Part I
CHAPTER I.
A Nocturnal Visitor .
Through the intricate mazes of a horrible nightmare, Roger Verbeck tried to fight his way back to a proper understanding and a full realization of events.
He seemed to be half asleep, half awake; now on the verge of consecutive thinking, now back in a strange country peopled with unusual monsters, with fear and violence on every side.
Something strangely familiar characterized this peculiar feeling, as if he had experienced it often before. His half-asleep mind groped for the solution as he tossed on his bed like a man coming out from under the influence of some powerful drug.
Drug—that was it! His mind cleared sufficiently for him to grasp his condition. These peculiar, horrible nightmares—he had experienced them often a year or so before. They had been caused by a vapor used by The Black Star, the master criminal, who, with the aid of his powerful organization, had terrorized the city for a time.
Roger Verbeck's memory seemed to be working better now, and it carried him back to those days when The Black Star and his band had been doing pretty much as they pleased, when Roger Verbeck had taken the field against the master rogue, aided only by Muggs, his small, ugly, and intensely loyal valet.
The Black Star, having heard that Roger Verbeck had boasted that he could catch him, though the police had failed, had issued a challenge. Verbeck had accepted the challenge, and The Black Star had made a laughingstock of him for a time, but ultimately the master criminal had been placed behind the bars and denied bail.
And then members of the criminal's organization had managed their leader's escape from. jail, and The Black Star had conducted a campaign of crime that had terrorized the city. Roger Verbeck and Muggs had played in that game also. It had ended in the destruction of The Black Star's organization. Many of his men and women were sent to prison for long terms, but the master rogue himself had escaped at the last moment, leaving a taunt behind him.
That had been a year ago, and nothing at all had been heard from The Black Star since. It was supposed that, taking his enormous illegal gains with him, the master criminal had made his way successfully to some foreign country, and there was living the life of a wealthy man. Long ago the police had given up all hope of capturing him and bringing him to trial.
Roger Verbeck fought with himself to escape from the land of semidelirium, trying to tell himself that it would not do to have such nightmares when there was no reason for it. He supposed that he was experiencing a slight attack of indigestion, that his memory cells were at work, carrying him back to those sensational days of a year ago.
He realized that he was awake, and yet it seemed that he could make no move beyond tossing about on one side of the bed. Dimly he saw a shadow playing on the wall of the bedchamber, caused by a streak of moonlight coming through the nearest window. That proved that he was awake, did it not?
And yet his vision was peopled with grotesque monsters, too. It was exactly as it had been when The Black Star used to drug him. He tried to fight away that thought, tried to rid himself of the feeling. Perhaps, he told himself, he was going to be very ill.
Finally he decided to call Muggs, who slept in the adjoining room, Muggs, who was a light sleeper, would rush to his aid immediately.
Verbeck opened his mouth and tried to speak Muggs' name. But not the slightest sound came from between his lips. It was as though he suddenly had been stricken dumb. His lips moved, his jaws moved, but he could not speak.
The cold perspiration stood out upon his face and hands, and he began to wonder whether he was really in a serious condition.
He tried to turn over on the bed, and found that he could not do so. He could see the one wall of the familiar bedroom, with the shadows playing over it, and there seemed nothing unusual. He heard no sounds except those he might have heard on any night. Muggs was snoring in unconscious bliss, and a limb of the big tree at the side of the bachelor-apartment house was brushing against the wall in a breath of wind. That was all. There was nothing unusual or ominous to make him apprehensive.
“I must be ill,” Verbeck thought.
Once more he tried to turn over, and found that now he could move a little. Again he made an effort to find his voice to call for Muggs, but did not succeed. He tried to get the handkerchief beneath his pillow, but he could not complete the effort.
Then he was still for a time, looking up at the ceiling, gasping for breath, realizing that he was bathed in cold perspiration. His mind was clearing, however. And now he tried to tell himself that he merely had had a bad dream, caused by indigestion, and that the thought of The Black Star had terrified him for a time.
He was getting control of himself rapidly now and regaining the use of his muscles. He secured the handkerchief, rubbed his hands and wrists, and wiped the perspiration from his chin. He almost laughed when he thought of his feelings a few minutes before. He had been terrified as if the Black Star had come back. The master rogue was living like a prince in some out-of-the-way place, chuckling to think how he had terrorized a city and what profits he had taken.
Verbeck managed to sit up on the edge of the bed. He did not intend to call Muggs now. He would rest a bit, and then get a drink of cold water and then go back to bed and try to get some more sleep.
There was no need to turn on the night light above the little stand at the head of the bed, for the moonlight lit the room sufficiently. Verbeck looked around the apartment, and saw nothing. Muggs had left his door open, and the door that led to the living room was open also. There were no unusual sounds at all.
“A nightmare!” he repeated. “I must have eaten something that did not agree with me.”
Now the spell had passed, and Roger Verbeck was his usual self. He felt the perspiration on his forehead, reached for the handkerchief again, and raised it to wipe his brow. In the middle of his forehead there seemed to be a peculiar dry spot.
