CHAPTER III
THE NEW HEADQUARTERS
ROGER VERBECK was the last of his family, a man who moved in the best social circles, who had wealth and good looks and friends, and an athletic body.
It had been Roger Verbeck who had put the Black Star behind prison bars. When the super-criminal first began his work in the city, the police seemed to be unable to do anything against him. Verbeck had made a boast at a reception one night that he could capture the Black Star himself. That boast had led to many adventures.
One of the Black Star's band happened to overhear the boast, for the men and women working for the Black Star were to be found in all walks of life, and there was nothing strange in the fact that one of them happened to be a guest at an exclusive social affair. At one stage of the game even Verbeck himself had been suspected of being a lieutenant of the master criminal.
The Black Star had challenged Verbeck to make good his boast, and there had ensued a duel of wits. Whereas the master rogue had an organization at his command, Verbeck had nobody except Muggs.
Muggs was a peculiar individual. Years before, Muggs had stood on a bridge over the Seine, in Paris, ready to fling himself into the water and end an existence that, in a fit of despondency, he had decided was not worth carrying out to its logical conclusion.
Roger Verbeck had grasped him by the arm in time to save him, and had convinced Muggs that life was worth the living. So Muggs became attached to Roger Verbeck. He was known as Verbeck's valet, but he was a comrade-in-arms in reality. He shared Verbeck's adventures, and often turned failure into success. He was ready to fight for Verbeck at any moment.
Muggs had worked with Verbeck against the Black Star, and when the master criminal finally was captured and incarcerated, Muggs had turned valet again. But Muggs was a man who demanded action, and time hung heavy on his hands. For Roger Verbeck was thinking of getting married, and he had small time for adventuring.
Muggs was a small man, but one of great strength. There was nothing handsome about him. Some called him repulsive, but not in Roger Verbeck's hearing.
Muggs had been a criminal and knew the ways of criminals. He had been of great value to Verbeck on numerous occasions, and once had saved his life. Between them they possessed nearly all human qualifications, and they made an excellent team.
On the night of the rescue of the Black Star, Roger Verbeck had called upon his fiancée. He returned to his rooms shortly after the hour of twelve, and immediately went to bed, Muggs retiring a few minutes later. There was to be a golf tournament the following day, and Verbeck was a contestant.
Both men were asleep almost immediately. Most of the tenants in the big apartment house had retired. In the office on the ground floor a sleepy clerk was attempting to keep his eyes open and read a magazine. The night telephone operator had gone to a restaurant a couple of blocks away for a midnight cup of coffee, and the sleepy clerk was watching the switchboard.
There entered a gentleman from the street—a man whose face was muffled in his coat collar. He was well-dressed, very much the gentleman, and the clerk got up and hurried to the desk. Somebody with an important business message for one of the tenants, the clerk supposed.
"Something I can do for you, sir?" the clerk asked.
"Yes—go to sleep!" came the reply.
The visitor drew a vapor gun and discharged it in the clerk's face. The latter gasped, and sank to the floor. The one who had used the gun stepped to the door and gave a signal. Three more men sprang from a closed car standing at the curb, and hurried into the lobby of the house.
"Telephone operator be back in a few minutes," the first man said. "One of you remain here and get him. Answer any calls on the switchboard, so things will look natural."
One remained; the other three ran quickly up the stairs, ignoring the elevator, which was in the basement, with a sleepy operator hoping that nobody would call him.
The three made their way to the floor where Roger Verbeck had his suite. They listened outside Verbeck's door; then one of them inserted a skeleton key, pushed out the key on the inside, turned the lock and opened the door half a dozen inches.
Again they listened, then opened the door wider and slipped inside. It was evident that they were well acquainted with the place. While one of them remained in the big living room, another went to the door of Verbeck's bedchamber, and a third to the door of the room used by Muggs.
There came a sharp hiss. The doors were opened. Figures darted across rooms. Two vapor guns were discharged, and Roger Verbeck and Muggs were instantly rendered unconscious as they slept.
"Easy work!" one of the men commented. "Get busy, now!"
