Rogue for a Day

 Extracted from Detective magazine, Vol 2(2) 1916, 5 March, pp. 1-40. A Black Star story. Interestingly, the 13 chapters of this novella form the first 13 chapters of The Black Star; (1921?), with, at first look, almost identical headings and contents.

Rogue for a Day

by⁠
John Mack Stone*

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CHAPTER I.

AN AIDED ESCAPE

WINDS whistled up the river, and winds whistled down from the hills, and they met to swirl and gather fury and rattle the city’s millions of windowpanes. They carried a mixture of sleet and fine snow, the first herald of the winter to come. In the business district they swung signs madly back and forth, and roared around the corners of high office buildings, and swept madly against struggling trolley cars. They poured through the man-made cañons; they dashed out the broad boulevards—and so they came to the attention of Mr. Roger Verbeck, at about the hour of midnight, as he turned over in his warm bed and debated whether to rise and lower the window or take a chance with the rapidly lowering temperature.

“Beastly night!” Verbeck confided to himself, and put his head beneath the covers.

He slept—and suddenly he awakened. A moment before he had been in the midst of a pleasant dream; now every sense was alert, and his right hand, creeping softly under the cover, reached the side of the bed and grasped an automatic pistol that hung in a rack there.

From the adjoining room—his library—there came no flash of an electric torch, no footfall, no sound foreign to the apartment, nothing to indicate the presence of an intruder. Yet Verbeck sensed that an intruder was there.

He slipped quietly from the bed, shivering a bit because of the cold wind, put his feet into slippers, and drew on a dressing gown over his pajamas. Then, his pistol held ready for use in case of emergency, he started across the bedroom, taking short steps and walking on his toes.

A reflection entered the room from the arc light on the nearest street corner. This uncertain light was shut off for an instant, and Verbeck whirled quickly, silently, to find another man slipping up beside him. It was Muggs—a little, wiry man of uncertain age, who had been in Verbeck’s employ for several years, valet at times, comrade in arms at times, willing adventurer always. Muggs bent forward until his lips were close to Verbeck’s ear.

“I heard it, too, boss,” he said. “Somebody in the library!”

Verbeck nodded; they crept nearer the door. Inch by inch, Verbeck pulled aside one of the curtains, until they could peer into the other room. A gleam from the corner arc light penetrated the library, too. It revealed the interior of the room in a sort of semi-gloom, causing elusive shadows that flitted here and there in such fashion that they scarcely could be distinguished from substance. Also, it revealed an open window near the fire escape—and it showed the form of a man standing before Verbeck’s antique desk in a corner.

Muggs bent beneath his master’s arm to see better. He felt Verbeck grip his shoulder, and looked up to find him indicating the open window. Like a shadow, Muggs, who also held a weapon in his hand, slipped through the curtains, crept along the wall, and advanced toward that window to cut off the intruder’s retreat.

An instant Verbeck waited; then he stepped into the room, found the electric switch, and snapped on the lights, and leveled his automatic.

The man before the desk whirled with a snarl that showed two rows of jagged, uneven, yellow teeth. He took in the situation at a glance, saw Muggs at the window, and Verbeck at the door, and knew he had been caught in a trap. His eyes narrowed and flashed; he bent forward, giving the appearance of a rat at bay, and his hand dropped slowly toward his hip.

“Better not!” There was a certain quality in Verbeck’s voice that told the burglar the man before him was neither nervous nor afraid, and would shoot if necessary. The thief’s hands went above his head in token of surrender, and the belligerent light that had been in his eyes faded.

“It appears,” said Verbeck, “that we have discovered you in a delicate position.”

“Aw, don’t try to be clever! I guess you’ve got me, all right!”

“Rather unceremonious, this call,” Verbeck went on. “Why didn’t you send up your card from the office?”

“Aw——”

“Be seated, please!”

Still holding his hands above his head, the burglar took the chair Verbeck indicated.

“Now, Muggs——” Verbeck said.

Muggs had been waiting for the word. He sprang away from the window and took the cords from the portières. Working swiftly, he bound the burglar’s hands behind his back, then fastened them to the chair. Then he assumed the rôle of guard, and Verbeck lowered his pistol and walked toward the desk.

“I fancy you didn’t find much, my man,” he said. “This is a bachelor apartment, you know, and there is little of value in the library unless you seek books or pictures.”

“Aw——”

“If you had entered the dressing room now—— But, of course, if you had done that, Muggs probably would have filled you full of lead first, and made a complete investigation afterward. It is better for you that you didn’t enter there. Why you should crawl into a bachelor’s apartment, when there are so many pretentious residences where silver and plate are to be found, not to speak of women’s jewels, is more than I can fathom. You must be an amateur at this sort of thing. Um! What is this?”

On the desk was a sealed letter addressed to Mr. Roger Verbeck, the address having been stamped with rubber type. In one corner of the envelope had been pasted a tiny black star. On the polished surface of the desk other little black stars had been pasted. There was one also on a vase. There was another on the glass door of a bookcase.

“The Black Star!” Verbeck exclaimed.

He turned swiftly to scrutinize his prisoner, but there was no expression on the man’s face to denote that he showed interest, and he was looking at the floor. Muggs was watching the bound thief closely, but his dancing eyes and parted lips showed that Verbeck’s words had interested him deeply.

“So! We are honored by a visit from the Black Star, Muggs!” Verbeck said. “Think of that! The cleverest crook the town ever had to worry over—the man who got the famous Smith diamonds and cracked a safe across the street from police headquarters, who has lifted half the silver in town and stripped society women of their jewels—and he has paid us a visit. We must be getting important, Muggs—eh?”

“Yes, sir,” said Muggs.

“Well, well! The man every one is looking for and cannot find, who has been sending naughty notes to the police, telling them how dull they are. I understand he even tips off what he intends doing, and then does it under their very noses. Very clever chap—for a crook! Declares all the detectives in the world can’t catch him! Um! Suppose we see what is in this letter.”

He grinned at the prisoner and ripped the envelope open. In it was a single sheet of paper. The letter, too, was printed, and its uneven lines showed that it had been stamped one letter at a time. It was similar in appearance to the letters the newspapers declared the police had received. Verbeck read it swiftly:

Mr. Roger Verbeck: Last night at a certain reception people were talking of the Black Star. You made the remark that the Black Star was not a crook, but a gang—that the police didn’t catch him because they had so many cases on which to work that they couldn’t give their undivided attention to any particular one. You declared that any clever man who applied himself to the task could capture the Black Star and break up his gang. You boasted that you could do it yourself, and easily.

To show you how useless it would be for you to pit your brains and skill against mine, I am putting this letter on your desk while you sleep in an adjoining room, and am leaving my sign on some of your belongings. I am even putting a black star in your bed within a foot of the spot where you rest your head while you are sleeping. After this exhibition, either admit that the Black Star is clever, or do as you boasted you could do—catch me.

{[dhr]} “Read it, Muggs,” said Verbeck, guarding the prisoner himself as Muggs obeyed. “What do you think of that, eh? Intended us to wake up and find these things stuck all over the place! Trying to show us how very clever he is, this naughty Black Star, and we catch him at it. There’ll be joy at police headquarters over this. Now you just keep your eyes on this gentleman, Muggs, while I get into my clothes, and then we’ll continue the entertainment.”

Verbeck hurried to the dressing room, leaving Muggs on guard, and dressed as swiftly as possible. He carried a topcoat and cap to a chair near the door of the bedroom, and then he hurried over to the bed.

The Black Star had done as he had said. On the head of the bed was one of the little signs, and whoever had placed it there had put his hand within six inches of Verbeck’s head. The man in the other room, Verbeck decided, had done that first, then gone into the library to finish his work.

Verbeck hurried back and relieved Muggs.

“Go and get into your clothes,” he ordered, “and then hurry back here. I’ll try to entertain our guest while you are gone.”

He drew up a chair and sat down, facing the prisoner, and less than six feet away. He was humming a tune, and there was a smile playing about his lips. Had the prisoner been well acquainted with Roger Verbeck that smile would have put him on guard.

Verbeck already had formed a plan. He and Muggs understood each other well, thanks to sundry adventures in which they had participated in the four corners of the earth, and he knew that Muggs even now was reading the note he had scrawled hurriedly and left on the dressing table, and would act accordingly.

“The Black Star—well, well!” he exclaimed, grinning at his prisoner again. “And so you are the clever crook?”

“I’m not saying anything!”

“You decorated the head of my bed with that thing, I suppose?”

“You can suppose all you like.”

“Thanks! Rather surly, aren’t you?”

“You hand me over to the police, and you’ll get yours!” said the prisoner.

“Are you, by any chance, trying to frighten me?”

“I’m giving you fair warning. You hand me over and you won’t live long to gloat about it!”

Roger Verbeck grinned again and resumed his humming. His eyes never left the prisoner, but he was thinking deeply. In the first place, the letter from the Black Star bothered him. The remarks that the Black Star accused him of making he had made. But the puzzling part of it was that he had made them to half a dozen friends when there was no stranger near. He had spoken them in a drawing-room in the presence of Faustina Wendell, his fiancée; Howard Wendell, her brother, and some others concerning whose integrity there was no question. How, then, had the Black Star heard of them?

The Black Star had terrorized the city for the past four months. Whenever a master crime was committed a tiny black star had been found pasted on something at the scene of operations. The police had been unable to get a clew. Each crime seemed bolder and more daring than the one before, and more highly successful. The Black Star sent taunting letters to the newspapers and police, and the public demanded his arrest and imprisonment with loud voice.

His crimes, too, showed a deep knowledge of private matters. It appeared that the Black Star knew the interior arrangements of residences he robbed. Sometimes he even knew the combinations of safes—for in two instances a safe had been opened and looted, and then properly closed again, but with a tiny black star inside it. He was aware when valuable jewels were taken from safe-deposit boxes to be worn at some affair; he knew when members of families were out of the city, or servants absent. He had shown in a thousand ways that he possessed knowledge of great value to a criminal.

Roger Verbeck’s boast had not been an idle one. He believed sincerely that no crook could be so clever but what some honest man could match wits with him and win. He believed, too, that the Black Star did not work alone, but was the leader of a band. Not for an instant did Verbeck think the man he had taken prisoner was the notorious Black Star, but it pleased him to let the prisoner believe he did.

His first impulse had been to call the police and hand the man over. But he guessed that such a course would not insure the capture of the master crook, and that the prisoner would refuse to talk, take a sentence for burglary, and thus allow the Black Star and the others to go free.

It would be clever, Verbeck decided, to allow this man to escape, to shadow him, and to learn more. Roger Verbeck had adventured with Muggs scores of times, and he yearned for an adventure now. Here was his chance. Besides, the Black Star had issued the challenge.

Muggs returned fully dressed. For an instant the eyes of master and man met, and there flashed between them an understanding.

“Better look at this chap’s bonds, Muggs,” Verbeck said. “We don’t want him escaping before the police come.”

Muggs bent behind the prisoner’s chair and fumbled with the cord, and when he arose his eyes met those of Verbeck again, and Verbeck knew that Muggs had obeyed orders.

“Now go down and call the house manager,” he directed, “and I’ll telephone the police.”

Muggs hurried out into the hall. Verbeck left his chair and stepped back to the door of the bedroom.

“I fancy you’ll be secure for a moment or so,” he told the prisoner. “You’ll scarcely get away unless you carry that chair with you.”

He backed through the curtains, grasped his topcoat and cap, and crossed the room on his toes and unlocked the hall door. To cover the sound of the key turning in the lock, he spoke as if calling a number on the telephone.

“Hello! Police headquarters?” he asked. “This is Roger Verbeck speaking. Hurry up here! I’ve just caught the Black Star trying to loot my rooms. My old address—yes!”

And while he spoke he opened the door, so that his voice would drown any squeak the hinges might give; and then he slipped into the hall and hurried to the front stairs. He dashed down the three flights four steps at a time.

The prisoner had tugged desperately at his bonds and had felt them give. With sudden hope, he had worked furiously to get free. He was through the window and descending the fire escape as Verbeck finished the imaginary telephone message to the police, exulting at what he fondly thought had been his close escape.

CHAPTER II.

THE BLACK STAR

VERBECK found Muggs at the corner of the apartment house, standing in the shadows and trying to shield himself from the stinging sleet and biting cold wind.

“He’s just reaching the ground, boss,” Muggs said. “See him?”

“I see him. Be careful now, Muggs; we don’t want to lose him. Thanks for understanding and loosening his bonds. There he goes!”

The erstwhile prisoner had reached the ground and was darting through the shadows toward the alley. Down this he ran for half a block, then crept between two buildings, and so reached the boulevard near a corner, with Verbeck and Muggs a hundred feet behind him. It was difficult trailing the man through a storm of sleet and fine snow, but Verbeck and Muggs had trailed men before, sometimes for amusement, and at other times through necessity.

The man hesitated at the curb a moment, then struck across the driveway. Verbeck and Muggs followed. They took opposite sides of the walk and slipped along over the frozen ground, darting from shadow to shadow, always watching the elusive shadow ahead. At the street crossings their quarry walked across boldly, and they could not follow instantly for fear of being detected, but they always picked up their man again, once they were across.

Thus they covered a dozen blocks, and it appeared that the midnight prowler considered himself safe now. He hurried down a cross street, his head bent forward against the cold wind that swept up the hill. Block after block Muggs trailed him, while Verbeck shadowed from the other side of the street, dodging into dark doorways now and then when he expected his man to look behind.

The quarry stopped at a corner, lighted a cigar, and stood waiting. Muggs was concealed in a doorway fifty feet behind him; Verbeck was in another doorway across the street.

An owl car came along, and their quarry boarded it. But Verbeck had been expecting that, and for some time had been watching a taxicab standing before a drug store on the corner. As the owl car started up again, Verbeck dashed across the street, and he had the chauffeur out of the drug store and into the seat before Muggs reached the spot.

“Follow that owl car,” Verbeck directed. “There’s a man on it that we’d like to see when he gets off.”

