CHAPTER XXVII
MUGGS TAKES A CHANCE
IT was an evening of varied experiences for Muggs, one that he liked to remember later as being the acme in adventure and chance taking.
Muggs had been held a prisoner in the headquarters room at the place to which he had been moved, listening to the Black Star perfect his arrangements for his descent upon the Branniton residence—a prisoner who was allowed to see and to hear, yet was helpless to give a warning.
Now and then he got up from the couch and walked back and forth across the room, while the master criminal chuckled behind his mask, and frequently indulged his taste for sarcastic remarks.
"My dear Muggs, it would be a feather in your cap, would it not, if you were able to tell the authorities all that you know now?" the Black Star asked. "What a sensation you could cause by walking into police headquarters and shrieking your information into the ears of the chief and the sheriff and Roger Verbeck! But I am afraid that you will not be able to do anything of the sort, Muggs. However, we all have our little disappointments in life."
"You'll have somethin' worse than a disappointment before this thing is over!" Muggs snarled.
"You are still inclined toward violence—eh, Muggs? You should cultivate a more peaceful nature, such as I possess. Violence merely destroys itself, my dear Muggs."
"Yeh, and I'll probably destroy you before we make an end of this!" Muggs declared. "I tell you that you can't get away with it! You're about due to strangle on what you've bitten off!"
The Black Star did not reply to that; he merely chuckled and went back to the end of the table to consult his memorandum book again. It appeared to Muggs that the master crook consulted that book to a great extent this day, acting as if he felt that there was some minor detail he had forgotten.
After a time, the little bell on the wall tinkled, and a robed and masked figure entered the room and went to the blackboard. Muggs glanced at him in disgust. The Black Star's men had been reporting continually during the day.
"Number Five," the man wrote.
"Countersign?" wrote the Black Star on his blackboard.
"Everglades."
"Report."
"There appears to be no suspicion as to what we really intend to do to-night. The police reserves are being held in waiting, and the sheriff has his deputies ready for action, but those seem to be all the arrangements that have been made."
"How about Verbeck?" the Black Star wrote.
"He is at police headquarters now, waiting for the alarm so he can take the trail."
"Good. That is all," the Black Star wrote.
The member of the band bowed and backed through the door. The Black Star wrote something in the memorandum book, closed it and put it into a drawer in the table. Then he turned toward Muggs again.
"Muggs, I have decided to have you remain here this evening," he said, "I cannot spare the time to watch you, and so shall not take you with me."
"Thanks for that much!" Muggs growled.
"You will remain in this room, Muggs, and I shall have to keep your wrists lashed together, of course. I know that it will be uncomfortable—but that is the penalty for discovering my old headquarters and forcing us to move. I can't have you interfering with my plans to-night, you know."
"If I had a chance, I'd interfere with 'em, all right!"
"But the chance is missing—eh, Muggs? Do you mean you'd try to prevent me from making a fortune for my band by running away with some jewels and a couple of diplomats?"
"You haven't run away with them yet," Muggs told him.
"It is only a matter of an hour or so, my dear Muggs. Probably I shall bring those diplomats here. You'll have the chance, Muggs, to associate with a lord and a knight."
The Black Star rang, and his servant entered.
"I am going to leave our prisoner here to-night when I leave," the Black Star said. "I expect to find him here when I return. You understand?"
"He'll be here, sir!" the servant promised.
"As long as he behaves himself, give him the liberty of this room," the master criminal went on to say. "If he does not behave, handle him in your own way."
"Yes, sir."
"Tell the mechanic to be ready to start in ten minutes."
The servant hurried out. The Black Star glanced into his memorandum book again, and paced the floor, now and then looking at the little clock on the table. After a time, the servant returned.
"The mechanic is ready, sir," he reported.
"Good. Take care of Muggs while I am gone, but do not pester him so long as he is a good boy."
"He'd better not pester me!" Muggs growled.
The Black Star wrapped his robe closely around him, and put on the heavy ulster over it. He looked at Muggs once more, his eyes glittering through the mask. Then he chuckled, and hurried through the door.
Muggs threw himself full length on the couch and glared at the man who acted as the master rogue's servant.
"I'm gettin' mighty tired of this," he complained. "The eats are all right, and I suppose I hadn't ought to kick, but it ain't nice to have your wrists tied together all the time."
"If you're schemin' to get me to unfasten 'em, you ain't goin' to work the scheme, I can tell you that!" the servant declared. "Them wrists of yours stay just as they are, far as I'm concerned."
"You'd better never let me get 'em loose!" Muggs warned him.