With an exclamation he snapped on the light. Taking up a hand mirror from the table, he looked at his reflection in the glass. Then he gave a cry, sprang to his feet, and bent forward to look again.
Pasted in the middle of his forehead was a small black star!
Verbeck was silent for a second, as though trying to realize what it meant, and then he called, “Muggs! Muggs!”
He staggered toward Muggs' room. The valet had bounded from his bed, and they almost crashed together a few feet from the door. There they stood, looking at each other, speechless, their eyes bulging, their hearts hammering at their ribs.
“Boss—boss!” Muggs exclaimed.
Muggs saw the black star on the forehead of his employer; Roger Verbeck saw a similar star on the forehead of Muggs.
“Boss, he's—he's been here! He's at work again! I—I've been sick.”
“So have I, Muggs. Thought at first it was a nightmare.”
“It's that old vapor dope, boss. Some of his men have slipped in here, shot it under our noses, then pasted these blamed stars on our faces. Boss! What does it mean?”
“It probably means, Muggs, that we are going to have another session with The Black Star,” the master replied.
“Then we'll get him, won't we, boss? We'll get him right this time—and put him where he belongs.”
“We'll try our best, Muggs. I believed with the police that he had left the country.”
“Maybe it's just some trick, boss. Some other crook!”
“You were ill, weren't you?” Verbeck interrupted. was I, Muggs. And I recognized the feeling. We were victims of that peculiar vapor that The Black Star uses in pistols and bombs. Either he is at us again, Muggs, or else some of his old gang, who are acquainted with The Black Star's secrets, are starting to work.”
“Maybe that is it, boss,”
“It is not likely, Muggs. The Black Star himself would go after us, I suppose, whereas his people probably would ignore us and watch only the police. The Black Star says that he thinks it improves the game to have us after him, Muggs.”
“Then we've got to go through with all of it again, I suppose,” Muggs said.
There was no fear in his voice, and no regret. A close observer would have said that Mr. Muggs welcomed the conflict, if it were coming. The early career Of Muggs had been one filled with excitement, and not altogether according to law. For certain reasons Verbeck had made him an honest man and a valet, and Muggs was grateful. He could be a perfect servant, and he could be a valuable comrade in arms. And Muggs cannot be blamed if he wished now and then to be the latter. Being a valet grows monotonous to a man who loves adventure.
As for Roger Verbeck, though he would not have confessed it, perhaps, he felt a thrill himself at the thought that The Black Star again was in the city and at his nefarious work. He anticipated keen pleasure in another chase of the master rogue. The Black Star was a worthy foe; he abhorred bloodshed and violence, he played a game of wits, he laughed when he won, and he was always ready to admit when an enemy scored a point against him.
“Goin' to telephone the cops, boss?” Muggs asked.
“We should do that, I suppose. The police, and especially our friend the chief, will be rather startled, I think.”
With Muggs at his heels he led the way to the living room. The telephone was in a corner near the light switch. Verbeck hurried across the room, while Muggs remained standing at the door of the bedchamber.
But he did not reach the switch. From a corner of the room, near a window that opened upon a fire-escape landing, came a voice that both Verbeck and Muggs remembered well—a rich, deep voice that seemed to hold an eternal note of ridicule.
“Stop where you are, please, both of you!” it said. “Hands above your heads, gentlemen. Do not force me to be rough, I pray you. You know that I abhor violence.”
They whirled around and faced the corner. By the faint streak of moonlight they could see a man standing just beside the window—a man dressed in dark clothing, a black hood over his head, and on the hood a star of jet which gleamed even in that faint light.
A characteristic chuckle reached their ears, and again the voice of The Black Star came to them.
“So we meet again, gentlemen. I'm glad to see you, Mr. Verbeck. And let us hope that a year's rest has sharpened your wits. I dislike very much to fight a witless foe. And there is Mr. Muggs! Ugly but faithful Muggs!”
“That'll be enough from you, you crook!” Muggs answered angrily. “I'll make your face ugly enough!”
“My dear Muggs, still keen for violence? You haven't improved during the past year. You are going to be as amusing as ever, I believe. Steady, Muggs; stand just where you are! Sit down, Mr. Verbeck, and let us have a little conversation of a serious nature.”
Verbeck sat down in a chair beside which he had come to a stop at The Black Star's first remark. Verbeck was himself again, alert, cautious, a worthy foe. His eyes pierced the dusk of the corner where the moonlight gleamed from the star of jet on the black hood of the master rogue.
Muggs remained standing against the wall, just. inside the door. With his hands above his head, he was bending forward, and he, too, was trying to see into that dark corner, trying to get his eyes accustomed to the gloom so that he could watch every movement of The Black Star. The valet was a man who believed in watching for an opportunity and in striking hard the moment opportunity presented itself.
The Black Star's chuckle came to them again. Muggs was grinding his teeth in rage. Roger Verbeck, watching closely, bent forward in his chair and said nothing.
“So!” The Black Star exclaimed. “Rather surprised to find me here, are you? You presumed that I had left your fair city and was living like a prince in some foreign land, did you? As it happens, my work here is not done. About a year ago you almost caught me. You did catch some of my companions, the best ones; in fact, broke up my organization.”