Muggs was gagged and bound and lashed to the bed. Roger Verbeck was dressed quickly by two of the men, while the third remained in the living room, listening. When Verbeck had been made ready, the man in the living room slipped into the hall, saw that nobody was there and that the elevator was still in the basement. He returned and gave a signal, and the other two picked up Verbeck and carried him into the hall.
They went down the stairs, flight by flight, meeting nobody, and finally came to the office again, where the fourth man was waiting. The telephone operator had returned and had been rendered unconscious by means of a vapor gun.
They carried Verbeck to the automobile, put him in it, got in themselves, and the machine darted away. Verbeck groaned, and once more a vapor gun was discharged in his face. He relaxed.
"That'll do him until we get to headquarters," one of the men said. "We don't want him sick, and that stuff is pretty strong. What do you suppose the boss is going to do with him?"
"It is an excellent plan not to go supposing what the boss is going to do with anybody," another growled. "I was in the other gang, and I happen to know that it's a good thing to let the boss attend to his own affairs."
"Well, I didn't mean anything," snarled the other.
The automobile traveled across the city, and after a time reached a large house that sat far back on a quiet lane. Here the car left the main thoroughfare, turned into the lane, and presently stopped before the veranda of the house. Roger Verbeck was carried inside. The automobile was driven around to the rear, and all its lights extinguished immediately.
When Verbeck regained consciousness he was bewildered. He was in a room that was brilliantly lighted. He was stretched upon a couch, fully dressed. He could not comprehend it at all.
He sat up and looked around the room. It was lavishly furnished, and in excellent taste. In the middle of the room was a long table, and there were a score of heavy chairs scattered about. There were two doors, one at either end of the room, but there did not seem to be any windows. Here and there tapestries hung on the walls.
He heard a bell tinkle, and one of the doors opened. There entered two men, both wearing long black robes, and black masks.
Verbeck knew, then. He had seen the costume of the members of the Black Star's band often before. He had even worn one once, while gathering evidence for use against the master criminal.
So he had been abducted by the Black Star's men, and he had supposed that they were so scattered that they could make no move. Was he to be held as hostage, or something like that? Verbeck knew that the Black Star was to be taken to prison within twenty-four hours. Were these men going to avenge themselves upon him because he had been instrumental in sending their leader to prison?
"Well?" Verbeck growled.
Neither man answered him, but he really had not expected that. The members of the Black Star's band did not talk much. One of the men went to the side of the room, and threw back one of the tapestries, revealing a small blackboard.
Why, this was exactly like the old headquarters of the Black Star, for they had conversed there by means of blackboards! Could it be possible that the band had gathered again, and were going to continue their nefarious work without their leader, the master mind that had guided and controlled them before?
Verbeck watched as the man wrote:
"Mr. Verbeck will remain quietly on the couch for the time being. If he does not, he shall be made unconscious again."
"What is the idea?" Verbeck asked.
"One is coming who wishes to hold a conversation with you," the man wrote on the blackboard.
"How long shall I have to wait?" Verbeck demanded.
"Until he comes!" the other wrote, and then dropped the tapestry and went to stand beside his companion before the door.
Verbeck sat down on the couch again and regarded them. He felt in his pocket, found cigarettes and matches, and started smoking. His brain was not entirely clear yet.
He wondered what the man had meant. Who was the person for whom he was waiting? Of course, it couldn't be the Black Star, Verbeck told himself. The Black Star was to go to prison the following day, to begin serving his sentence of twenty years. He had lost his last appeal. He had been a broken man, evidently, for the past two or three months had acted like one who had given up all hope of escape.
Verbeck smoked the cigarette and lighted another. Again a bell tinkled in the distance. Again the door was opened. Roger Verbeck gasped.
The robed and masked figure that entered was larger than the other men; and on the front of the hood that enveloped his head was a big, flaming black star of jet.
The Black Star!
Then Verbeck chuckled. He saw it now, of course. The band had elected another leader, and he had assumed the garb of the Black Star. Probably they expected to punish Roger Verbeck for what he had done.