"You wouldn't do much if they were."
"Is that so? I could separate you into sections in about ten minutes!" Muggs told him.
The servant laughed, sat down at the end of the table, and started to smoke. Muggs glared at him, rolled over, and turned his back to the room and the man in it.
Muggs might not have shown it outwardly, but he was almost frantic. The Black Star and his men were on their way, he knew. Before long they would surround the Branniton residence. They would get inside, rob women guests of their jewels, kidnap the two diplomats and Branniton, and rush away again before the police could reach the scene. Once more the public would howl, and the newspapers would ask why the police and Roger Verbeck did not capture the master criminal who did much as he pleased with the wealth of the town.
Muggs did not know, of course, where he was at the present moment. This new headquarters might be out at the edge of the city, or in the very heart of it. But Muggs did know that, if he could escape from the building, there would be a chance of warning the police and Verbeck, possibly in time for them to do something.
He tested the cords that lashed his wrists, and told himself for the hundredth time that they could not be removed. Everything had been taken from his pockets, including his knife. He had glanced around the headquarters room whenever he had a chance, and he had failed to see anything that might help him.
To get his wrists free—that was the first task. And then he would have to escape from the place, wherever it was. He did not know whether the servant was the only man remaining there; the Black Star might have others around, on guard. Nor were men all that had to be considered. There might be traps in the house, there might be another deadly fence, or something like that.
Muggs was beginning to feel desperate. He knew that every second had its value now. He rolled over, sat up on the couch, and yawned.
"I sure hope the Black Star turns me loose to-morrow," he said. "He hinted that he might, after he pulled off to-night's stunt."
"Yes, and maybe he won't, unless the sheriff lets Landers and those two women go," the servant said.
"Gee, the sheriff won't do that. Even my boss couldn't make him do it. He's got those three in the jug, and there they'll stay, unless the Black Star rescues them himself." Muggs got up and walked slowly to the table. "There ain't any law against me havin' a smoke, is there?" he asked.
"Help yourself—anything like that goes as long as you behave," the servant replied.
"The Black Star has a good brand of cigarettes, I'll say that much for him," said Muggs. "My boss smokes the same kind."
"You're kinder crazy about that boss of yours, ain't you?" the servant asked.
"Sure! Why not? He saved my life, and he certainly has helped me since. He gives me a steady job, good money, and treats me decent."
"He ain't like the general run of bosses, then."
"I should say not!" Muggs declared.
He put a cigarette in his mouth and picked up a match. It was an awkward task with his bound wrists. He struck the match, held the flame to the end of the cigarette, and puffed a cloud of smoke.
"If every man had a boss like mine," Muggs continued, "the world would be a better place. I had a boss in Paris once that was a terror. I almost strangled him one day."
"Why didn't you?" the servant asked.
Muggs dropped the flaming match—into the filled wastebasket.
"Oh, somethin' happened to stop me—somebody got his lamps on me, or somethin'. And I didn't happen to get a chance again. I had to do a dodge. The cops was after me."
"Cops?"
"Say, I've had real cops after me in my day!" Muggs boasted. "I cut out that line of life a few years ago, when I met Mr. Verbeck, but before that I was somethin' of a terror—especially in Paris."
"Paris? I've never had a chance to go there," said the servant.
"You want to go when you get a roll, some time. It's some town, boy—some town!"
Muggs puffed at the cigarette again, and then turned toward the couch. The servant gave a cry and sprang from his chair.
"You cursed fool!" he shrieked. "You dropped that match in them papers!"
Muggs whirled around, astonishment in his face. "Put it out—or the whole darned place will burn down!" he cried. "If it catches on them curtains and things"
He darted forward himself, snatched a small rug from the floor, and began beating at the flaming wastebasket. The servant was working on the other side of the table, trying to watch Muggs at the same time, but the latter seemed to be eager to put put the fire.
Muggs smashed at the flaming paper with his rug—and managed to scatter it. He ran from burning sheet to burning sheet, beating at the flames. The servant was not so watchful now. Muggs seemed intent only on putting out the fire and preventing a serious blaze; but as he fought the flames he managed now and then to thrust his hands and wrists into the fire!
The flames seared his flesh, but Muggs ignored that. He saw the cords that bound his wrists begin to smoke. He saw fire attack one of them. He thrust his wrists into the fire again, as he beat at a sheet of flaming paper, and tugged at his bonds. The fire was almost out now. He tugged at his bonds again.
They gave—they snapped—Muggs was free!
He gave a cry of relief, whirled around—launched himself straight at the Black Star's servant!