“And we'll do it again!” Muggs warned.
“Be a gentleman, Muggs, and do not interrupt,” The Black Star said with a laugh. “Your rage is amusing, if you only knew it. Save it until later, for you are going to have use for it. Mr. Verbeck, I expect you to take the field against me again.”
“From that statement I take it that you are preparing to indulge in more crime,” Verbeck said.
“I am going to collect damages, Mr. Verbeck, because my organization was ruined and I was annoyed. It may interest you to know that I have spent the past year building up a new organization, and that it is more nearly perfect than the old one. Now I am ready to strike. I am here to-night, and have done what I have done to show you that we stand in the same relation as before.”
“Indeed!” Verbeck retorted.
“Are we to be foes as usual? I wish to know, Mr. Verbeck. If you promise on your word of honor as a gentleman not to raise your hand against me, but to let the police do their own work, you'll not be molested.”
“I am not in the habit of making bargains with criminals,” Roger Verbeck said.
“I really am very glad, Mr. Verbeck. It makes the game all the more exciting to have you in the field against me. Danger sharpens my wits, you understand. Opposition is strengthening—and the city police present very little real opposition. We'll consider, then, that we are foes?”
“Always,” said Verbeck.
“You can bet your life!” Muggs put in. “And we're goin' to run you down this time, you crook! And when I get my hands on you I'm goin' to choke you!”
“Dear, dear! You always are thinking of violence, aren't you, Muggs? I don't see how Mr. Verbeck can endure it. You must be a splendid valet. However, I am not here to speak of that. I just want to assure you gentlemen that my plans are huge, that I intend making a great haul. I rather think that you'll be surprised, perhaps startled, when you grasp the bigness of it.”
“And do you have an idea that you can succeed?” Roger Verbeck asked suddenly.
“Certainly,” The Black Star replied. “What is to prevent me?”
“Why, cuss it, we can stop you!” Muggs broke in again. “You and your whole gang can play a few fancy tricks maybe, but before long we'll get you right. Any man can stand in a corner, cover two other men, and keep them off for a few minutes. Think you're doing something, don't you? You poor fish!”
The Black Star's laugh came to them faintly.
“Your anger certainly is amusing, Muggs,” the master rogue said. “I think that, in this little clash of ours that is to come, we are going to deal with some new things. You see, I have spent almost an entire year in my preparations. I am out after a cool million, Mr. Verbeck. It'll be ransom money, in a way.”
“Ransom money!” Verbeck exclaimed.
“Oh, I have no idea of holding you for ransom, Mr. Verbeck,” The Black Star declared. “I want you on the outside fighting me. I want to know that there is at least one worthy foe in the field against me. The better you fight me, the keener will be my wits. I'm after a million dollars damages for what happened to my organization last year, and I'm going to collect the million.”
“Like fun!” Muggs challenged.
“And I have no intention of robbing some bank or big trust company, of stripping precious jewels from women's throats and arms, or anything like that,” The Black Star continued. “Those are the old games, overplayed and done. I like to be original in a measure, you understand.”
“So you plan to steal a million,” Verbeck said. “Very well, Mr. Black Star! You'll find me against you as before. And allow me to call your attention to the little story about the pitcher that was taken to the well once too often.”
“I had expected something more original from you than that,” The Black Star countered, “but we'll let it pass. I understand what you wish to convey.”
Muggs, being out of the conversation for a time, had continued bending forward until his body was balanced on the balls of his feet. He was ready for a spring, ready to chance a clash with the master rogue. In the uncertain light Muggs could not see very well, but he supposed that The Black Star held a vapor pistol ready and would fire it instantly. Then for the victim would come a period of unconsciousness, illness, and realization of the fact that he had been outdone.
But Muggs was ready to chance all that. He watched as well as he could, and as The Black Star ceased speaking to Verbeck, Muggs sprang. He was quick, silent, almost deadly in his intention. Muggs had from the first conflict held an enmity for The Black Star that was difficult to understand unless a person realized the depth of Muggs' loyalty to Roger Verbeck. The master criminal had made a laughingstock of Roger Verbeck once, and Muggs had never forgotten it, never would forgive it.
He sprang, and as his body shot through the air his hands went forward, ready to clutch at a human throat. As he sprang, The Black Star laughed again, louder, more sarcastic. Roger Verbeck rushed in at the same instant. Both Verbeck and Muggs, anticipating a shot from a vapor pistol, tried not to breathe for the moment.
Muggs' spring ended in a crash as he went against the wall near the window. To the floor with him went a dummy Black Star ingeniously contrived. It had been the dummy menacing them, a sort of scarecrow Black Star placed beside the window, where the faint streak of moonlight would strike it.
Verbeck, uttering an exclamation of surprise, sprang back and snapped on the lights. The Black Star's wild laughter was filling the room again. And suddenly it was still, and they heard him no more.
“How—how” Muggs was stammering.
Verbeck was at the open window, making a hasty examination.