“I’m wise,” the chauffeur cried. “Fly cops, eh? Get in!”

The cab lurched along the slippery street, keeping half a block behind the owl car. Whenever the car stopped, the cab drew up at the curb, and Verbeck put out his head to watch. But their quarry remained aboard.

“If this keeps up we’ll clear out of town,” said Muggs.

“Anxious for action?” Verbeck asked, laughing. “You may get plenty of it before we are done. Have a bit of patience, Muggs.”

“I’ve got patience, all right, boss—and I’ve got a hunch, too.”

“Let’s have it!” At times Verbeck had a great deal of respect for Muggs’ hunches.

“I’ve got a hunch we’d have done better if we’d handed that gent over to the police.”

“I gave you credit for understanding the situation, Muggs.”

“Oh, I understand what you want to do, all right. It’d be great to clean up this Black Star and his gang single-handed, hog tie ’em all, then call in the cops and hand ’em over—especially since he sent you that sassy note—but I’ve got a hunch we’re going up against a stiff game. This Black Star ain’t no slouch!”

“Afraid?” snarled Verbeck.

That touched Muggs on a tender spot, and Verbeck knew it. Muggs turned deliberately and faced his employer.

“If that’s the way you’re looking at it, boss,” he said, “trot right along and I’ll be behind you. Go the limit, and I’m in the first seat on the right-hand side. But, all the same, I’ve got a hunch.”

The taxicab stopped again. Verbeck put his head from the window and immediately opened the door. Their quarry had left the owl car and was starting down the dark cross street.

Giving a bill to the chauffeur and telling him he need not wait, Verbeck hurried to the corner, with Muggs at his heels. Shadowing here was difficult work, for there was unimproved property, and some old estates not well kept up, where sidewalks were bad and the footing uncertain, and where untrimmed trees and thick underbrush furnished multitudes of dark spots.

Uphill and downhill, always against the biting cold wind and sleet, their man led them. Finally he crossed a vacant lot and made directly for an old house far back from the street in the midst of a grove of trees that now were swaying and snapping in the storm.

“So that’s where the Black Star lives!” Verbeck said.

He and Muggs had small difficulty following their man now, for there was a low hedge behind which, by stooping, they could make their way unseen. Their man reached the side of the house and went along it until he came to a door. Beside the door there was a box on the ground. As Verbeck and Muggs watched, the man they had been following raised the lid of the box and took something out.

“He’s putting on clothes,” Muggs whispered.

His actions could not be observed well, but it did appear that he was donning an overcoat or a robe of some sort.

“And he’s putting on a mask,” said Muggs. “What’s coming off here?”

“I imagine we are in for an interesting time,” answered Verbeck. “Watch him now!”

He had stepped up to the door, and they could see him put out his hand. Through a lull in the storm there came to Verbeck and Muggs the tinkling of a bell, then a sharp click, and the door flew open and their quarry disappeared inside, closing the door after him.

Verbeck and Muggs hurried around the end of the hedge and to the house. A few feet from the door was a window. Verbeck had no more than glanced at it before Muggs was at work. Verbeck never had inquired too closely into Muggs’ past, but from what he had seen from time to time, he had reason to believe that Muggs knew a thing or two about crooks’ methods, and now he had more evidence of it. In an instant almost Muggs was sliding that window up slowly, inch by inch, making no noise, and carefully pulling aside the curtains behind it.

Another moment, and Verbeck was standing inside the house, with Muggs beside him. They heard no voices. Step by step they made their way across the room to the opposite wall, searching for a door.

Then they saw a streak of light that penetrated from an adjoining room, where a door sagged in its casement, leaving a crack through which a man could see. Verbeck knew this house. For several years it had been deserted, not kept in repair, the grounds not kept up. It belonged to an estate in litigation, and could not be sold, and the heirs had refused to build a more substantial residence for the rental it might bring in. He was surprised to find it inhabited, and he imagined that the Black Star and his band were making use of it surreptitiously.

But when he applied his eye to the crack in the door, expecting to see a room almost barren, filled with dust and cobwebs, two or three boxes, some burning candles—a typical resort of thugs—he faced a surprise. He was looking into a room that had been newly decorated and was furnished lavishly. Expensive rugs were on the floor; pictures adorned the walls. There was a massive library table in the center of the room, an armchair beside it, books and papers and magazines on it.

On one wall of the room was a small blackboard, with chalk and an eraser in a box beneath it. Before this blackboard, standing erect, was their quarry—dressed in a long black robe that covered every portion of his body, even his head being enveloped in a hood, and over his face a black mask.

There was no one else in the room. The man before the blackboard stood stiffly and silently, like a soldier at attention. Behind the door, Verbeck and Muggs waited, scarcely daring to breathe.

Then a door on the other side of the lavishly furnished room was thrown open, and another man came into view. He, too, was dressed in a long black robe, and had a black mask over his face. But he had a mark that distinguished him from the other, for on the front of his hood was a black star, formed of jet, that flashed in the light.

CHAPTER III.

INTO THE PIT

INSTINCT and experience told Verbeck that this sight might prove too much for Muggs and he gripped the smaller man by the arm to indicate that he was to maintain quiet. It was well he did so, for subsequent proceedings were highly unusual and mysterious.

The Black Star nodded to the other man and stepped across the room, where there was another small blackboard attached to the wall. When he stood before it he nodded again, and the other picked up the chalk and started to write, and thus they conversed, each writing on his blackboard and erasing after the other had read.

“Number Six,” the man wrote.

“Countersign?”

“Florida.”

“Report,” wrote the Black Star.

“Carried out your instructions, but was caught by Verbeck and his valet. Escaped when they went to call police.”

It seemed that the Black Star grew taller and straighter as he looked at the other man, and Verbeck and Muggs could see his eyes glittering through the black mask. They expected him to roar a rebuke, a denunciation, but he did not. He faced the blackboard again and wrote rapidly:

“You are a blunderer. We have no use for the man who fails.”

“I did not fail,” the other wrote on the board quickly. “I put a black star on his bed and scattered others in library. I was putting letter on desk when they caught me.”

“Did you come straight here?”

“No. I shook them off first. I got away before they raised an uproar. Came on owl car, got off several blocks back, and cut down the hill.”

The Black Star motioned for him to erase this last, and then walked slowly to the table. There was a pile of letters on one end of it, and the Black Star picked up one and read it, shook his head, and put the letter in the pocket of his robe. He pressed against the end of the table, and a drawer shot open. Verbeck and Muggs could see that the drawer was half filled with money and jewels.

The Black Star took out some money and threw it on the table. He closed the drawer and walked back to his blackboard, and picked up the chalk to write again:

“You will not be safe here for some time. Verbeck or his man might recognize you. Take that money and catch the first train for Chicago. Return and report one month from to-night at midnight.”

The other man read and bowed his head. There was no hesitancy in his manner; he acted like a man who had received orders that he knew he had to carry out. He went forward and picked up the money, and, with it clutched in one hand, he backed to the door and lifted the other hand in salute to the Black Star. The Black Star nodded, and the other backed through the door and closed it.

Muggs hurried across the room to the window to watch, while Verbeck remained gazing through the crack in the door at the Black Star, who sat down in the armchair and began inspecting the letters on the table. The minutes passed. Muggs returned and reported that the other man had put the robe and mask in the box, and had slipped away through the trees. Still the Black Star sat at the table, and that for which Verbeck had been waiting did not come to pass—the master criminal did not remove the mask from his face.

Another adventure appealed to Verbeck now. He decided to face the Black Star in his den. He confided his intention to Muggs in whispers and gave his orders, and, disregarding Muggs’ mouthings concerning his “hunch,” slipped across the room to the window and let himself out.

He found the robe in the box and quickly put it on, then adjusted the black mask. Beneath the robe, his hand clutched the butt of his automatic. Searching the edge of the casement, he found a push button and touched it with his finger. Inside, a bell tinkled.

A few seconds passed, and then there was a sharp click and the door flew open. Verbeck entered and closed the door after him. Before him was a long corridor, musty, the air in it rank, dust on walls and ceiling. It appeared that the entire house had not been renovated, only the one room.

Verbeck slipped along the corridor to where a streak of light entered it, indicating a door. Holding the pistol ready beneath his robe, he opened the door and stepped into the room, and stood beside the blackboard as the other man had done. The Black Star was not there.

The seconds seemed hours as he waited, trying to keep his eyes away from the door behind which he knew Muggs was watching him, his ears strained to catch the first sound of the master criminal’s approach. Then the other door opened, and the Black Star appeared and walked to his station on the other side of the room. He nodded his head, and Verbeck picked up chalk and eraser and turned to the blackboard.

He was playing a dangerous game, and did not know how soon he would be detected. He felt small fear, for Muggs was waiting to help him, and he had heard nothing, seen nothing to indicate that the Black Star had allies in the house.

“Number Four,” Verbeck wrote on the board.

“Countersign?”

“Florida,” wrote Verbeck.

He turned to find the Black Star’s eyes glittering straight into his. The flaming jet on the hood seemed to be dancing in derision. Verbeck wondered whether he had made a mistake, and he soon found out, for the Black Star turned to the blackboard and wrote rapidly:

“Number Four is a woman, and Florida is not her countersign.”

And then he faced Verbeck again.

The crisis had arrived sooner than Verbeck had expected. The Black Star knew him for an intruder, and knew also that he must have observed a great deal to be able to don robe and mask and start the blackboard conversation. The master criminal could be expected to act with dispatch.

Before the Black Star could make a move Verbeck’s robe parted and his left hand emerged, holding the pistol ready for instant action. With his other hand he waved toward the armchair, and then he spoke:

“Sit down! And put your hands flat on the table!”

His eyes still glittering into Verbeck’s, the criminal obeyed. Standing at the end of the table, Verbeck confronted him, scarcely knowing what step to take next. The man before him did not speak, but those glittering eyes—burning, malevolent, ominous—seemed to cry out with surprise, hatred, and threats.

“So you are the Black Star?” Verbeck said. “Quite a comedy you play here, eh? Masks hide faces and blackboards take the place of spoken words. A very clever crook—you. But I said a clever man could find you, and I say it again. This is the best proof of it, isn’t it? You challenged me—and I have come. So your man thought he had escaped, did he? If ever you see him again, tell him that his bonds were left loose purposely, so that he’d escape and could be shadowed here. Allow me, sir—Mr. Roger Verbeck, at your service!”

Verbeck raised a hand and tore off his mask, and bowed low in irony, meanwhile watching his victim, for he did not make the mistake of underestimating the cleverness of the man before him, and he was alert for tricks. He saw the Black Star’s hands contract and his arms stiffen, and imagined the master crook calling down curses on the head of the man who had led enemies to his stronghold.

Then the Black Star spoke—in a low, penetrating voice, almost a monotone, obviously disguising his real tones.

“I suppose you think you are very clever?” he said.

“I don’t advertise my cleverness like some persons, and then fail to live up to my estimation of myself,” Verbeck replied.

“You have done something no outsider has done before—you have seen the Black Star in his workshop. That is, indeed, a rare privilege. And, of course, you’ll pay for it in the end.”

“You think so?” Verbeck asked.

“I presume you started out with the intention of handing me over to your stupid police. The greatest and most difficult thing, you perhaps thought, would be to locate me. Well, you have located me—and your task is but begun.”

“Indeed?”

“It takes evidence to convict.”

“Naturally,” said Verbeck. “Suppose I call the police now. How about the robe and mask you wear, that star, these blackboards, those printed letters identical with ones that have been received by the police and the newspapers? Evidence? This room is full of it!”

“But, when you get right down to the point,” said the Black Star, “you’ll want evidence of theft and burglary, you know.”

“I never heard of a gang yet where some one wouldn’t turn state’s evidence.”

The Black Star chuckled, and through the slits in his mask his eyes seemed to be dancing with delight.

“That is just where my cleverness comes in,” he said. “To show you how little I fear you, Roger Verbeck, I’ll tell you things no man knows except myself. I can tell you, for instance—and it is the truth—that the Black Star does have a band working for him, but that not one of them ever saw his face or heard his voice.”

“Nonsense.”

“Not nonsense, but the truth. So certain am I as to what is going to happen to you, Roger Verbeck, that I’ll reveal secrets and show you how useless it would be to fight me, before you—er—cease to trouble me further. I say no member of my band ever saw my face or heard my voice, and it is the truth. I say, moreover, that I never saw the face of one of my band or heard his voice, that I know nothing of their names or identities, and, whenever a crime is committed, I do not know which person or group does the work. Can you understand that? Turn state’s evidence, Mr. Verbeck? Not a man of them knows a thing to tell, except against himself.”

“Rot!”

“The truth,” said the Black Star. “Attend me closely. I reveal my methods to you, because you’ll never pass them on. I began my work years ago. I have a genuine partner, who is not in this city at the present time. When I decided to invade this town he came here. He rented this old house and fixed up this one room in it. The furnishings were carted one at a time, and they were unloaded several blocks away and fetched here at night. When everything was ready, I came.

“My gang? This one man who knows me got the gang together. Every one of them is an expert in his particular line. Each was eager to work under me, for I am in a position to insure success and big profits. My organization extends farther than you dream. Each man was fetched here and taught what to do. Here he comes to get orders and to report. There is no conversation except on the blackboard; and masks are always worn.

“At the first, these men drew numbers out of a box, and in addition I gave each a countersign. I issue orders by number, and they report by number. If I was on the witness stand at this moment and wanted to betray my men I couldn’t do it. I could only say that a certain crime was committed by Number One, for instance—but if all were lined up before me I couldn’t swear they were members of my band, because I’d not know. Do you understand that, Mr. Roger Verbeck? Very clever, eh? We work together, yet were we to pass on the street we’d not dream we knew one another. Absolute protection—you see? Hand me over to the police this minute—if you can—and it will avail you nothing. No jury would convict on the evidence that could be presented. And my organization, in a hundred different ways, would come to my rescue.”