The man who wore the star advanced to the middle of the room. One hand came from beneath his robe, and Verbeck saw that he held a vapor gun in it. He made a motion, and the other two men left the room and closed the door.
"So we have a new Black Star, have we?" Verbeck said.
The man before him laughed, then took off his mask and tossed it aside.
"Not a new one! The same one!" he said.
Verbeck gave a cry and sprang from the couch. There could be no mistake. The notorious master rogue stood before him. Verbeck knew his face well enough.
"But" he began.
"My friends rescued me during the night," the Black Star said. "It was a very pretty little plot, indeed. I may as well let you know that I am heading my organization again. My people have been collected by a lieutenant of mine who never ceased working while I was in your county jail. My band is stronger than it was before, and we are going to make the city pay."
"Well, what about me?" Verbeck asked.
"I have had you brought here to show you in what contempt I hold you," the master criminal said. "You caught me before, but you'll not catch me again! Here is my new headquarters—take a good look. I suppose you'll be on my trail again?"
"And I'll catch you again!" Verbeck cried.
"It will be a pleasure to have you try, Mr. Verbeck. It adds spice to the game to have a good foe—and I'll admit that you are a good foe. It will be entertaining to outwit you continually, to make you the laughingstock of the city."
"You tried that once before, and I had the last laugh!"
"Pardon me! It is not time for the last laugh yet—but when the time does come, I shall have it!"
"Well, what are you going to do with me?" Verbeck demanded.
"My dear Mr. Verbeck! Did you imagine you were to be treated with violence? You know that I abhor violence of all kinds. I merely had you brought here so that we could have this little conversation. I shall send a letter to the newspapers telling them how I had you here and let you see my new headquarters. That will give the city its first laugh at you."
"If I get the chance, I'll catch you!" Verbeck declared.
"I intend you shall have the chance, my dear Mr. Verbeck. I shall render you unconscious again, and have you taken to a certain place in the city and left there. When you regain consciousness, start on my trail, if you can find it. You were unconscious when you came here, and will be when you depart. You understand? And I don't mind telling you, Roger Verbeck, that anything done by me and my band before my arrest was insignificant compared to what we intend doing now. I shall strike within twenty-four hours, Mr. Verbeck. You need not trouble to warn the city. I already have sent letters to the papers telling them of my intention."
"And you can't get away with it!" Verbeck exclaimed. "I'll hunt you down"
"That is your privilege, Mr. Verbeck," the Black Star interrupted. "I flatter myself that I am a sportsman. I have you in my power at the present moment, and could keep you where you could cause me no trouble or annoyance. But I'd rather have you free to use your wits against mine. As I remarked before, it will add spice to the game. Heaven knows that the police couldn't even make it interesting for me!"
"So you are going to stagger the city, are you?" Verbeck asked.
"I am, Mr. Verbeck. We are going to loot the city more thoroughly than we did before. We have perfected certain plans, and shall strike soon."
"Going to play your old game—going to let us know in advance what you are going to do?"
"Possibly—at times," said the Black Star, smiling. "And I feel sure that this time there will be no little accident that will make it possible for you to take me into custody. By the way, how is your man, Muggs?"
"In excellent condition," Verbeck said.
"My compliments to him, when you see him again, and tell him for me that it will be a pleasure to clash with him. In a way, I admire Muggs. He is such a perfect type of a thug."
"He is not the man to have for an enemy."
"Bah! I could outwit a score of men like Muggs without calling any of my organization to my aid. Well, Mr. Verbeck, I am afraid that we shall have to terminate this interesting conversation. I must get a little rest, and confer with some of my people."
He stepped back to the wall and pressed a button. Immediately the door opened, and the two robed and masked men entered the room. One of them held a vapor gun in his hand.
Roger Verbeck was well aware that it would be a losing fight, yet he fought to his utmost. But the fumes were discharged, the pungent odor struck into his nostrils and filled his lungs, he was forced to gasp for breath—and unconsciousness claimed him.
The last thing he heard was the sarcastic laughter of the Black Star!