“Muggs, he commences his new campaign by making fools of us,” he said. “Look here! He or one of his men entered through this window, drugged us, then placed the dummy, and went away, leaving the window open.”
But he talked”
“See this, Muggs?”
“What's that thing, boss?”
“It is a sort of tone amplifier, Muggs. See that wire running from it? The Black Star, wherever he happens to be at the other end of the wire, can speak into the transmitter, and his voice sounds as though he stood a few feet in front of us here in the room.”
Verbeck got out on the landing of the fire escape, and in the bright moonlight continued his investigation.
“Muggs, the wire runs across this court and into the next building,” he reported. “It is an even bet that The Black Star was in a room over there; that from a window he could watch into the living room here, and, the moment we started to enter, he spoke and stopped us. He played a sort of safe, long-distance game with us, Muggs. He was laughing at us while we watched the dummy and prepared to spring upon it.”
“He—he's made fools of us right at the start, boss,” Muggs admitted.
“And here is another wire, Muggs—dictograph, I'm willing to wager. Do you understand now? Over that wire he heard what we said, and by means of the tone amplifier replied to us, meanwhile watching us from a distance. When the police trace those wires, Muggs, it is more than an even bet that they will find some new tenant has the rooms across the court, and he never will be seen round the place again. One of The Black Star's gang, of course.”
“He's kidded us at the start all right,” Muggs said with anger in his voice. “But we'll get him, won't we, boss? And we'll get him proper this time.”
“We must, Muggs,” Verbeck said. “And we may be sure that it will be no easy task. He is angry because his band was scattered a year ago, and he has had twelve entire months in which to perfect his plans. We know him, Muggs, and we must confess one thing to ourselves—The Black Star, if a crook, is a mighty clever man.”
“Sure, boss; but you are, too,” the loyal Muggs declared earnestly.
Verbeck smiled as he hurried across the room to the telephone to call police headquarters. He was smiling because of the characteristic remark Muggs had made, and he was smiling also to think that he would get his friend, Chief of Police Somerset, out of bed, and probably would shock the chief's nervous system with the news.
CHAPTER II.
The Black Star Strikes.
Chief of Police Somerset, a man of methodical habits, was known to the public at large as an honest, hard-working individual who had made his way up from the ranks solely on merit. He lived in a modest home in a quiet part of the city, and seemed to have the day's events run on schedule.
Chief Somerset ordinarily left his home at a fixed hour in the morning and returned at a fixed hour in the evening. In his office the routine work was handled according to a well-arranged plan. Only in case of extreme emergency did Chief Somerset vary his daily habits. With knowledge it was not difficult for The Black Star and his men to make some plans of their own that had to do with the chief. They could depend upon finding him where they wanted him, and when they wanted him. °
On this night, about the time The Black Star was talking to Roger Verbeck and Muggs, the telephone on the little table beside the chief's bed gave forth a musical clatter that brought the head of the city's police department out of a refreshing slumber.
The chief turned over in bed, snapped on the night light, and reached for the telephone instrument, inclined to be testy because he had been disturbed.
“Hello!” he called.
“Chief?”
“Yes.”
“Captain Wilkinsen speaking, chief.”
Wilkinsen was captain of detectives, and, though not normally on duty at night, he was the sort likely to be found on hand at any time there was work to be done. Wilkinsen was a protégé of the chief, an officer much admired, capable, and a terror to evildoers.
“Well, Wilkinsen?” the chief asked.
“Mayor Redner has just been shot by a burglar, chief. The alarm came in a moment ago. I thought maybe you'd want to go over there yourself. I'll be out as soon as possible. I'm sending a department auto past the house to pick you up.”
“The mayor shot!” Chief Somerset exclaimed. “I'll go right over to his house. You'd better hurry out and take charge of things, captain.”
Chief Somerset hung up the receiver and sprang out of bed with what seemed to be a single motion. An instant later he was tumbling into his clothes with the speed of a fireman answering a night alarm. He called to his wife, dashed down the stairs, and hurried to the front door. An automobile was just stopping at the curb before the house.
Hurrying out to the walk, the chief noticed that a man in uniform was behind the wheel and that two more men in uniform were sitting in the rear of the machine. He naturally assumed that they were officers from the nearest precinct station.
One of the men sprang out to hold the door of the car open. Chief Somerset acknowledging their salutes, darted into the machine. The chauffeur started the car immediately.
“Know anything about this?” the chief asked.
He turned to look at the officer beside him on the right. He did not know the man, but that was not surprising. There were scores of men on the force attached to suburban precinct stations whom the chief had never seen except in ranks on inspection day, and whose faces were not familiar to him.
The man addressed turned toward him as though to reply to the question. At the same moment the man on the other side of the chief bent forward suddenly, something bright flashed in the light from a corner arc, and Chief Somerset's head was enveloped in a cloud of grayish, pungent vapor.
Startled for the moment, he gasped as he bent backward. Then, like Roger Verbeck, the chief realized that this was the particular vapor used by The Black Star and his men. It flashed through his mind that there was something wrong, that these were not officers of his force, that it had not been Captain Wilkinsen talking to him over the telephone, but somebody who imitated the captain's voice and manner perfectly.