“I thought none of them knew you,” said Verbeck.

“That is the truth. You do not understand everything yet. I have a band of men who do the real work. And I have an organization that collects knowledge I must have. Every man and woman in that organization has a very good reason for being loyal to me——”

“Women?”

“Yes,” said the Black Star. “Many women! People in every walk of life. And, naturally, I have arranged it so that I could harm them, but they never could harm me. I heard of your foolish boast of last night, didn’t I? How do you suppose I knew that? And I can tell you the combination of the safe in your dressing room, Mr. Verbeck, if you are skeptical, and tell you also that there is nothing in it at the present time that we desire. There is a bundle of stock certificates and deeds in the upper right-hand pigeonhole, and a score or more old coins in a drawer at the bottom.”

“How do you know that?” Verbeck demanded.

“I know a multitude of things, Mr. Verbeck. Get this idea in your head—I do not know the names or faces of my real workers, but I do know the identities of those who gather my information. I know them, and could punish them—but they do not know me. Tidy little arrangement? I fancy you’ll not find a flaw in it.”

“You have deluded yourself into thinking it is perfect,” replied Verbeck. “Suppose one of your crooks is captured while committing a crime, and brings the police down on you to save himself?”

“He would not. If he kept his mouth closed, the organization would save him. If he played traitor, the organization would save me and see that he got the limit. I could convince you if I wished to talk more, but I do not; I must protect the organization as it protects me. You have pitted your cleverness against mine, Mr. Verbeck, and you have been successful in your first attempt—you have located me. And now what are you going to do about it?”

“Suppose I hand you over to the police?”

“Even if you could do that—and I am not admitting it—you’d be laughed at in the end, and I’d probably conclude by suing you for heavy damages. Believe me when I say everything has been thought of, and for every attack there is a defense arranged. Also, to hand me over to the police would be to warn all the others, and you’d have a difficult time convicting me without their testimony. And there is another thing——”

The Black Star hesitated.

“Say it!” said Verbeck.

“I have said that my organization is far-reaching. If you meddled in my affairs, the chickens might come home to roost. You are up against something regarding the magnitude of which you know very little, Mr. Verbeck. I have only just begun my organization in this city, but already it is broad enough to cause you pain and chagrin, did I put it to work.”

“I suppose,” said Verbeck, “that you imagine you are going to frighten me by this lot of pointless talk.”

“You may be a very clever man in some things, Mr. Verbeck, but in this you are no better than a babe. Did I take the fancy to do so, I could make you one of my organization, too. But you have gone too far for that—you have discovered too much.”

“You’d make me join your band of crooks!” exclaimed Verbeck, laughing.

“I could force you to be a loyal and obedient member, believe me, if such was my desire. You do not realize, sir, the strength of the Black Star and his band. You do not realize how very little you know. You have heard my voice, that is true, and you have seen my workshop—but even you, Roger Verbeck, have not seen my face.”

“And what is to prevent me taking a look at it now?”

“This,” said the Black Star. “You are standing at the end of the table with a pistol in your hand. I am seated, and my hands are on the table before me, so that you could fill me full of lead before I could get a weapon from beneath my robe. But the toe of my left shoe, Mr. Verbeck, is resting on a button in the floor—a button that works a trigger—and you are standing over a cement-lined pit twelve feet deep. Before you could shoot, my toe would press the button—so! And down you go, Mr. Verbeck, through the floor and into the pit, and the trapdoor comes up again—so!—and you are a prisoner in the darkness—you who tried to match wits with the Black Star!”

It all had happened in a second of time. A section of the floor had swung downward with a crash, and Roger Verbeck had been dashed to the bottom of the pit. The one shot he fired went wild, the bullet burying itself in the ceiling. The trapdoor closed again—and the Black Star, standing at the end of the table now, threw back his head and laughed uproariously.

And the laughter died in his throat as he sank suddenly to the floor! For Muggs was through the door as Verbeck shot downward, and the butt of his automatic had crashed against the Black Star’s head just behind the left ear.

CHAPTER IV.

ROGUE PRO TEMPORE

MUGGS was a product of the slums, and had known the inside of a prison. Five years before, Roger Verbeck had picked him up in Paris, at a time when Muggs was contemplating throwing himself into the Seine, for misery and crime and poor living had broken his spirit and made existence a nightmare. Verbeck had taught him that wits can be used for honest purposes, had given him a home, and in return Muggs, in his gratitude, gave Verbeck what services he could. He was of the type willing to die to save a benefactor pain.

Muggs had not struck the Black Star a light blow, and when the master crook fell, Muggs knew he would remain unconscious for some time to come. He was sobbing and calling to Verbeck in a low voice as he put his foot beneath the table and felt for the button. He could not find it at first, for in his eagerness he was not methodical. Then he quieted down, and, getting down on hands and knees, went over the floor, inch by inch, until he felt a little knob through the rug.

His hand went out; he pressed the knob. At the end of the table appeared a yawning chasm, as a section of the flooring fell back. Muggs was at its side in an instant.

“Boss! Boss!” he called.

“I’m all right, Muggs! Not even scratched, and not stunned. Hurry up and get me out of here. And watch that chap——”

Muggs was on his feet, looking wildly about the room. There was no ladder, no rope, nothing that could reach to the bottom of that twelve-foot pit. But there was a couch in the corner, and Muggs tore off the cover and carried it to the pit’s edge.

“Grab it, while I brace myself, boss,” he directed. “Then climb—I can hold you.”

And so Verbeck emerged from the pit, bracing his feet against the wall of it and climbing hand over hand up the couch cover, while Muggs, above, braced his feet and bent back, gripping the other end of the cloth. Then the trapdoor was closed again.

“Have you killed him?” Verbeck cried when he saw the form of the Black Star on the floor.

“I felt like it, but I thought you’d want him again, boss. I just gave him a smash behind the ear.”

“Um!”

“Don’t you think we’d better call the police now, boss? I got a hunch——”

“You heard what he said, didn’t you, Muggs? If the police take him in, the others will discover it, and escape. And he said some other things that have me guessing. How did he know what I said last night at a private reception in a private residence, eh? I know none of his crooks was close enough to overhear me. And how does he know what’s in my safe? He says he even knows the combination of it, and I don’t doubt him.”

“Then what are we going to do, boss?”

Verbeck had slipped off his robe, and now handed it, together with the mask, to Muggs.

“Put these outside in the box, then hurry back,” he directed.

As Muggs rushed away, Verbeck bent forward and took off the Black Star’s mask. There was revealed the not unhandsome face of a man about forty-five. Verbeck contemplated this countenance as he started to remove the Black Star’s robe. It was one he never had seen before. Despite the Black Star’s words, Verbeck had been half of a mind that the master crook was some one known to the city in general as a respectable man, a sort of Jekyll and Hyde.

Muggs returned, and the Black Star was gagged and bound with a curtain that Muggs tore from one of the doorways and ripped into strips.

“And now——” Verbeck began.

He did not complete the sentence. On the wall above his head a bell tinkled. Verbeck and Muggs looked at each other, the same idea in the mind of each.

“Another crook,” Muggs whispered.

“No doubt.”

“What’ll we do?”

Verbeck hesitated a moment. “This is a great chance, Muggs,” he said finally. “I’ll play the Black Star’s part. I’ll be a crook pro tempore.”

“What kind of a crook is that?”

“The kind I’m going to be, Muggs. Hurry! Get this chap in the other room and shut the door—and watch.”

As Muggs obeyed, Verbeck put on the Black Star’s robe and mask. The little bell jangled again. On the wall below it was a button, and this button Verbeck pushed. He could hear the click as the door was unlocked, and he slipped through the door by which the Black Star had made his entrance, and found himself in another dusty, unfurnished room.

In a moment he heard some one enter the other door. He waited for a time, as the Black Star had done, then opened the door and walked boldly into the room, nodding his head to the other man in robe and mask and taking his position at the Black Star’s blackboard.

“No. Eight,” the other wrote.

“Countersign?”

“Harvard.”

Verbeck did not know, of course, whether it was the proper countersign, but he had to take the chance.

“Report,” he wrote.

“Have information you desired.”

The man stepped away from the blackboard, put one hand beneath his robe, and took out a letter, which he threw on the table. Then he went back to the blackboard and stood at attention.

Verbeck went to the table and picked up the letter. He ripped it open, watching the other meanwhile, then lowered his eyes to read. What was written there was startling and very much to the point:

Mrs. Greistman will wear diamonds and rope of pearls at Charity Ball. They will be taken from safe-deposit box during the afternoon. After the ball they will be kept in safe in Greistman library. Safe is old one. Library is on first floor; one door opens into hall; three windows, one opening on veranda and others on side of house and shaded from street lights by vines and trees. All servants sleep on second floor, in the rear. Mr. and Mrs. Greistman and daughter sleep on same floor, in front, latter on left side of hall, parents on right side as you face rear of house. Daughter subject to insomnia, especially after brilliant society events, and often takes sleeping draft.

There it was, full information that indicated the Black Star contemplated getting the Greistman jewels, reported by means of the organization, no doubt. The note had been written on a typewriter, and there were no marks on the envelope. Any active crook might have been able to discover where the members of the Greistman family slept, and learn where the safe was kept, and how the doors and windows of the library were located, but only some one in close touch with the family could know when they anticipated taking the jewels from the safe-deposit box and where they would be kept the night after the ball.

Verbeck found himself wondering how this information had been obtained and whether the man who now stood before him in robe and mask had obtained it or was merely a messenger to carry it to the Black Star. He stepped back to the blackboard and picked up the chalk again.

“Where did you get information?” he wrote.

“As you instructed,” came the written answer.

Verbeck could ask no more without betraying himself. He had no idea regarding the identity of the man before him. It was possible, of course, for him to call Muggs from the other room and overpower the crook, but it was doubtful if the man would talk and reveal anything after he discovered he was not dealing with the Black Star, but with an outsider. And what Verbeck wanted was accurate knowledge; he would have to be careful not to arouse the man’s suspicion.

“Good!” he wrote on the blackboard. Then he nodded to the man, as if in dismissal. But the other did not seem ready to go, and acted as if there was something wanting.

“Any orders?” he wrote finally.

Verbeck remembered the pile of letters on the end of the table, and now he went over and inspected them. They were orders for members of the band, evidently, for on each envelope a number was stamped. He found the one marked “Eight,” and took out the sheet of paper it contained. There were the orders the Black Star had prepared for this man:

At three o’clock in the afternoon there is a committee meeting of the Browning Club in a parlor of the second floor of the National Hotel, at which Miss Freda Brakeland will be present. Manage to be in the lobby of the hotel after the meeting, and meet Miss Brakeland as if by accident. Talk of the Charity Ball, and ascertain whether she is to wear the famous Brakeland jewels at that affair. Report in usual manner here at ten o’clock at night; and remember that no excuse can be accepted for failure.

Here was another glimpse of the Black Star’s work. Verbeck, after a moment’s thought, decided to give the man his orders and let him go. He would continue to play at being the Black Star and discover all he could of the master crook’s plans. Perhaps he would be able to prevent the wholesale theft of valuable jewels; for it appeared that the Black Star intended a series of crimes following the Charity Ball. This man before him had orders to report the following night, so there was no object in exciting his suspicions now.

Verbeck would have given a great deal at that moment to have been able to peer behind the other man’s mask. Who was this man before him who could be expected to engage Miss Freda Brakeland in conversation without arousing suspicion? Somebody who belonged in the city, surely, somebody well known in society, for Freda Brakeland was one of the most exclusive and unapproachable women of the younger set.

Verbeck was annoyed by the Black Star’s threat that the chickens might come home to roost. He was astounded at the lines of information gathered for the benefit of the master crook, and a multitude of questions rushed to his mind, none of which he could answer. He decided to refrain from calling in the police at present, at least until he discovered more.

And now to Verbeck came another plan he decided to use. He placed the orders on the end of the table and motioned for the other man to pick them up; then he hurried to his blackboard and wrote supplementary orders there:

Pass the northwest corner of First Avenue and American Boulevard at exactly two o’clock in afternoon on your way to the hotel. Stop on corner, remove hat, and pretend to brush dust from it. If there is to be any change in your orders, an envelope will be slipped to you at that time; otherwise, go ahead as you have been directed.

It seemed to Verbeck that the other man expressed surprise in the way his shoulders straightened and his head lifted, and for an instant Verbeck feared he had attempted too much. But the other only nodded that he understood, then saluted and backed out of the door. Two minutes later Muggs came in from the other room and reported that the crook had put robe and mask in the box outside, and had hurried away.

“I’ll get him!” Verbeck said. “He’ll stop on that corner and give the sign, and then I’ll follow him. I’ll learn who it is that’s helping the Black Star gather valuable information. We’ve got to stick to the game now, Muggs, old man!”

“I’d call the police——”

“Not yet! I’m going to play this game myself until it gets too hot for me. The Black Star challenged me, didn’t he? I’ll have plenty of evidence before I call in the police.”

“What about the chief crook in the other room? He’s conscious again.”

Verbeck paced the floor for a time, his head bowed, thinking.

“I have it!” he exclaimed at last. “You get out of here, Muggs, and hurry to the garage and get my car. Stop at the rooms and get that bunch of keys in the right-hand drawer of my desk——”

“The keys to the old place?”

“Yes. We’ll take the Black Star there, Muggs. Bring the car to the corner nearest this house, then hurry in and help me with him. We’ve got to have it done before dawn. Hurry! That’s what we’ll do, Muggs! We’ll take the Black Star to the old house, and there you’ll guard him, while I play master crook in his mask and robe.”

CHAPTER V.

MUGGS ON GUARD

WHEN Muggs had departed Verbeck got up and walked into the other room, where the Black Star was on the floor in an uncomfortable position. Muggs had left the window open, and the cold air swept in, bringing sleet and snow with it. It had been all one with Muggs whether the Black Star froze to death or not.

