain negotiations pending, and that there can be no delay."
The Black Star sat down at the end of the table and began consulting his memorandum book again, completely ignoring Muggs, who remained sitting on the couch. Muggs' hands were lashed together, and he knew that he was being watched continually. And yet he felt that he had a duty to perform.
"I ain't helpin' the boss at all," Muggs mused. "I tried to, once, and I fell down. If this big crook puts that over to-night, it'll make the boss a bigger laughingstock than before. Gee, I wish I could do somethin'!"
Verbeck was wishing the same thing late that afternoon. When it came to locating the new headquarters of the master crook, the police and deputies admitted that they did not know which way to turn.
Meanwhile the city was in terror. The Black Star had said that he would strike to-night—and strike hard. Banks and financial institutions were sending in frantic demands that they be given adequate police protection. Jewelry establishments were doing the same. Private detective agencies were swamped with orders for operatives. From one end of the city to the other, men and women asked the question, where would the Black Star strike?
Mrs. Richard Branniton was not thinking of the master rogue. She was busy entertaining her distinguished guests. Luncheon had been served, and they were being shown the city. Then they returned to the Branniton residence, and sought their suites to get some rest before the reception of the evening.
Branniton had engaged four more private detectives, making eight in all, and had planned to have them scattered about the house. But that was the ordinary safeguard against ordinary jewel thieves, and had nothing to do with the Black Star. Branniton was not thinking of the master crook, either. His mind was upon the fact that he was gathering political influence by entertaining the two famous diplomats.
Late that afternoon, Roger Verbeck went to police headquarters for a conference with the chief and Sheriff Kowen.
"We can't do anything except have our men waiting and ready," the chief said. "I've received about a thousand reports from my men, and there isn't one of them worth the paper it's written on. They seem to think they've got to report something or get into trouble with me. The papers are right—the police are a gang of fools and court jesters!"
"Well, what can we do?" Kowen complained. "Did we get credit for getting on that crook's trail? We did not. The evening papers are roasting us because we didn't nab him. I'm getting pretty sick of this business!"
"We wouldn't be in this business if you hadn't been asleep and let that gang get the Black Star out of jail!" the chief reminded him.
"Wait!" Verbeck commanded. "Are we going to fight among ourselves? Is that a way to catch the Black Star?"
"What's the matter with Muggs?" the chief demanded.
"The chances are that Muggs is not able to do anything," Verbeck replied. "I can imagine that he is being watched closely since he gave me that little tip over the telephone; and I'm hoping that nothing worse has happened to him. Muggs, you may be sure, will help us if he gets the chance."
Nightfall found them still at police headquarters. They had sent out for something to eat. The police reserves had been gathered. Kowen had his deputies ready. The Black Star, they knew, might strike at eight in the evening, at midnight, at three in the morning. They had to be ready. Their one hope was to get a quick alarm, to reach the scene in time to capture the master rogue, or at least important members of his band.
The residence of Richard Branniton was a blaze of light. Guests were arriving—prominent men, beautiful women, bejeweled leaders of the city's society. An orchestra was playing in the ballroom. Men and women were greeting one another, laughing and chatting.
The Branniton residence was surrounded by wide lawns studded with big maple trees. Here and there were dark spaces not reached by the lights from either the house or the street. Two blocks away was a small park.
At nine thirty o'clock several men approached this park singly, each acting as if he was going about his business or hurrying to his home. They followed the walks, and now and then they passed and whispered a few words to one another.
More men happened to walk through the alley in the rear of the Branniton house. Some of these men had bundles beneath their arms. There was a door in the alley wall, and before it was a caterer's wagon. Men were carrying refreshments into the house.
At one of the corners of the residence, in the rear, there was a small veranda that was shrouded in darkness. While the caterer's men were carrying in the provisions, several of the other men, who had been in the alley, slipped through the door and sought the dark veranda. Crouched there, they waited.
Here and there a shadow flitted across the lawn from dark spot to dark spot—but the shadows were men. A big limousine stopped on a side street half a block away, the shades drawn at all its windows. A truck stalled on the other side street, apparently, and four men in it worked at the engine. Finally one left, saying he would telephone for help.
Across the avenue from the Branniton residence a crowd had gathered to watch the guests arrive, muttering when two police officers urged them to move on. In the crowd were several men who gave one another knowing looks now and then.
The last guests arrived. The hour of ten struck. Inside the Branniton house the orchestra was playing and couples were dancing. Mrs. Richard Branniton was beaming upon her guests, and her husband was seeking to make an impression upon Sir Burton Banks and Lord Sambery. Branniton had hopes of receiving an important diplomatic post abroad.
As the hour of ten struck, the men beside the dark rear veranda unfastened the bundles they had been carrying, and put on black robes and masks. More men approached the house from the other side, keeping in the shadows, and when they reached the darkness near the wall put on robes and masks.
At ten minutes after the hour of ten, thirty men had gathered beside the dark veranda, and fifteen more were scattered near the house, on guard. In the midst of these thirty men, the Black Star suddenly appeared.
"I want no mistakes!" he whispered. "Is every man in his proper place?"
"Yes, sir," one of them replied.
"One of the waiters is a man of ours. Has he reported?"
"Not yet, sir."
They waited a few minutes, and another man slipped around the corner of the house.
"Everything is ready, sir," he reported. He was the waiter.
"How soon can you do your part?" the Black Star asked.
"In about five minutes."
"Off for about three minutes, and then on again!"
"Yes, sir," said the waiter, and he slipped away and reëntered the house.
The Black Star whispered a command, and the men scattered, keeping well in the darkness, but gradually surrounding the house, except in front, where it was brilliantly lighted.
And suddenly the lights in the house went out!
Feminine shrieks, boisterous laughter, jests came from those within. To them it was a joke—a fuse burned out at a critical time. Branniton called upon his servants to ascertain the cause of the trouble immediately and remedy it.
Then, as suddenly as they had been extinguished, the lights came on again. The waiter had manipulated the switch in the basement as the Black Star had instructed.
Mrs. Richard Branniton's guests shrieked in alarm now. The doors had been closed; the shades had been drawn at the windows. And before each door and window stood a man dressed in a black robe, with a black mask over his face. Each one so dressed held a weapon menacingly before him.
A voice from the hallway caused them to turn. They saw a tall man dressed in a robe, his face covered with a mask—and on the hood of his robe was a flaming star of jet.
"Do not make a move, ladies and gentlemen!" he cried. "I am the Black Star, and these are my men! We will use violence if we are forced to do so, though we'd rather not. I may mention that the few detectives you had in the house have been taken care of, and you are absolutely at our mercy. The telephone wires are cut, too. We are here to make a collection of rare jewels and ornaments, and to carry away with us three men."
"You crook!" Branniton cried, rushing toward him.
The Black Star raised his arm. A vapor gun exploded. Richard Branniton crashed to the floor. Women screamed.
"He is not injured—merely rendered unconscious!" the Black Star called out. "If you faint, ladies, I am afraid that nobody will be able to take care of you, so please don't do it. Line up against that wall, ladies—and the gentlemen against this one. Remember—my men will fire at the first move any of you make!"