In his first surprise he had drawn some of the vapor deep into his lungs. Now, as he struggled to reach the weapon he always carried, he felt his arms grasped by the two men in the seat beside him.
His senses reeled, the bright street lights shone as though through a fog, and when he tried to cry out he found that he could not. Gasping for breath, he leaned back against the cushions. Dimly he saw that the two men were holding protecting sponges over their mouths and nostrils.
Somerset made one last effort, but it was nothing more than a shudder. He heard one of the men beside him chuckle. Red flames seemed to flash before his eyes, and then everything went black. The chief had succumbed.
The chief had been a victim of that vapor a year before, and this time his return to consciousness sent him through a similar ordeal. He seemed to struggle through the throes of a terrible nightmare. Then he heard sounds, voices, the shuffling of feet. He opened his eyes to a blurred vision, but after a time the vision became normal again, and Chief Somerset sat up, holding his head in his hands.
A moment later, the touch of sickness past, he dropped his hands, raised his head, and glanced around. He found himself in a room of ordinary size, furnished in an ordinary manner. In the ceiling a single dome light burned. There was a table, half a dozen chairs, two doors, but no windows. He noticed a small ventilating device in a corner near the ceiling.
Now he was upon his feet, going through his pockets rapidly. As he had expected, he found his revolver gone, his handcuffs, even his pocketknife. His pockets had been emptied.
He hurried across to the nearest door and tugged at the knob, but the door was locked. He investigated, then decided it was bolted on the other side also. Toward the second door he hurried, anger surging through him.
But before he could reach it the door was opened. The chief stopped in his tracks. Into the room came two men. At least, the chief supposed they were men. Their bodies were enveloped in long black robes. Over their heads were black hoods such as The Black Star's people had used before, two tiny slits accommodating the eyes. Even their hands were covered with black gloves.
“What's the meaning of this?” the chief demanded angrily. “Up to your funny tricks, are you? Let's have an answer, quick!”
Neither of them offered a reply. As they separated they took positions to either side of the door and stood there with arms folded across their breasts. The chief took one quick step toward them, only to find that both covered him immediately with weapons that he recognized as vapor pistols.
Now another man came through the door and stopped between the two masked figures. Chief Somerset took a step backward. On the hood of this third man was a big star of gleaming jet.
“The Black Star!” the chief exclaimed.
“The same, chief.”
“Are you indeed The Black Star, or are you some other man trading on his infamous names?”
“I think that I can convince you, chief. At the time of my capture we had several talks together, so you should know my face.”
The master rogue stepped forward and lifted the front of his hood. The chief knew that there could be no mistake—The Black Star stood before him.
“So you are at work again,” the chief said. “We thought you had left the country. It would have been better for you if you had. For this time we are going to land you!”
“My dear chief, do you really think so?” The Black Star asked good-naturedly. “I admit that you caused me some trouble a year ago. But I have a better organization now, and I have spent almost twelve months in perfecting my plans.”
“Another reign of terror, I suppose?”
“Something like that, chief. I was speaking to Roger Verbeck only a few minutes ago, and I told him, as I tell you now, that I am out to collect a million dollars' damages for what you did to my people last year. And I am going to get the million!”
“You had me decoyed here, I suppose,” the chief said.
“Naturally. Didn't my man imitate Captain Wilkinsen's voice perfectly?” the master rogue asked. “And those were more of my men in uniform in the automobile. You have seen their faces, but that will avail you nothing. Their work is done; already they are on their way out of the city with their pay in their pockets. I rather flatter myself that our plans are complete this time.”
“And what are you going to do with me?” the chief asked.
“Nothing violent, I hope,” said The Black Star. “I am going to keep you as my guest for a time.”
“A prisoner?”
“Let us say guest,” The Black Star insisted. “I have nothing against you personally, chief; in fact, I admire you.”
“Thanks,” said the chief dryly. “The first time I need a recommendation I'll refer 'em to you.”
“Sarcastic as usual, I notice,” said the master criminal, “I suppose it does make you angry to be captured and held in this manner, but you will not be alone.”
“Not alone?” the chief asked in perplexity.
“As a matter of fact, chief, you are to be in excellent company. Your friends will be around you, I may say.”
“What do you mean?”
“I intend having several guests—sort of a house party,” said The Black Star with a chuckle. “My men are busy picking up the guests now. You should be pleased that your friend, the mayor, was not shot by a burglar. You see, he'll be with you soon.”
“You're going to kidnap the mayor and keep him here?” the chief asked.
“The mayor and Captain Wilkinsen and other police officers and a few millionaires and such trifles,” the master rogue declared. “We'll have the élite of the city with us.”
“And then?”
“And then somebody will pay me a million in cash, ransom money.”
“Going to hold us for ransom?” the chief persisted.
“Exactly.”
“Verbeck also?”
“No. To make the game interesting as well as profitable I am going to let Mr. Verbeck remain on the outside to put up a fight against me. But I'd not bank too much on that if I were you. I assure you that my plans are so complete that Verbeck and others inclined to act against me will run around in circles, wondering where to start.”