Verbeck closed the window. He didn’t want to carry the man into the furnished room for fear some other member of the gang might come to make a report, although now it was almost three o’clock in the morning. So he threw the door open wide and rolled in the couch and lifted the Black Star upon it, covering him with two heavy portières that hung before one of the doors. However, there was no expression of thanks in the Black Star’s countenance.

Verbeck went back into the other room and closed the door behind him. He took a candle from a shelf in the corner and lighted it, then made an inspection of the house from bottom to top. No other room was furnished; there were no arrangements for cooking, no store of food. The Black Star, then, did not live here, only came here to receive the members of his gang. That would make it possible for Verbeck to remain away from the house except at night.

He went back to the furnished room and conducted an investigation there. First he looked at the orders in the envelopes. Nine was the highest number there, but Verbeck did not know how many envelopes had been given out that night before his arrival. And the orders were astounding.

Only one had to do with gathering information; the others concerned projected crimes. Some of them Verbeck could not understand, since they referred to orders given previously. But others indicated not only crimes, but the manner in which they were to be committed. They told what to steal and just where to steal it, where there was danger and where there was none. Verbeck began considering whether he should give these orders out if any more men called. Taking the place of the Black Star did not include aiding in crimes, he told himself. He would issue orders of his own, orders that would keep the members of the band from their nefarious business, but at the same time would keep them in touch until he could arrange a wholesale capture.

Verbeck fumbled around the end of the table for several minutes before he found the spring which released the drawer and caused it to open. As he and Muggs had seen earlier in the night, there was an abundance of money in the drawer. There were half a score of diamond rings, too, a pearl necklace, other gems. There was a box of little rubber type and an ink pad and a small memoranda book.

Verbeck opened the book. On the last written page of it he found something that interested him. At the top was a date—that very day—and below was a list of numbers, with hours set opposite. The book told when members of the band were expected to report. Verbeck found that the first was Number Three, due at nine o’clock that night. And from then until two o’clock the next morning others were due at stated intervals. The entire band, it was evident, was to appear for orders within a few hours and comparison of the book with the printed orders gave Verbeck an inkling of the scheme.

The Black Star had, indeed, planned a staggering blow to the city’s pride; his band of crooks was to make a specialty of stealing jewels taken from safe-deposit boxes to be worn at the Charity Ball. For a few hours these valuable jewels would be protected only by ordinary safes in residences, and during those few hours the members of the Black Star’s band would strike.

Verbeck went in to see that the Black Star was as comfortable as he could be while bound and gagged, and then walked over to the window. The storm was dying down; the snow and sleet had almost ceased to fall, but the cold seemed to be increasing.

Returning to the furnished room, he sat down beside the table to wait. An hour from the time Muggs had departed the bell tinkled. Verbeck adjusted his mask and touched the button that opened the door. In a moment Muggs stood beside him.

“Here are the keys, boss,” he said. “I’ve got the car near the mouth of the alley, and the lights are out. We can take him along the hedge——”

“Good!” Verbeck interrupted.

They went inside and lifted the Black Star and carried him out. Verbeck took off mask and robe and put them on the table, and one by one blew out the candles. Then he closed the door and helped Muggs carry the Black Star through the musty hall. Another moment, and they were outside.

It was not particularly a difficult task to carry their man along the hedge and to the car, and there Verbeck put him in the back and got in beside him, while Muggs took the wheel. They made their way slowly up the hill and to a well-paved street, and there Muggs turned on the lights and the car rushed forward through the night.

The old Verbeck place was one of the city’s landmarks. It was closed now, and had been closed for the greater part of the past five years. It had been bequeathed Verbeck, the last of his family, by his father, and the young man had had no desire to repair it and live in it alone with a staff of servants. He preferred his apartment, and to live in it with no servant except Muggs.

But now, betrothed to wed Faustina Wendell, Verbeck was contemplating tearing down the old house and erecting a mansion in its place for his bride. The present house occupied the center of the block. It was surrounded by trees and tangled underbrush. The walks about it were in poor condition, and nobody ever approached it. It was to this place that he was taking the Black Star.

It was a long, cold ride. The Black Star groaned and threw his head from side to side, indicating that he wanted the gag removed, but Verbeck declined to accommodate him. He was taking no chances with the Black Star.

The machine lurched and skidded along the streets, dashed along boulevards, swung around corners. Muggs was putting on all possible speed, for the dawn was not far away.

The machine was finally brought to a standstill before the double gates that opened into the driveway of the old Verbeck place. Verbeck got out and helped Muggs throw open the gates, and they drove in to the house.

There was fuel in the house, and after they had carried the Black Star in and made him comfortable on a couch, Verbeck built a fire in the large grate in the living room. Then he removed the man’s gag, and all his bonds except those which held his hands fastened behind his back.

“There, Mr. Black Star!” he said. “It has been an exciting night. You sent a man to invade my apartment, and in turn I invaded your place of business—I suppose that is what you’d call it—and made you prisoner, with the aid of this very good friend of mine. And now you are here—and I’m quite sure you don’t know just where. And here you’ll remain for the time being, until I form some plans and put them in operation. You’ll be kept warm, and you’ll have food. Muggs will guard you. And you’ll be unable to escape.”

“All very clever,” the Black Star retorted. “But you are playing with fire, Mr. Verbeck, and are liable to be badly scorched.”

“I’ll run the risk of that.”

“Remember, I told you my organization has a long arm. I’m storing all this up against you.”

“Very kind of you, I’m sure.” He turned to Muggs. “How do you want to work this thing?” he asked.

“Just let him fuss around with his hands tied, boss,” Muggs said. “I’ll get a strap or some rope from the closet and tie ’em properly. And if he tries any funny tricks I’ll either shoot him or pound him on the head with the butt of the gun—’tis immaterial. You can leave it to me, boss.”

And Verbeck knew by the expression of Muggs’ face that he could.

CHAPTER VI.

AN UNPROFITABLE AFTERNOON

VERBECK put his car in the garage, returned to his apartment and slept. He awakened at eleven o’clock, rushed through bath and breakfast, got the car out again, purchased groceries, and whirled away toward the old house.

There he found Muggs pacing back and forth, with the pistol in his hand, reading the Black Star a lecture on the evils of a nefarious existence. The Black Star looked disgusted.

“If you’re going to keep me prisoner,” he told Verbeck, “I’d be obliged if you’d give me another jailer.”

“What’s the matter with Muggs?”

“Barring the fact that he is insane, he may be all right. I don’t want to be talked to death.”

Verbeck gave him a grin, for answer, and unpacked the groceries. He had small time to spend here, and, taking Muggs into a corner, he bade him be sure to guard the prisoner carefully.

“You may not see me again until to-morrow morning, Muggs,” he said. “I’ll be busy this afternoon, and to-night I’m going to that house where the Black Star has his headquarters and start some plans going.”

“You’ll be careful, boss?”

“I’ll be careful, Muggs. When it comes time for sleep what are you going to do here?”

“Stay awake, I guess.”

“There is a vegetable pit in the basement, remember. Get plenty of blankets from the closet and put them there, and make him climb down and sleep on them. You can bolt the trapdoor and sleep in peace here before the fire. Careful, now. I’m off!”

At one o’clock he put the car in the garage again, for he had decided he’d not use it that afternoon. Precisely at ten minutes of two, he was standing at the corner on which he had directed the crook the night before to fumble with his hat and await orders.

It happened to be a pet day with shoppers. Traffic officers worked furiously to keep the crossings free of vehicles; uniformed footmen opened limousine doors and helped well-dressed women across the walks and into shops. Conversations seemed limited to dry goods and bargains.

Verbeck had not remembered how the corner would be thronged when he gave the Black Star’s man his orders. The corner now was a jam of human beings. Verbeck crossed the street and stood beside a stone pillar in front of a show window, from where he could watch easily.

The hour of two arrived, and Verbeck scrutinized every man who passed the corner. Five minutes passed, and no one had given him the signal. And then he saw Howard Wendell, the brother of his fiancée, walking slowly down the street close to the curbing.

Verbeck drew back quickly behind the pillar. If Howard Wendell saw him, he undoubtedly would stop to talk, and Verbeck did not want to hold a conversation just then.

Wendell passed without seeing him. He stopped for an instant on the corner; he removed his hat, and he ran one hand around the brim of it as if brushing away dust.

Verbeck’s jaw dropped and his eyes bulged with amazement. The next instant he was chuckling at the coincidence of it. There was no possibility of Howard Wendell being a member of the Black Star’s band, of course. The boy accidentally had done what Verbeck had ordered the crook to do, that was all, and when he came to think of it Verbeck realized it was a natural thing for any man to do, and wished he had told the crook to use some other sign.

Howard Wendell walked on up the street, and Verbeck continued his watch. The minutes slipped by, and no other man gave the sign. A doubt entered Verbeck’s mind. That boast he had made at the reception—Howard Wendell had heard that, and the Black Star had known of it soon afterward. And Howard had given the correct sign.

“Bosh! Can’t be!” Verbeck muttered to himself. “I’m a fool to think it for a minute. Why on earth would Howard be mixed up with a gang of crooks? Even if he wanted to be, how could he get into a first-order gang like that of the Black Star? They’d not have him! I’m crazy to think of it!”

He looked at his watch; it was a quarter of three. He decided to go to the hotel where the unknown crook was to hold conversation with Miss Freda Brakeland. Perhaps he could decide the matter there, learn the crook’s identity.

The lobby of the hotel was thronged when Verbeck entered. He met men and women he knew, but managed to keep free from lingering conversation. He wanted to be at liberty to make a complete investigation.

Then he met Faustina Wendell face to face.

“Why, Roger!” she gasped. “Fancy meeting you here! I’ve heard you say you hate hotel lobbies.”

“I came in to take a peek so I’ll hate them more,” Verbeck replied. “And you?”

“Browning Club meeting, dear.”

“It is over already?”

“A quarter of an hour ago. In fact, we met only to postpone it, for every one is talking of the Charity Ball to-morrow night.”

“I see,” said Verbeck. He did see—that he had missed his chance to learn the identity of the crook.

“I came down in the electric,” Faustina continued. “Come along home with me, if you haven’t an engagement.”

He entered the electric and sat beside her as she piloted the car through the busy streets. She was giving all her attention to the driving, and he did not attempt conversation. And now that her face was in repose, it seemed to Verbeck that there was a peculiar expression on it, one that he was not used to seeing. He would have sworn that the girl beside him, who had promised to be his wife, was anxious, worried—and that was foreign to her nature.

The Wendells had been wealthy once, but were not now. Mr. Wendell had died two years before, leaving an estate much smaller than was anticipated. His widow had built a modern apartment house, and from it derived an income, the Wendells living in one of the apartments on the first floor. Yet they had enough to maintain their position in society, and this was an important position, for the Wendells were an old pioneer family, noted for piety and pride.

“You are looking tired,” Verbeck observed.

“You’re not very complimentary, Roger. Perhaps I am a bit tired, though.”

“Too much Charity Ball?” he asked.

“I am not worrying much about that. I intend going, of course.”

“I should hope so,” Verbeck said.

“Would it disappoint you very much if I said I’d rather not?”

“Nothing you can do will disappoint me,” he said loyally; “but I cannot imagine a Charity Ball without you in attendance. Are you thinking of remaining away?”

She was looking ahead, and Verbeck imagined that her lips quivered for an instant.

“Is anything the matter?” he asked. “You don’t seem to be yourself to-day.”

“I—oh, it is nothing, Roger! Perhaps I am a bit nervous. Let us talk of something else. Here we are at home. You’ll come in, of course?”

He followed her inside, and greeted her mother, who immediately left them alone.

“Now,” Verbeck said, bending toward her, “tell me what is troubling you. I can see that there is something.”

“Really it is nothing, Roger. Perhaps I am a bit out of sorts. And—what I said about the ball—forget that, please.”

“But if you do not wish to go——” he said.

“Can’t we decide it to-morrow afternoon, dear? All right—let us leave it until then. Perhaps I’ll be feeling better.”

“And there is no trouble—nothing I can do to help?” he persisted.

“Foolish boy! I’m just—just tired.”

“Then I’m going to run right away and let you rest. I ought to be downtown, anyway. I’ll telephone the garage for my car.”

He went to the telephone and sent in his call, then returned to sit beside her. She was trying hard to smile and act naturally, but Verbeck knew something was troubling her. But he imagined it might be something connected with the family finance, and so did not press her for an answer.

The car came from the garage, and Verbeck left, and drove through the streets in a way that defied all traffic ordinances. He had failed to identify the crook who had received orders to speak with Miss Freda Brakeland. And something was troubling his fiancée, and Faustina had refused to confide in him. It had been an unprofitable afternoon.

And there was a busy and dangerous night before him.

CHAPTER VII.

IDENTICAL ORDERS

EIGHT o’clock that night found Roger Verbeck in the Black Star’s headquarters, the room put in order, and the candles burning. He was sitting at the end of the long table, in robe and mask, and with the little rubber stamps he was busy writing out orders. All the orders were identical; the ones previously written by the Black Star had been destroyed.

Promptly at nine o’clock the little bell on the wall tinkled, and Verbeck, shutting the drawer in the table and holding his automatic in readiness beneath his robe, went to the wall and pressed the button that opened the door. He hurried from the room, and waited.

Presently he entered again, to find a masked and robed figure standing before the blackboard. Number and countersign were given, and Verbeck handed the man his orders and a twenty-dollar bill taken from the drawer in the table. The man bowed and went out.

Nine-thirty brought another man, and the same ceremony was observed. Ten o’clock brought the member of the band to whom Verbeck had given orders the night before. After he had written his number and countersign, Verbeck whirled to the blackboard.

“Report,” he wrote.

“Browning Club meeting was postponed, and I missed the person you mentioned,” the other scribbled on the board. “I followed her, and spoke with her later in a tea room. She will wear her jewels, including the famous ruby collar.”

Verbeck nodded for the man to erase. Again he found himself wondering at the identity of this man who could talk so freely to Freda Brakeland. And now he wrote on the blackboard himself:

“Why did you not carry out orders?”