“And do you think you can get away with such a thing? This time you are going too far. That ransom never will be paid.”
“Then you and the other gentlemen will be my guests for some time, chief.”
“We'll see about that!” exclaimed the chief.
“I'd advise you, chief, to take it quietly,” said The Black Star. “You are now in my new headquarters, and all the police on the force could not find the place. An attempt to escape would be both foolish and futile. Make a hostile move, and a vapor pistol will render you unconscious. Afterward, I couldn't treat you as well as the others.”
Chief Somerset's rage had been gathering during this conversation. He had gasped at the outline of the scheme of ransom and blackmail as given by The Black Star, but now surprise had given way to a white-hot anger.
Suddenly the chief, launching himself forward, tried to reach the master rogue before the two men beside the door could make a move. He calculated that a physical encounter, a touch of violence, might serve to shake the criminal's self-confidence. If he could put him in a rage, The Black Star might make a false move that would put him at a decided disadvantage.
But The Black Star was not to be caught off guard. He laughed, darted quickly to one side, ducked his head, and Chief Somerset's assault ended against the wall.
The two men at the door had stepped forward instantly with their vapor pistols ready for action, but The Black Star threw up a hand and stopped them.
“That was rather childish, chief,” the master crook said. “And you are not paying me a very high compliment if you imagine that I can be handled in such a crude way. I'll overlook it this time, but if you make another move like that I'll have you drugged and taken to a place where you'll have few privileges.”
Somewhere a bell tinkled softly, and The Black Star threw up his hand and listened. The bell tinkled again.
“Ah, more guests!” The Black Star said with evident amusement. “My dear chief, these men of mine will conduct you to another apartment, where you may see and hear some things of interest. It goes without saying that they have orders to handle you as they see fit should you feel inclined to resort to violence again.”
The Black Star bowed with mock courtesy, backed through the open door, and was gone. Chief Somerset turned and looked at the two men standing against the wall. One of them was pointing at the door to indicate that the chief was to leave the room.
He did not hesitate, for he wisely concluded that he could hope to do nothing at the present moment. He would watch for an opportunity, and meanwhile he would try to learn everything he could about the master rogue's organization and plans.
Passing through the door, he found himself in a hall. One of The Black Star's men beckoned him and walked ahead, and the other followed. They went along the hall for some distance, then passed through another door into a dark room,
The chief stood just inside. He heard the door close and the bolt shot. One of the men stepped away from him. There was a soft snap, and the lights came on,
The chief betrayed his surprise. This room was large and luxuriously furnished. At each end was a blackboard, such as The Black Star had kept in his headquarters a year before. And here, too, the chief noticed that there were no windows, only ventilators high up in the walls against the ceiling.
Across one end of the room were heavy curtains. One of The Black Star's men tugged at a cord and the curtains parted and rolled away. The chief showed his surprise again. The curtains had hidden a row of cells similar to the detention cells to be found in every police station.
The man who had pulled the curtains aside now stepped to the nearest blackboard, picked up a piece of chalk, and wrote: “These cells reserved for violent men.”
The chief needed no other hint. He did not care to be placed in one of the cells. He wanted to keep as much freedom as possible, wanted to be in a position to take instant advantage of any opportunity that might present itself.
He walked toward the little cells, and neither man made a move to stop him. He even examined the cells and made sure that they were serviceable. At least two dozen men could be put into those cells without uncomfortable crowding.
The chief turned back into the center of the room. Again he glanced around it. Besides the door through which they had entered there was another. And in a corner were more curtains that hid the chief knew not what.
“A nice den of thieves!” he exclaimed.
Neither of the men answered him, but the chief heard a soft chuckle from behind one of the masks. Again anger surged within him, but he fought to control himself. Anger would avail him nothing. The Black Star was a rogue who played a game of wits, and to match him a foe would have to play a game of wits also.
Once more the chief heard a bell tinkle in the distance. He looked around to find one of his guards indicating a chair. The chief walked across the room and sat down. He had decided to play the long game, to await developments.
Loud voices came to his ears, a ringing laugh, and the sounds of a short scuffle. The door at the end of the room was thrown open, and there entered The Black Star, and behind him came two of his men, forcing a prisoner along between them.
The chief of police sprang to his feet with a cry. The prisoner was Mayor Redner.
CHAPTER III.
A Stolen Mayor.
Redner, member of a family of wealth and social position, and a shrewd business man, had been swept into the mayor's office during a reform movement.
When dirty politics provoked the decent element to revolt, the regulation mass meeting had been held to form a citizens' party with the intention of “turning the rascals out.” At this meeting Redner made a speech that rang with sincerity, and as a result found himself the candidate of the new party for the mayoralty.
After his election Redner demonstrated, as has many another man, that he left his shrewdness and cunning behind when he left his place of business,
But with a taste of popularity and power Redner reached out after more. He delighted in making after-dinner speeches and in presenting the “key to the city.” But men who smiled at Redner as a politician and officeholder still admired him as a business man.
Expecting to return to private life after his term of office expired, Redner was forced to attend to his private brokerage business and the business of the city at the same time, and found it no easy task. He was eternally afraid of overlooking some little thing that would result in disaster to his private fortune or his political position. His laughable pomposity disappeared when he was considering details of his own business.
When a charming young woman appeared at his office in the city hall and announced that she wished to consult him about his brokerage business, she had little trouble making the mayor's acquaintance.
She gave the name of Miss Louise Faley, and the mayor accepted her as a refined, cultured young woman of assured position. She had come to the city recently from San Francisco, had ample funds, and wished to invest them.
Certain investments, she went on to explain, she had already made. The brokers she mentioned were political and business foes of Redner. While waiting in the office of one of these men she had accidentally overheard a conversation that convinced her the men with whom she was dealing were not thoroughly trustworthy.
The young lady spoke so innocently that Redner thought he understood what she did not. His foes, thinking he was very busy with the details of his office, were planning to catch him off guard and wreck his private fortune.
Miss Faley made it plain that she might be able at a later date to give the mayor fuller information. All she asked was that the mayor's brokerage firm handle her funds, and that the mayor, if he manipulated the market to fight his enemies, let her in on “a good thing.” The mayor willingly agreed to such a course.
Three or four days later she gave him additional information. Putting his trusted chief clerk and some of his office staff to work, Redner discovered that Miss Faley was correct. From that moment she enjoyed his confidence. She was a splendid young woman, who believed it possible to conduct business along lines of strict honor and honesty.
Accordingly, on this night when Verbeck and Muggs talked with The Black Star, this night when Chief of Police Somerset was lured from his home to the master crook's headquarters, Mayor Redner at ten o'clock received a telephone message at his club from Miss Faley.
If the mayor wished to learn something more of the conspiracy against him he was to come immediately to a certain corner and meet her.
The mayor called his car, drove to within a block of the corner, got out, turned up the collar of his coat, pulled his hat down over his eyes, and went to the rendezvous.
Before a show window on a corner, where a number of persons were waiting to catch surface cars, Miss Faley was inconspicuous. She greeted the mayor with lifted eyebrows, and then turned the corner into a dark side street. Redner followed.
Half a block down the street, she slowed down and allowed him to catch up with her.
“I know you must think ill of me, Mr. Redner,” she said. “This is quite an unusual thing for a conventional woman to do. But I so want you to defeat these scoundrels. And I want to be in on the profits, too.”
“What is it that you have found out, Miss Faley?” he asked.
“They are holding a conference at a certain café, and it is possible for us to get into a private dining room adjoining and listen to what is said. That sounds quite dreadful, doesn't it? but we must remember that they are playing a dirty game, and we cannot be blamed for taking any means to keep the business world clean.”
“My own sentiments,” the mayor declared.
“This taxicab in the middle of the block is mine. If you care to do so we'll drive to the café. Of course, if there is any reason you do not wish to be seen in public with me”
“My dear young lady!” the mayor exclaimed, cutting short her pout and changing it to a ravishing smile. “It will be an honor to be seen with you.”
They reached the taxicab, and Redner handed her in as though she had been royalty. She directed the chauffeur to drive to the carriage entrance of a famous café. The cab lurched along the street, and Miss Louise Faley began speaking of ordinary things, such as the weather and theatrical offerings, and did the mayor think the high cost of living would come down? The mayor stated that he was doing all in his power to lower it.
“I was extravagant to-day,” she told him, laughing lightly.
“Extravagant?” he asked.
“Probably counting my chickens before they are hatched, as so many women do in business. I am depending upon you to turn me some handsome profits, you see. It was perfume—one thing over which I allow myself to be extravagant. This came from Arabia, and it cost an almost unbelievable amount per ounce. Like to smell it?”
Mayor Redner said that he would, and she handed him a cut-glass bottle that held about an ounce. Mayor Redner removed the stopper and held the bottle to his nostrils.
“Delicious!” he breathed.
“Inhale it deeply. I think that it is wonderful. Of what does it remind you?”
In order to settle this last question the mayor inhaled deeply several times. Suddenly he seemed to feel ill. It seemed as though a sudden paralysis was creeping over him. He tried to speak, but could not. She gently took the bottle from his hands, and he made no effort to resist.
Once more he tried to speak. And then red flashes came before his eyes, and his head fell forward upon his breast. Miss Faley, laughing lightly, thrust him gently into the corner of the cab and then lifted the speaking tube.
“All right, George,” she said to the chauffeur.
“Get him, princess?”
“I got him.”
Mayor Redner was yet to learn that he had been made a victim by The Princess, that dashing member of The Black Star's band whom her associates admired and respected. At present he was unconscious, in a dreamless sleep.
The cab went on through the streets, traveling at an ordinary rate of speed, and The Black Star's man who drove it behaved like an ordinary chauffeur with an ordinary fare. But he began avoiding the principal thoroughfares, where he might be held up at some corner by traffic, and journeyed through the side streets toward the residential quarter of the city.
Presently the taxicab turned into the driveway of an old-fashioned house that set far back from the Street. It stopped at the side of the building, a door opened, and two men came out. No light showed in the doorway.