“Pardon, but I did.”

“You appeared at the corner I mentioned?”

“Yes. Nobody approached me, so I went on as ordered.”

Verbeck wondered whether the man was speaking the truth, whether he had appeared at the corner, as ordered, and Verbeck had missed him. It was possible, he knew, because of the throng of shoppers. And, again—— The robe effectually disguised the man before him, but Verbeck imagined he was taller than Howard Wendell. He told himself again he was a fool to think that the man before him was his fiancée’s brother. He had half a notion to order him to remove his mask, but thought better of it. This man was a crook, could be nothing else. And Verbeck dared do nothing that would arouse suspicion and endanger the plan he had formed.

“Very well,” he wrote on the board; then went to the table and tossed the proper envelope toward the other.

The man picked it up and read the orders. It seemed to Verbeck that he appeared startled. He went to the blackboard and wrote again:

“Are you sure, sir, that these are my orders?”

“Yes,” Verbeck wrote.

“Must I carry them out?”

“They must be carried out—to the letter,” wrote Verbeck.

The other hesitated a moment, then wrote rapidly on the board:

“You are unfair, but I am unable to help myself.”

And then, as Verbeck started forward, the other saluted and darted out of the door, to hurry down the dusty hall. Roger returned to the table. He half wished he had forced the other man to remove his mask.

Ten-thirty o’clock brought a woman. Verbeck knew she was a woman because he could see her hands, the fingers covered with rings and the bottom of her skirts showed beneath the robe. Her writing on the blackboard was unmistakably feminine, too. The Black Star had said that women belonged to his organization, but Verbeck had not anticipated meeting one in this house; he had believed they worked on orders transmitted by others.

“Everything arranged,” the woman wrote on the board. “It will be easy. I’ll get the necklace about three o’clock in the morning and hide it where you ordered. It may be found there any time after four o’clock.”

Here Verbeck found himself facing something of which he knew nothing, some crime already outlined by the Black Star.

“Disregard all previous orders,” he wrote, “for the time being. I have new orders for you, and you’ll attend to them first. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she wrote.

He threw her envelope on the table, and she read the instructions it contained. She, too, scribbled a protest on the blackboard.

“Isn’t it dangerous?” she wrote.

“Carry out your orders. You do not know all the scheme, remember.”

“I understand. I’ll obey.”

Then she hurried out.

At eleven o’clock the bell tinkled again, and Verbeck admitted another of the band. This one, too, was a woman. She appeared timid, whereas the first had given every indication of being used to this sort of thing. Her hand trembled as she wrote her number on the board. Then she gave her countersign and waited.

Evidently she was not working on a case, but had reported to get orders. Verbeck had no orders ready for her, for her number had not been on the list he had found in the Black Star’s book. Apparently this was her first visit, or else the Black Star had not contemplated making use of her at the present time.

He took orders he had printed for one of the others and put them on the end of the table, motioning for her to pick them up and read. As she advanced toward the table, Verbeck found that her eyes were upon him, and she seemed afraid to touch the envelope. She opened it finally, read quickly, and Verbeck thought she gave a little cry. She staggered backward, but seemed to regain her composure as he started forward to aid her, and backed away from him. The sheet of paper fluttered from her hand to the floor.

Verbeck stooped and picked it up, and handed it to her. She did not seem to see it—she was looking down at Verbeck’s hand. Like a wild thing, she whirled around and rushed back to the blackboard and seized the chalk.

“Where did you get that ring?” she wrote rapidly.

Verbeck answered on his board:

“Why? Do you fancy it?”

“Where did you get it?”

“That is my personal and private business,” he wrote. The ring was a peculiar signet he had picked up abroad and had worn for years.

The woman dropped the chalk to the floor. She raised one hand as if to put it to her face; she dropped it again; her eyes burned into Verbeck’s from behind her mask; then she gave a cry that expressed pain and despair, and hurried through the door and into the hall.

“Well, what do you think of that?” Verbeck mused. “Was she really frightened or only playing a part? I wonder if the Black Star has been treating her badly and has made her afraid of him? She seemed awfully interested in my ring—because she’d never noticed it on the Black Star’s hand, I suppose. If she should be suspicious—— But she couldn’t do anything if she was!”

The members of the band continued to arrive at intervals, but there were no more women. Verbeck received their numbers and countersigns, and gave out copies of the orders. At three o’clock in the morning he decided there were no more to come. Two women and eight men had been received during the night—ten persons had walked into the trap he had constructed. Less than twenty-four hours, and the Black Star and his band would be in the hands of the police. Verbeck felt that he had planned well.

At half past three o’clock he left the house and walked five blocks to catch an owl car. Half an hour later he was on the boulevard, approaching the building in which he had his rooms. As he reached the steps of the apartment house he happened to turn and glance down the street. He saw a man dodge behind a lamp-post a short distance away.

Verbeck stepped into the vestibule, waited a moment, then stepped out again quickly. Again he saw the man dodge behind the post.

Darting down the steps, Verbeck ran toward the man. A shadowy form rushed across the driveway and lost itself in the shadows of the underbrush. Verbeck stopped and retraced his steps. He doubted whether he could catch the man, and he wasn’t inclined to pursue him at that hour of the morning. Perhaps it was not a man watching him, but a lurking thief, he thought, and at the same time he felt that he had been under surveillance.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE POLICE GET A TIP

VERBECK arose at noon to face the day that meant the culmination of his plans. As he bathed and shaved and dressed he kept thinking of the prowler he had seen a few hours before. Could it be possible, he asked himself, that some of the Black Star’s band had grown suspicious and would take an active part against him? Had the Black Star, a prisoner in the old Verbeck house, sent out some message from his prison calling for rescue? Verbeck was half afraid he had made some blunder, had overlooked something that would allow the master criminal to turn the tables and emerge victor from the duel of wits.

He telephoned the garage for his roadster, and hurried out to the old Verbeck place, taking with him a lineman from the telephone company’s office. The lineman connected the telephone, which had been out of service.

“How is the prisoner?” Verbeck asked Muggs after the lineman had departed.

“Down in the vegetable pit, thinking of his sins.”

“Fetch him up,” Verbeck directed, and began carrying in the food he had purchased before running out from town.

It was a surly Black Star who entered the living room, with Muggs at his heels urging him on. He no longer was handsome because of a two days’ growth of beard and dark circles under his eyes. He glared at Muggs malevolently as he crossed the room and sat down stiffly on a divan.

“How long,” he demanded of Verbeck, “are you going to keep me prisoner, with a maniac for jailer?”

“Probably until a late hour to-night. But you need not be confined in the pit again. I’m going to have Muggs keep you in this room, where it is warm and comfortable. I want to give you a bit of liberty until to-night.”

“And then?”

“Then I’ll probably hand you over to the police, and you’ll have mighty small freedom for years to come.”

“Indeed?” the Black Star snarled. “You have arranged everything, have you? Planned a coup of some sort?”

“Time will tell,” said Verbeck.

“And don’t you ever stop to fear for yourself?”

“I haven’t felt particularly afraid at any time.”

“I have warned you that the arm of my organization——”

“Is a long one—I remember,” said Verbeck. “The arm of the law also is long, Mr. Black Star, and a clever, honest man can outwit a clever crook any time, as I said once before. You called it a boast, I believe.”

“You are not done yet.”

“Certainly not—but I’ll be done within a few hours.”

Verbeck walked to a corner and beckoned Muggs to him.

“I’ll return to-night, some time after nine o’clock,” he said. “I want you to watch the Black Star well, Muggs. If he escapes now——”

“Why don’t you call in the police, boss?”

“And spoil everything? I’m going through with this now—I’m going to nab the Black Star and his gang.”

“Then there’s something big coming off, and I’m not to be in on it?” Muggs demanded.

“Neither am I, Muggs—at the moment it comes off. But we’ll both be in at the finish—and we’ll be there strong. Just curb your curiosity, Muggs, until this evening. I’ll explain everything then. Careful, now, and don’t let the Black Star escape. I fancy you’ve been aggravating him.”

“Aw, boss——”

“He looks it. Haven’t you?”

“I was just reciting a list of his sins, boss.”

“Well, Muggs, recite less and keep your eyes open more. Watch every move he makes. Don’t you use that telephone, and don’t let the Black Star get near it. I had it connected so we can use it to-night. Now I’m off!”

He got in the roadster and started back downtown. He stopped before a suburban drug store and went into a telephone booth. He had not wanted to send this telephone message from his own apartment nor from the old Verbeck place, for it might be traced.

He called police headquarters, and asked to be connected with the chief. No, he said, the chief’s secretary wouldn’t do. It was something about the Black Star.

In a moment he heard the chief’s gruff voice.

“Listen carefully,” Verbeck told him, “for I am not going to repeat what I say or answer questions. This is very important, and if you disregard it you’ll be sorry. Have your secretary get on the phone extension and take down in shorthand what I am going to say.”

There was a short wait while the chief made the necessary arrangements, then Verbeck heard himself commanded to speak.

“I have run down and caught the Black Star,” he said. “I am holding him prisoner now. I cannot hand him over to you just yet, for, if I did, and the least news of it leaked out, you’d never catch one of his gang, and, without his gang, you never could convict him. Never mind how I know it—I am not talking nonsense. You’ve got that?”

An excited voice told him that the chief understood.

“Now, listen to this,” Verbeck went on. “I have arranged for all the Black Star’s band to be at a certain place at the same time, so you and your men can take them all. Keep quiet, chief, and don’t ask questions. I want you to send men enough to arrest them—eight men and two women are in the crowd. They are to be arrested just when and where I say. If you let as much as one of them escape, all my work and yours probably will have been for nothing. When you get them, you’ll find stolen property on every one. And as soon as I learn you have all of them under arrest I’ll turn over the Black Star to you, I’ll tell you where and how he met the members of his gang and gave them orders, and I’ll let you have the inside workings of one of the smoothest crooks’ schemes ever devised. But if you make one false move——”

A torrent of words over the wire stopped him for a moment.

“No questions, I said,” he went on. “You have understood so far? Very well! No, I’ll not tell you who I am or where I am! Very well, if you’ll not listen! I’ll call you up later, when you’re in a better mood, and explain where you are to make the catch. Good-by!”

And an irate Roger Verbeck strode from the telephone booth, went out to the street, and sprang into his car to drive furiously down the thoroughfare. No excited chief of police could bully him with a lot of mandatory questions, he told himself. Let them fuss and fume for a time, then they’d listen when he telephoned.

His actions had the desired effect. At police headquarters there was a spirited debate for five minutes between the chief and his secretary as to whether the telephone communication had come from some practical joker. The secretary was inclined to believe that it had. The chief insisted that some member of the Black Star’s band had turned against him and was engineering his downfall.

Verbeck drove on through the streets until he reached the Wendell apartment house. Faustina was waiting for him, and again Verbeck noticed that anxiety was stamped on her face, and now he thought there was a look of fear also.

“Well, here we are,” he said. “And what about the ball?”

“I—I have decided to go,” she said, looking at him peculiarly.

“Brother Howard going, too?”

“Yes—he is going.”

“With any particular young lady?”

“No—alone.”

“Good! Will you be angry, Faustina, if I ask you to go to the ball with Howard? I cannot explain just now, but—well, I’ll be there late, in time to have a couple of dances and bring you home. I’m sorry that I cannot explain exactly—it is something important that will keep me away until late.”

He looked up, to find her staring at him fixedly.

“Why—what is the matter?” he stammered.

“I—oh, Roger, it is nothing!”

He sat down beside her and started to take her in his arms, but she drew away from him.

“Why, Faustina——”

“I’m—oh, I’m just a bit nervous, Roger.”

“There seemed to be something troubling you yesterday, and there certainly is to-day,” he said. “Can’t you confide in me, Faustina? Is there anything wrong—anything I can do to help?”

“Nothing you can do—to help,” she said.

“Then there is something wrong?”

“Don’t ask me, please, Roger. I’m nervous, worried. Just let me rest until to-night—I’ll try to be all right then. Certainly I’ll go to the ball with Howard—and expect you later. And now you’ll go, won’t you, Roger? I must lie down—and rest.”

The puzzled Verbeck walked slowly to the door, Faustina following him. He took her in his arms and kissed her. She did not return the caress, and she seemed on the verge of tears.

“Don’t worry,” he said softly.

“You tell me not to worry?”

“Why, yes. Perhaps whatever is troubling you will cease to trouble. We’ll talk of it to-night? You’ll let me help you?”

“Yes,” she said, “we’ll talk of it to-night. We must talk of it to-night.”

Verbeck hurried out, got into the car, and started for the business district. Faustina’s actions and manner worried him, yet his mind was busy with the Black Star and his affair. Once the Black Star and his band of crooks were handed over to the police, he’d look into Faustina’s trouble, he told himself. Perhaps Howard was running about too much. Perhaps there was financial trouble in the family. Whatever it was, he’d smooth things out, he promised. He couldn’t have Faustina worrying.

He drove carefully, now, through the heavy traffic, and finally stopped before a hotel. There he entered a public telephone booth, and called police headquarters again. Once more he got the chief on the wire.

“Will you listen now, and ask no questions?” he demanded. “This is no hoax, so you’d better act on my tip.”

Then he told the chief where the members of the Black Star’s band could be captured, and when and how.

CHAPTER IX.

“CHICKENS COME HOME TO ROOST”

THAT evening there came the heavy winds again. They came as night descended, to howl about buildings and shriek through the streets, carrying the merest suggestion of snow. They swayed the arc lights, rattled signs, and shook skeletons of trees. And then they settled down to a steady blow from the north, and soft snow began to fall heavily. And through the steady sheet of snow gleamed thousands upon thousands of incandescent bulbs at the big hall where the Charity Ball was to be held.

That hall had been built to hold thousands, and its capacity would be tested this night. On the dancing floor would be women famous in society, stately matrons, pretty girls enjoying their first social season. Gowns to dazzle would be shown by hundreds, and jewels—precious and famous jewels—would flash reflection from myriads of electric lights—jewels taken from safe-deposit boxes to be worn at this affair, and then to be returned to their hiding places.

The galleries would be filled with spectators; a gigantic orchestra would please musical ears; in the streets outside, hundreds of limousines would be waiting for the end.

Verbeck was thinking of the scene at the big hall as he drove his roadster out to the old place again shortly after ten o’clock that night. He had intended going to the old house earlier, but had been delayed in carrying out his plans. And now everything was done—there was nothing more to do except await the appointed hour, call police headquarters, ascertain that the members of the Black Star’s band were in jail, and then turn over the Black Star himself. He would have a good excuse to escape the plaudits of the police and reporters at headquarters—he would have to hurry to the big hall to dance with his fiancée and escort her to her home.

The gates were open, and Verbeck sent the car through and along the driveway, and brought it to a stop where it would be shielded by the corner of the house from the swirling snow.

When he entered the living room, the Black Star was sitting on the divan in the corner, and Muggs was pacing back and forth before him, still preaching on the merits of an honest existence as compared to a life of thievery.

“Everything is lovely, boss,” he reported to Verbeck. “This gent has been getting restless, but he hasn’t made a move he shouldn’t. I’ve been hoping he would—I haven’t taken a pot shot at a man in ages.”

“We’ll have no carnage, Muggs,” said Verbeck, laughing. “We want to hand him over entire, not in pieces. Give me that pistol, and I’ll watch the gentleman while you untie his hands and fasten them again in front instead of behind his back. I’m going to give him a cigar to smoke; he’ll need it to quiet his nerves.”

Muggs did as he was ordered, and the Black Star accepted the cigar with good grace and puffed at it with evident enjoyment.

“Do we call the police now, boss?” Muggs asked.

“Not yet, Muggs.”

“You and I have done a lot of things, boss, in all corners of the world,” he said in a whisper, so the Black Star could not hear. “When you feel that you can’t hold in any longer, you make me stop being a valet, and let me be a comrade, and we go out after adventure. It’s always been all right. But, about this thing—— Boss, I told you I had a hunch.”

“I’m afraid your hunch isn’t working well this time, Muggs. The thing has been accomplished. I’m merely waiting here until the police make a move I requested them to make, and then we’ll surrender the Black Star. It hasn’t been so very much of an adventure, after all, has it, old man? There hasn’t been much excitement—not what we call excitement.”

“I’ll not be satisfied until the police have their hands on him, boss.”

“Neither shall I. But nothing is going to happen, Muggs, to bother us. Keep that hunch of yours until another time.”

Muggs resumed his guard of the prisoner, and, though he asked Verbeck nothing concerning the plans he had made, there was a question in the expression of his face. Verbeck lighted a cigar for himself, and sat down not far from the Black Star. He looked at his watch.

“It is half after ten,” he announced. “Mr. Black Star, in exactly an hour and a half the police will take into custody some of your people; eight men and two women, to be exact.”

“Indeed?”

“Exactly,” said Verbeck.

“Would you mind telling me how this is to be done? I am somewhat interested and wholly skeptical.”

“Last night,” said Verbeck, “I assumed your robe and mask, and played at being the Black Star. I destroyed the orders you had prepared, countermanded all of which I learned, and issued new orders of my own. There was no hitch in the arrangement. Not one of them became suspicious as far as I could see.”

“And the orders?” the Black Star asked, interest showing in his face.

“Were the same in each instance,” said Verbeck. “The orders make it possible for the police to round up the entire gang at one swoop. They’ll be kept separate until I turn you over and tell all I know. With those facts upon which to work the detectives will have no trouble getting confessions. As for you—Muggs and I can swear to enough to convict you, especially after the police have searched that house where you had your headquarters.”

There was a look of apprehension in the Black Star’s face now, but he did not pretend to Verbeck that he was alarmed.

“May I ask how you expect to catch these persons?” he asked.

“Yes—and I’ll tell you. There was a flaw in your perfect arrangement, Mr. Black Star. You taught your crooks to work in the dark, and not ask questions. They have faith in you; and if you ordered one of them to enter the First National Bank at noon and hold up the first teller to the right, he’d perhaps do it, believing that his work was only a part of a big scheme and that he’d escape consequences because of some plan of yours.”

“True,” said the Black Star. “I have issued orders that seemed dangerous, but were not so when a man knew all the different angles of my plan.”

“Exactly. And so, when I gave orders that seemed dangerous, scarcely an objection was raised. You want to know how they are to be captured, eh? Here is a copy of the orders I gave each, Mr. Black Star, listen to it!”

Verbeck pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and read:

“You will dress as well as possible—evening clothes if you can—and attend the Charity Ball. I give you herewith money for ticket and other expenses. You will mingle with the crowd on the dance floor, and, working alone, lift all the jewels you can. Be careful of discovery, but do not fear the outcome. Between ten o’clock and midnight will be the best time for you to do your work.

“Exactly at midnight you will be in the southwest corner of the lobby, where there is a drinking fountain. Before going there put a bit of red ribbon on the lapel of your coat. If you see others wearing this sign, do not speak to them or give them any attention. Follow these instructions to the letter, and our great plans will be consummated. It is to be a big clean-up, and all arrangements have been made.”

Verbeck ceased reading, and looked across at the Black Star.

“You understand?” he asked. “Each one thinks he does not know all the plan, but will be safe if he carries out his instructions. I gave each a bill out of the drawer in the table, and I told the women to wear the red ribbon on their shoulders. A score or more of detectives will be in the neighborhood. At midnight they will take in custody all who wear the red ribbon. A quick search will disclose stolen property in their possession. You see? I don’t know whether I'm guilty of a felony or not, ordering them to steal like that, but I guess I’ll be forgiven, since it is in such a good cause.

“So there goes your perfect arrangement, Mr. Black Star. Those crooks who have been trusting you will be cursing your name before long. And you’re going to the penitentiary with them. You can’t be crooked and get away with it always—no matter how clever you are. And all this, Mr. Black Star, because you overplayed your part by sending a man to put a letter on my desk. You needn’t sneer—I’m not meaning to praise myself. There are a thousand men in town who could have overcome you, given the chance I had.”

“I am not sneering at your egotism,” said the Black Star, apparently without emotion. “I am sneering at the futility of your plans. I warned you, Roger Verbeck. I told you that chickens come home to roost. So you’ll send my men and women to jail, will you? You’ll break up my organization? You strike me a deathblow like that—and you’ll strike yourself one at the same time.”

“I’ve heard your pointless talk before,” Verbeck said.

“But this is not pointless talk, Roger Verbeck. It is very much to the point. I told you that I had an organization that gathered information, didn’t I? I said it was separate and distinct from the band that committed the crimes. You have made the grave mistake, I fear, of mixing the two bands together—and the consequences will not be to your liking.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes—indeed! How do you suppose I heard of your boast at that reception a few nights ago? How do you suppose I know so much about people’s private affairs? I’ll tell you, Roger Verbeck—I know because men and women of your acquaintance belong to my organization. You don’t believe that, eh? You will—soon.”

“I scarcely can imagine any of my friends turning crook.”

“Not voluntarily, perhaps. Not because they need money, either—not always.”

“Explain,” Verbeck said.

“I’ve told you I have a partner who knows me well—he and I work together. Some of the organization know him, but not one knows me, nor has seen my face or heard my voice. If you are skeptical, I’ll outline the plan in a few words. In Chicago, for instance, we caught a certain youngster of this city when he was in trouble. He was extricated from his scrape, and the price of it was that he join my organization. We held something over his head. Deathly afraid, he carried out my orders; he feared to refuse. Through him we brought into the organization the girl to whom he was betrothed—threatening to send her sweetheart to prison unless she joined the band. You see? A sort of endless chain affair.”

“I don’t believe it!” Verbeck exclaimed.

“You want proof, eh? In ten minutes, Roger Verbeck, you’ll be giving me my liberty, and you’ll be moving heaven and earth, with me beside you, trying to prevent the capture of those people at the Charity Ball. You know who told me of your boast at that reception? He told me because he admires your native cleverness—begged me to stop everything and leave town, for—he said, if you started out to get me, you’d do it.”

“He was a sensible man, and you should have taken his advice,” said Verbeck.

“I am telling you the truth, Verbeck. The man who told me was Howard Wendell, the brother of the girl you expect to marry.”

“You lie!” Verbeck cried, springing from his chair. Muggs snarled, and stepped forward, ready for a fray, but Verbeck motioned him back.

“I do not lie,” said the Black Star. “I told you to beware, that the chickens might come home to roost. Two months ago Howard Wendell was in Chicago on some business for his uncle. We knew him—we wanted him. A man already a member of the organization saw to it that Howard Wendell went the pace for a few days. He is but a boy, we’ll say—he was easily led. He woke up one morning to find that he had gambled away three thousand dollars of his uncle’s money. He was almost insane because of what he had done. His friend took him to my partner; my partner gave him the money.”

“But that——”

“Wait! In return, he gave my partner a check drawn on a bank in this city. Of course it was a forged check. Oh, he did not intend it as deceit! He said the check was worthless. My partner laughed and said he knew it, but that he would keep it until the boy could pay—if he never paid, it would be all right. My partner, you see, owned the gambling house where the money was lost. You begin to understand?”

Verbeck still stood before him, hands clenched.

“But the next day he was informed that the check would be presented, would be returned, and that he would be arrested for having written it—unless he did as he was ordered. That is how Howard Wendell became a member of our organization.”

“You beat!” Verbeck cried.

“Don’t beat me up yet—please,” sneered the Black Star. “If you stop to do that you’ll suffer considerable anguish later. I am not done—there are more chickens coming home to roost. What numbers did the men have, those to whom you gave orders?”

Fearing, Verbeck told him.

“So? Howard Wendell is one of them, Verbeck. He is the one who brought you the letter that first night concerning the Greistman jewels—remember? He’ll be one for the police to nab to-night. He must have been surprised to get orders like that—he understood he was to do nothing except gather information.”

Verbeck felt that the Black Star was speaking the truth. Howard had objected to the orders—had said that they were unfair to him, but that he was unable to help himself. It had been possible for him to tell the Black Star of Verbeck’s boast. He had given the sign that afternoon before seeking a talk with Freda Brakeland. And the police would capture Howard Wendell through Verbeck’s planning, capture him with stolen jewels in his possession——

“And the women?” the Black Star asked. “Tell me quickly! What numbers did they have?”

Verbeck told him.

“The first is one of the cleverest in the organization,” said the master crook. “She is an experienced thief. But the second—small wonder you did not find her number in the book! She is a new one. That was her first visit, and I had ordered it some days before. She was brought into the organization through her love for another, a member of her family. So she’ll be caught, too, eh? And do you know her identity, Roger Verbeck? Do you know the woman you are handing over to the police through meddling with my affairs? I’ll tell you—gladly: She is Miss Faustina Wendell—your fiancée!”

CHAPTER X.

CAUGHT IN A NET

SILENCE followed the announcement of the Black Star—silence for a moment, during which Muggs watched his master and waited for the sign that he was to choke the man on the divan into insensibility for daring to say such a thing. But the sign was not given.

Suddenly Roger Verbeck felt sick at heart. The Black Star’s tone, his bearing, the expression in his face told that he spoke the truth. And Verbeck knew enough to confirm it. Faustina had been acting in a peculiar manner. And that second woman who had called on him in the Black Star’s headquarters—how timid she had appeared, how afraid! She had reeled when she read her orders. She had demanded to know where Verbeck got the ring he was wearing. And that very afternoon, when he met her at her home—her words had been mysterious, her actions out of the ordinary.

“So you see how it is,” the Black Star was saying. “Do you want to save her, save her brother also? Then release me, and I’ll help—for I must save those friends of mine. I’m as much in the dark regarding them as you, for I’ve never seen any of their faces, remember. You realize what will happen if they are caught, don’t you? There could be no escape from the penitentiary for any of them. And there are things to be found in my headquarters—notes in Faustina Wendell’s handwriting, for instance, notes giving information——”

He stopped at the look that came into Verbeck’s face.

“And you think I’ll let you go now?” Verbeck demanded. “Why, I’ll fight you more than ever now! You’ve made a cat’s-paw of that boy; you’ve dragged the sweetest and most innocent girl in the world into your filthy scheme——”

“The prosecuting attorney won’t consider her innocent when he reads those notes.”

“You’d have me let you go—then you’d try to drag me into the mess to save my intended wife! And, through me, others—and so on! It’s fight you and beat you now, or surrender to you like a coward, and let you go ahead with your nefarious plans. I’ll take the chance, Mr. Black Star!”

Verbeck looked at his watch; it was a quarter of eleven. He whirled to face Muggs.

“Guard this crook!” he cried. “Guard him well. Shoot him if he tries to escape!”

“What are you going to do, boss?”

“I’m going to play the game out to the end. I’m going to the ball and save Faustina Wendell and her brother—and I’m going to see that the police get the others, and then this man here. That’s all I have to do—get Faustina and Howard away in time. This crook’s clever scheme has another angle—nobody can swear the Wendells are mixed up in this. That’s what I have to do—separate the crooks from the innocent victims. Watch that man!”

Muggs screeched at him. The Black Star tried to tell him something. But Roger Verbeck had dashed from the house and toward his machine. He was almost sobbing, and fear gripped at his heart. The chickens had come home to roost! No wonder Faustina had acted so peculiarly, small wonder she had shown anxiety! And she was in danger. He had ordered her to steal—perhaps her love and fear for her brother would lead her to do so. She might be caught in the act—Faustina Wendell, proud daughter of one of the pioneer families, caught stealing jewels!

And his ring—she had recognized that! Great Heaven! Did she think he was the Black Star? Did she imagine he had played on her love to make her a member of a band of thieves? What might she not suspect, when she had seen that ring?

She would remember that he had led a sort of wild life in the ends of the earth, never showing a tendency to settle down until he had fallen in love with her. She might pile up the little things until she had a mound of evidence—women do such things. She might doubt his manhood, really believe he was the master crook, brutal enough to endanger the girl he professed to love and her brother. Had Howard Wendell noticed that ring, too? Had Howard been the midnight prowler waiting on the boulevard to see what time Verbeck reached home?

He was in the car, out of the yard, rushing like the wind down the street, not caring whether the machine skidded perilously through the snow. It was almost eleven o’clock; he had ample time, more than an hour. It would be a simple thing, after all, merely to get Faustina and Howard to one side and see that neither wore a red ribbon, let the police capture the others, and then explain.

Then another thought came to him—those notes the Black Star had said were in the house where he made his headquarters! The captured men would talk, mention that house, and the police would search. Faustina might be endangered in that way. He didn’t dare take the chance of leaving those notes until after he went to the ball. He’d have to search for them, find, and destroy them.

There was more than an hour—he had ample time. He drove the machine at a furious pace, disregarding police, who shrieked at him, barely missing trolley cars, dodging pedestrians at crossings. Out along the long boulevard it was easier going, for there the wind had swept the pavement clear of snow, and there was not so much traffic. He left the paved street and cut down the hill toward the old house where the Black Star had established his headquarters. He did not have time to take precautions; he trusted to the good fortune that always had stood at his side in emergencies. He turned the machine to the curb a block away from the house, sprang out, and rushed across vacant lots toward his goal.

Through the dusty hall he rushed, reaching in his coat pocket for matches. He found a candle in the furnished room and lighted it. Then breathlessly he began his search.

Nothing was in the drawer at the end of the table except what he had seen before. There was no furniture in the room in which letters might be concealed. He inspected the couch, but found nothing. He ripped the seat and back from the armchair, but his search was not rewarded. In the kitchen he opened drawers and bins, but found nothing except dust and cobwebs. He rushed back to the Black Star’s room again.

His foot found the trigger of the trapdoor, and he opened it and crept to the edge of the pit to hold the candle and peer down. There was nothing but the smooth cement walls and flooring. He ripped away rugs, searched the floor, finally stood, panting, beside the table in despair.

“He lied!” he gasped. “He must have lied—and I have been losing time!”

He looked at his watch again—it was one minute after eleven o’clock. It would take him only fifteen minutes to reach the big hall where the Charity Ball was being held if he drove swiftly, and so he had time for further search, but it seemed of no use.

Staggering against the side of the table, he threw out his hand to grip the edge—and a drawer shot out!

He forgot the place and danger, and gave a cry of joy. Accident had accomplished what search had failed to reveal. The drawer was half filled with papers. He inspected them quickly—yes, there were several notes in Faustina’s handwriting, and a forged check for three thousand dollars in the bolder scrawl that belonged to Howard Wendell. The Black Star evidently had had that check close at hand to show the boy now and then in case he thought of quitting the organization.

There were other letters, too, the handwriting of which Verbeck seemed to recognize, but could not quite place—letters written by other victims of the Black Star, he supposed.

He carried them to the grate, set them afire, fed them to the flames one at a time. He ran back to the table and pressed the edge of it all the way around, and found one other drawer. There was nothing in it, however, and he felt that he had secured and destroyed all the dangerous papers there. The fire in the grate died down. Verbeck stirred the ashes to make certain nothing remained that would give a clew. Then he blew out the candle and started through the dusty hall to the door.

As he reached it he stopped in alarm. Creeping toward the house from the hedge were two men. Far to the right were two more. To the left were two more. He heard a sibilant whisper from near the wall a short distance away. Light from the nearest street lamp flashed against a policeman’s shield.

The police were surrounding the house!

CHAPTER XI.

CLOSE QUARTERS

MUGGS stood in front of the door for a moment after Verbeck had dashed from the house, then turned to face the Black Star again. Muggs’ lower jaw was shot out, his eyes were narrowed, and, but for Verbeck’s orders, he probably would have launched himself at the Black Star and attempted the old-fashioned retaliation known as “beating up.”

Muggs was small in size, but he had great strength in his arms and shoulders, and possessed knowledge of a multitude of tricks to aid him in the art of self-defense or aggression. He worshiped Roger Verbeck. He was ready at any time to fight for Verbeck, to defend his life and his happiness. The fact that the Black Star had caused his master misery was enough to make Muggs want to throttle the man. But Verbeck had decreed against that.

Muggs wished he was at his master’s side, helping him in the fight. He imagined Verbeck driving the roadster at top speed through the streets to the big hall; he fancied him entering upon the brilliant scene there, as he had intended doing at a later hour, getting Faustina Wendell and her brother to places of safety, then witnessing the capture of the Black Star’s band. He anticipated a telephone call from Verbeck telling of success.

Meanwhile he walked back and forth before his prisoner, the pistol held in his hand, and raged at the man on the divan.

“A cur like you causing a man like Mr. Verbeck pain!” he exclaimed. “Killing’s too good for you! I hope you get a life sentence. But he’s got you, Mr. Black Star! My boss has you! Have your little signs pasted on his bed and all over his library, will you? Leave sassy letters for him, eh? I reckon you’re sorry for it now!”

The Black Star still was smoking the cigar Verbeck had given him. He blinked at Muggs, and puffed at the cigar furiously, then suddenly bent forward and bowed his head on his hands.

“That’s right!” Muggs went on. “Think of your sins! Do a little wailing yourself! Cause my boss trouble, will you? You’d better put your head in your hands and wish you’d played straight! Small good it will do you to repent now, you scum!”

The Black Star’s head bent lower; he was a picture of misery. Muggs looked at him with scorn and turned to walk the length of the room. He stopped his tirade long enough to pick up a sandwich from the table and begin eating it. He imagined the Black Star about to weep because disaster had overtaken him—and Muggs always felt disgusted when he saw a man weep.

But the Black Star was not weeping—he was endeavoring a subterfuge. When he bowed his head, the burning end of his cigar rested against the rope that bound his wrists together. Now and then he puffed again, until the rope was scorched. Strand after strand was burned through as Muggs talked.

“Getting your dirty hands on your betters and making them join your gang!” Muggs said, walking back toward him. “You got your hands on one too many, I guess. And I’ll be a witness at your trial, too! I’ll help send you over the road——”

He had passed the Black Star and was about to turn. And at that instant the Black Star sprang. Muggs was taken unawares. A fist dealt him a blow on the back of the head. As he staggered forward, trying to turn, the pistol was wrenched from his hand and the butt of it crashed against his temple. The Black Star struck him even as Muggs had struck the Black Star in his headquarters room, when Roger Verbeck was shot into the pit.

“Take that, you whelp!” the Black Star cried. “Try conclusions with me, will you—you and your precious master? You haven’t whipped me yet! There’s something in that old house I want—money, and those letters—money to get me away to Chicago, and the letters to send to the prosecuting attorney with a sarcastic little note. I’ll fix your precious master and his girl. And while he’s trying to save her I’ll be taking a train out of town. As for my crooks—bah! I never saw their faces—they are no friends of mine. Let ’em go to prison—there are plenty more crooks to be had!”

He kicked the prostrate Muggs and hurried from the house. He did not know exactly in what part of the city he found himself, but he made for a crossing where he had seen a trolley car flash past, where he could make a start downtown.

And Muggs, groaning in pain, remained on the floor, but he was not fully unconscious. He had heard every word uttered by the Black Star—they seemed to ring in his brain. He kept telling himself he wanted to get up, he wanted to do something—but he could not. He struggled mentally to rise, and finally his will was communicated to his muscles. He rolled over, sat up on the floor.

Dizziness overcame him, but he closed his eyes and bit his lower lip and tried to master it. And in time he did, and staggered to the divan and fell upon it.

What was it the Black Star had said? That he was going to his headquarters to get money and letters, that he was going to leave the members of his band to their fate, and make his escape. He must stop the Black Star! Verbeck’s plans would be shattered unless he did. And the Black Star would be a living menace to Verbeck unless he was stopped, and perhaps would build up another organization in some other city. Even in this moment of pain, Muggs, though claiming no superior power of reasoning, could not help but think what a fool the Black Star had been to tell Verbeck his schemes. That was the man’s weakness—he had to boast. It was boasting that had brought him to the close attention of Roger Verbeck and caused all the trouble.

“My hunch—was right,” Muggs muttered. “I told the boss—that I had a hunch!”

He sat up again; the dizziness had passed, but his head still pained. He must act quickly, he kept telling himself over and over. Then the plan for which he had been groping flashed into his brain.

Muggs sprang to the telephone and called police headquarters. He got the chief on the wire.

“The Black Star has escaped!” he cried. “You’ll get his gang down at the dance, but you’ll not get him unless you hurry. He knocked me down and escaped. I know where you can catch him—if you’re quick!”

Shotted queries and commands came to him from the frenzied chief.

“A house—in the south end of town!” Muggs gasped. “A deserted house—he has his headquarters there! He’s gone there to get money, then he’ll get out of town. You can catch him! . . . What’s that? Oh, yes—I didn’t give you the address!”

Muggs swayed from the telephone, but in a moment had gathered his strength and was talking again. He gave the location of the house, and the chief said that he understood.

“And I’ll be there—I’ll start right now,” Muggs added. “I’ll be there to identify him——”

Sudden decision had come to Muggs, and he stumbled away from the instrument without further words, not even stopping to hang up the receiver. He hurried across to the door and threw it open and went out. The stinging cold air refreshed him. He started along the driveway.

By the time he reached the boulevard, Muggs was himself again, except that the pain pounded in his head because of the blows the Black Star had given him. He hurried along the street, half running. On the first corner he waited for a car.

An automobile came along, bound for town, and Muggs hailed the driver. He was a private chauffeur going to the big hall to fetch home from the ball some of the women of the family for which he worked. Muggs told him it was a matter of life and death, and the chauffeur allowed him to crawl up beside him and put on speed. Five minutes later, well down in town, Muggs got off and hailed the first taxicab he saw, offering double pay if good time was made, and the cab soon was rushing toward its destination.

The police had acted promptly on Muggs’ information, and as the taxicab whirled around a corner half a dozen blocks from the goal, Muggs could hear in the distance the shrieking of a siren on a police automobile. He urged his chauffeur to greater speed. At a corner he stopped the cab, paid the driver, and the next moment was running down the dark side street toward the deserted house.

He slipped along the hedge and crept near the wall, making his way toward the door. It was closed, and Muggs did not try to open it, but went on to a window. He raised it as he had that first night when Verbeck had been with him. Muggs wanted to get inside and catch the Black Star at work. He wanted just one blow at the Black Star before the police arrived, for the blow that had been given him, and for the misery Verbeck had been caused. Then he’d gladly hand the Black Star over to the authorities.

He slipped through the window. As he did so the police automobile stopped on the nearest corner, and men piled out of it and ran forward to surround the house. Muggs gave them one glance, then left the window and stepped softly across the room. Light was coming through that crack in the door—the Black Star was there!

Muggs put his eye to the crack. He did not see the Black Star—he saw Roger Verbeck just blowing out the candle and starting to enter the dusty hall!

The meaning of the situation flashed over Muggs in an instant. The Black Star had not arrived yet. Verbeck had come here to get those letters before going to the big hall. And he—Muggs—had brought the police! They would capture Roger Verbeck—and there was nothing to prove that Roger Verbeck was not the Black Star!

CHAPTER XII.

AT THE CHARITY BALL

MUGGS jerked open the door, rushed through the furnished room, and entered the hall.

“Boss! Boss!” he hissed.

Verbeck was just recoiling from the outer door. He closed it as noiselessly as he could and hurried back.

“Boss!”

“That you, Muggs?”

“Yes. That devil worked a trick on me—he got away. He intended to come here and get money, then hurry out of town. I—I telephoned the police, boss, to come here, and I came myself to identify him. I didn’t know that——”

“All right, Muggs. I understand. You did right.”

“But I let him trick me—and the cops are here. If they catch you they’ll think you’re the Black Star.”

Verbeck realized that even better than Muggs. If the capture was made at the big hall, and the prisoners questioned—as they would be, and mercilessly—Faustina Wendell and her brother, under the strain, might give evidence that would convict him.

“We’ve got to get away, boss!”

She had recognized the ring, Verbeck was thinking. Perhaps it was Howard Wendell who had watched as he went home that night. Yes—he’d have to escape.

“Oh, boss! I said I had a hunch!”

“Quick!” Verbeck whispered. “And be quiet! My roadster is at the curb a block away. We must get out and reach it. How many policemen?”

“A dozen at least, boss—and there may be another auto full of ’em coming.”

“Hush! Some one is trying that door now. Into the kitchen with you!”

Muggs hurried through the kitchen door. Verbeck pushed him into a closet and bade him remain there until he returned. Then he went from the kitchen to the dining room, and there he lifted his pistol and sent three shots ringing into the ceiling.

Another instant and he was back in the kitchen, in the closet with Muggs.

“Perhaps they’ll think the Black Star has committed suicide when they hear those shots and find there isn’t a light,” he whispered. “There is a window behind you, Muggs. Can you open it quietly and without attracting attention, while those police are wondering about the shots?”

Muggs went to work, making no noise. The window was raised a fraction of an inch at a time. Verbeck turned the key in the closet door, for things might come to a pass where seconds of delay would mean everything.

Finally the window was open. Muggs, putting out his head cautiously, looked around.

“Only one man on this side, boss,” he reported. “The others have gone around to the door.”

“They’re in the house,” Verbeck replied. “They’re flashing their torches—I can see them in the hall through the keyhole.”

“This side of the house is dark, boss, shaded by trees. And there is a drift of snow against it. We might get out without being heard or seen.”

“Try it!” ordered Verbeck grimly.

Muggs went first, like a shadow, and soon was standing beneath the window in the deep darkness close to the wall. Verbeck followed, almost afraid to breathe, expecting every second to hear the challenge of a policeman and to be taken. But finally he, too, stood in the shadows against the side of the house.

“One man,” Muggs whispered. “See him? We’ve got to hurry—those cops in the house will be through searching soon. You wait here, boss.”

Muggs slipped away beneath the trees; Verbeck could scarcely see him. Nearer and nearer he got to the unsuspecting policeman, who was watching the group in front of the door. Then Muggs sprang, and the policeman went down. It had been done without noise, with a single blow, but not effectually enough to render the officer unconscious for long.

Verbeck hurried across and joined Muggs; each took a deep breath, and then, just as the man on the ground raised a cry they darted out into the open, racing for the hedge.

Behind them was a chorus of cries, a fusillade of shots. They got to the other side of the hedge and ran wildly for the street. Behind them came the determined pursuit, a captain shouting orders. As they ran, Verbeck found himself wondering at the queerness of it—that he and Muggs had been forced to attack a guardian of the law in the interests of justice. Verbeck promised himself to make that policeman a handsome present when things were straightened out.

More shots whistled near them—the police were through the hedge now. On and on they ran, Verbeck slightly in the lead. They saw a police auto standing in the street near them, another at the other end of the block. And Verbeck’s roadster was a block away!

They were in the street now, running at their utmost speed. Behind them came the pursuing policemen, while others rushed toward the automobiles, intending to take up the pursuit in that manner if the quarry got away. Nearer and nearer they came to the roadster. When they reached it Muggs sprang to the wheel. Verbeck threw himself in beside Muggs.

“Shoot at ’em a couple of times, boss, and slow ’em up,” Muggs said.

“That’s going too far. Get up on the boulevard!”

The car started. Another fusillade of shots came, none taking effect. The machine skidded around the corner and dashed at the hill. It lurched and swayed over the soft, snow-covered ground. Behind came the two police automobiles, their sirens shrieking.

Muggs reached the boulevard, and opened her up. He had no idea except to shake off pursuit. Verbeck glanced at his watch as they passed beneath a light—it was twenty minutes after eleven. Events had been occurring rapidly in the last half hour. And he was working under a close time limit, too. He had to escape the pursuit, and he had to reach the big hall before midnight to save Faustina Wendell and her brother.

Verbeck looked back continually—they did not seem to be gaining. The streets flashed by. Muggs narrowly evaded collision a score of times, for he was taking desperate chances. To escape, and to save Faustina, and all in forty minutes of time—that was task enough. Added to the mental strain of this was the fact that the Black Star had escaped, and that Verbeck’s case would fall down in part because of it. Yet some of the work would be good, for the band would be broken up partially, at least, if the officers at the big hall caught the thieves with stolen goods in their possession.

They did not seem to be able to gain on their pursuers, and the precious minutes were flying. They took corners at a reckless pace, zigzagging through the city in a vain attempt to outwit those who followed. Now and then Verbeck waved his hand to indicate a turn, and Muggs obeyed.

They skirted the retail district, and got to the wholesale district, where there was scant traffic at this hour of the night, but always behind them came the two police automobiles, sirens shrieking, officers screeching.

“We can’t dodge ’em, boss!” Muggs yelled.

Verbeck looked at his watch again. He had only thirty minutes! But an automobile going at racing pace can cover a lot of ground in thirty minutes, even through the streets of a city. On they dashed, twisting and turning, never gaining, just holding their own.

Down another hill they raced, and now they were near the stockyards. Here there was no pavement; here the mud and slush and slime splashed over the machine and around them, and the auto lurched and skidded dangerously.

“Slow down at the next turn,” Verbeck ordered, “I’ll drop off, and you keep on. Get away if you can—work back into town and give them the dodge. I can’t waste another minute—I’ve got to get to the big hall. And I can’t do it in the machine, for we can’t shake them off.”

“I can take you back nearer the hall, boss.”

“I’d not dare try to drop off there—they might see me. But here, where it is so dark—— At the next turning, Muggs!”

“Boss——”

“Here we are! Get away if you can, and if you do, come to the hall later. I’ll be all right!”

They made the turning, and Verbeck dropped off, and then Muggs opened her up again and dashed on along the muddy street, and behind him rushed the determined police in their two automobiles. They passed within forty feet of Roger Verbeck, who was inside a stockade, in close proximity to a hundred startled Texas steers.

Less than thirty minutes—and he was at the stockyards. There was not a second to waste. He could not glance at his watch to get the exact time without striking a match, and he did not dare do that because some watchman might see and apprehend him. He got out of the cattle pen and started running along the street in the dark, toward the nearest car line. Slush and mud splashed over his trousers, and he realized that he would not be the usual well-groomed Roger Verbeck society knew when he invaded the big hall.

He boarded a car, drew his overcoat close around him, and crouched in a corner. It seemed that the car stopped at every street, that it made wretched time. The blocks never before had seemed so long. Verbeck looked at his watch again, fearing he would be too late. He felt on the verge of screeching to the motorman to give the car greater speed.

Finally it was up in town, and Verbeck got off and rushed for the nearest taxicab stand. In an instant he was inside a machine, and a chauffeur was taking chances to earn the extra pay promised him if he reached the hall before midnight.

Verbeck took out a handkerchief and wiped off his pumps, and brushed mud and slush from the bottoms of his trousers as well as he could. He smoothed down his hair, and tried to regain his composure so that he would appear outwardly calm at least. He would have to enter the hall in a matter-of-fact way. An excited entrance would attract attention.

The cab stopped before one of the entrances of the hall. Verbeck glanced at his watch again—it was five minutes of twelve. As he sprang out he tossed the chauffeur a bill. He took a deep breath, threw back his shoulders, handed his ticket to the man at the door, and stepped into the lobby with a smile on his face.

Three men were loitering in the southwest corner by the drinking fountain. Two more were approaching, and a woman was walking toward the fountain from the opposite direction. All the men wore bits of red ribbon on their coat lapels—the woman on her right shoulder.

And Verbeck saw something else, too—men who were scattered about in couples, each couple pretending to carry on an animated conversation, but watching the corner. They were detectives, several of whom Verbeck recognized.

He walked past the fountain swiftly and turned the corner. Faustina Wendell and her brother were approaching him side by side, each decorated with the red ribbon. In a moment they would be out where the detectives would see, if they had not been observed already. Verbeck had removed his hat and coat, and as he turned the corner he tossed them to a check boy. He almost ran forward to meet Faustina and Howard. He knew it lacked but a few seconds to midnight.

“Quick!” he whispered as he met them. “Don’t ask questions, but, for Heaven’s sake, do as I say! Take off that red ribbon—quick! Howard! Get back on the floor—anywhere to get out of sight. Faustina—come!”

Verbeck himself tore the ribbon from her shoulder as Howard removed his own. He pushed Howard ahead of him until he was on the dancing floor. He grasped Faustina about the waist—he waltzed her out into the crowd!

The hands of the clock pointed to midnight—and from the southwest corner of the lobby came sounds of a commotion as the detectives, obeying their orders, closed in on the Black Star’s crooks.

CHAPTER XIII.

MUGGS—GREAT LITTLE MAN

VERBECK felt Faustina grow limp in his arms, and he waltzed her to a position near the wall and the door. Howard stepped over to them.

“You—you——” Faustina was trying to speak.

“Don’t say a word,” Verbeck whispered. “I understand everything. There is no danger for you. I have destroyed all the notes you wrote and the check Howard gave.”

“But——”

“Thank Heaven I was in time! I almost failed to save you!”

“To save me——”

“Careful—whisper! Step closer, Howard. I, too, was almost caught in the Black Star’s trap. I discovered his hiding place and took him prisoner. I knew his gang would have to be caught if ever he was to be convicted, and so I tried to play a lone hand against him. Muggs warned me—he had a hunch, he said. While the Black Star was kept prisoner, I played his part, issued orders, got all of the gang to be here to-night, then informed the police to take them in.”

“You——” Howard began.

“Careful—act naturally! I gave you and Faustina orders, too, not knowing. Then the Black Star told me what I had done, tried to get me to let him go free. And I rushed to that house where he had his headquarters and destroyed the letters and Howard’s check. Nobody knows you were involved except the Black Star and myself, and the Black Star cannot prove anything. And that Chicago partner of his, you may be sure, will remain away. You’ll never be bothered. I’ve saved you—but I had a narrow escape.”

“Oh, Roger!” Faustina whispered. “And—almost—I thought that you were the Black Star. I recognized the ring and your hand—and Howard watched that night and saw you go home at four o’clock in the mor——”

“I was afraid of that,” Verbeck said.

“I didn’t—really—mistrust you,” she said. “But it—it looked so peculiar. And so we came here to-night—but we talked it over first, and decided we’d not steal. I couldn’t do it, dear, and neither could Howard. And you must not blame Howard too much about that check. He was young, thoughtless—it has been a great lesson to him. They really stole the money from him, and he got it back from them. We intended going to the corner—at midnight—no matter what happened. We expected the worst—but we couldn’t steal.”

“My girl!” Verbeck breathed.

There was more commotion in the lobby. Some of the dancers were walking in that direction, and Verbeck led Faustina there, with Howard on her other side, in a manner as natural as possible.

The Black Star’s men and the woman wore handcuffs. Detectives were taking jewels from them, gems they had stolen in the last hour or so. One of the men already was cursing the Black Star aloud, swearing that the Black Star had betrayed them, and declaring he would tell everything he knew. Verbeck was thankful he had gone to the house and destroyed the letters.

“There were to be eight men and two women,” he heard a captain say. “We’re one man and one woman shy.”

“I saw another woman with the red ribbon on,” spoke up one of the detectives. “Maybe I’d recognize her if I saw her again.”

“We’ll have all the exits guarded, and you can look——”

Verbeck whirled to Faustina.

“We’ve got to get out of this quick!” he said. “That man may have seen you, may recognize you. If we get out now, we are safe, for if he saw you on the street afterward, in different clothes he’d never recognize you. And nobody would suspect Faustina Wendell. But right now it would be dangerous for him to see you.”

“What can we do?” Howard asked, in sudden alarm.

“Quiet! Act naturally, for Heaven’s sake. Come with me to the door. You came in the electric?”

“Yes,” Faustina said.

“Get all our things in the check room, Howard—as naturally as possible, remember—and meet us at the door——”

Already he was leading Faustina toward the nearest entrance. The captain of detectives was rushing there to go on guard immediately. Howard came from the check room, and Verbeck put Faustina’s wrap over her shoulders.

“Wait a minute there!” It was the captain of detectives who called to them. “I want to see you before you go—— Oh, ’tis you, Mr. Verbeck? You and your young lady and her brother? Go right along, sir. We’re trying to catch a crook or two—we want to watch all who leave. Sorry to have bothered you, sir——”

“That’s all right, captain,” Verbeck said. “I hope you catch your crooks.” He lifted his hat and led Faustina out into the corridor, Howard following. They went out into the softly falling snow and the blur of thousands of electric lights to safety.

They started toward the corner where the electric had been left. But before they reached it Verbeck halted in surprise, and with an exclamation of unbelief on his lips. Muggs was running toward him.

“May I speak to you a minute—boss?” he asked.

Wondering, Verbeck excused himself and stepped to one side.

“I’ve got the Black Star in the car across the street, where it’s dark,” Muggs said. “I gave him a crack on the head and threw him on the floor of the car and put a robe over him—but he’s liable to come to any time.”

“How——”

“For the love of Mike, boss, hand the devil over to the police and get rid of him. I’ve still got that hunch!”

Verbeck hurried back to the others.

“Get in the electric and wait for me at the corner,” he directed. “I’ll be only a minute or so.”

As they started on, Verbeck followed Muggs across the street. He knew exactly what he intended doing; there would not be any waste of time.

“We’ll act on that hunch of yours right now, Muggs,” he said. “Drive to the entrance of the hall.”

In a moment they were there. Verbeck went inside and called the captain of detectives to him.

“Bring a couple of your men and come out here,” he said. “I’ve got the Black Star for you. Yes—come along! I’m the man who caught him, captain, and did the telephoning to the chief.”

The captain and two others followed Verbeck to the curb. The Black Star was groaning, but not yet conscious.

“Take him away,” Verbeck directed. “I’ve got to escort my fiancée home, and she’s waiting in a car at the corner. This is Muggs, my man. He’ll follow out to my fiancée’s home with the car, and I’ll drive right back in it to headquarters and tell you the story. Watch that man, captain—he’s a smooth customer. Muggs—you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” said Muggs.

He stepped aside with Verbeck, as the officers carried the Black Star around the corner to a patrol wagon—the Black Star was wearing handcuffs.

“The police followed me back up in town,” Muggs explained. “I couldn’t get away by running, so I tricked ’em. I went to the union depot—time for a bunch of trains to be due, you see, and a big crowd there. I got a lead on ’em and whirled around the corner and stopped my car among a bunch of others—got out and was standing on the walk looking innocent and picking my teeth when the cops rushed by. They went on past the depot—supposed I had gone that way. Easy! Then I started up again to get back near the hall. Remember that dark space near the middle of the viaduct, where so many holdups come off? Just as I got there I saw Mr. Black Star sneaking along with a suit case in one hand. Stopped the car and smashed him on the head with a wrench before he knew it! Threw him in the car and covered him up—see? Easy!”

Verbeck’s hand gripped that of Muggs for an instant, and then he hurried to join Faustina and Howard.

“We’ve got the Black Star, too,” was all he said. “I’ll have to run back to police headquarters after I go home with you, and tell them all about it. And I’ll explain the entire thing to both of you to-morrow morning. I suppose you’ll kiss me now, Faustina, even if Howard is looking? You wouldn’t, you know, when you suspected me of being the Black Star.”

Although she was driving the car, Faustina ran the risk of collision by taking her eyes off the street long enough to do as Verbeck wished.

Then, satisfied, he settled back in the seat beside Howard.

“One thing,” he said, “I shall do. After this I’ll pay more attention to any hunch Muggs may get. Great little man—Muggs!”

This article uses material from the Wikipedia article
 Metasyntactic variable, which is released under the 
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