The door of the cab was opened, The Princess got out and hurried into the house, and the two men removed the unconscious Mayor Redner. The cab drove away in a perfectly natural way.
Inside the house, The Princess disappeared. The two men carried their victim to a well-lighted room with heavy shades at the windows, and stretched him upon a couch. Then they put on long black robes and hoods, stood back, and waited.
Mayor Redner came from his sleep gradually. He groaned, opened his eyes, rubbed at them furiously. He sat up on the couch and regarded the two masked men with astonishment.
“What—what” the mayor began.
“Just take it easy, Mr. Redner,” one of the men told him.
“Where am I? What is the meaning of this? What—what happened to me?”
“You sampled some perfume, didn't you?”
“Yes, I”
“That perfume is powerful stuff,” said the other, chuckling behind his mask. “Made to order, that perfume is.”
“But I don't understand. You mean that the young lady with me”
“She worked you easily if you want to know,” came the reply. “I wouldn't feel bad about it if I were you. She's worked lots of wiser men than you.”
“But where am I? What does this mean? Those costumes”
“We .work with The Black Star.”
“You—work with that crook?”
“He is starting a new campaign if it is information you wish—and I think he wishes to see you at his headquarters. That dope you got is powerful, but it wouldn't last long enough for the little lady to get you all the way to The Black Star's den. So we had her stop here after her work was done—a sort of halfway station, you see. We'll take you on a little later.”
Mayor Redner sprang to his feet and confronted them.
“Do you realize that this is abduction?” he cried.
“Please do not make us laugh. A little thing like stealing a mayor wouldn't bother The Black Star.”
“But what is his object?”
“He probably will tell you that him self.”
“And you are going to try to keep me here?”
“For a couple of hours or so, and then we'll take you where you can ask the big boss any questions you like.”
“This is preposterous. You can't do it.”
“Bound to make us laugh, aren't you?”
“But I—I insist that you release me immediately. If I am compelled to resort to violence, you'll be responsible.”
“If you make a foolish move you'll be unconscious in about half a second,” the mayor was assured. “And we might be inclined to be rough with you.”
“You'll go to prison for this! My police are bound to get you.”
“Your police didn't exactly shine last year during the clash with The Black Star's band.”
“They broke that band up, though the master rogue got away.”
“Roger Verbeck broke us up if you ask me. The police couldn't break up anything heavier than a crap game.”
“Do you mean to tell me that The Black Star is going to conduct another campaign against law and order?” the mayor demanded.
“Something like that.”
“You must release me so that I may inform the police. Though I dislike to make a bargain with a criminal, I'll pay you handsomely. In the interests of the city at large you must set me free.”
“Don't you worry, mayor. The police will be informed in due time. They'll know that The Black Star is at work, all right.”
“But why should I be abducted and taken to the rogue's headquarters?” the Mayor wanted to know.
“The Black Star probably will tell you that,” came the reply. “You don't seem to understand how we work. Each pair or group has certain work to do, and we seldom know what is to happen in other directions. As for trying to bribe us to let you go, we'll make more by remaining true to the boss. This time he cleans up big.”
“You'll go to prison for this!”
“Bound to make us laugh,” said The Black Star's men.
The mayor suddenly decided to attempt an escape. One of the doors of the room was not far away, and he dashed toward it. He grasped the knob and wrenched, found that the door was locked, and whirled aroundto find the two men standing there with arms folded across their breasts, laughing at him.
“Better take it easy,” he was advised again.
“But this situation is ridiculous! You'll sweat for it!”
“We are not at all worried, Mr. Mayor.”
Once more the mayor rushed, this time toward the other door. And now the two men fell upon him, subdued him, and carried him back to the couch. Working swiftly, they lashed his wrists, his legs, rendered him helpless. He sputtered and raged in vain. They did not make an attempt to gag him. They left him on the couch, drew up chairs, sat a short distance in front of him, and conducted a conversation in whispers.
The minutes seemed as hours to the helpless mayor. The two men before him even refused to answer his questions, refused to hold a conversation with him, ignored alike promises and threats. His limbs grew numb because of his bonds. He felt more miserable than he had for years.
At the end of almost two hours the two men got up. One of them left the room, was gone for a few minutes, and returned. He nodded to the other, who took a weapon from a pocket beneath his robe.
“You're going to murder me!” the mayor screeched.
“Don't be alarmed, Mr. Mayor. We merely are going to give you a taste of another perfume, the well-known Black Star vapor. You must be unconscious, you see. We don't want you to know where this place is, and we don't want you to see where you are going. It isn't the intention of The Black Star to reveal his headquarters this early in the game.”
Mayor Redner squealed and tried to turn away as his tormentor approached. But there was no horrible period of waiting. The Black man discharged the vapor gun in a businesslike fashion, the mayor gasped and breathed in the fumes, and a moment later was unconscious,
When he regained consciousness he found himself in a small room with half a dozen robed and masked figures before him. He sat up, fought a moment to overcome his nausea, and then sprang to his feet. A door opened, and The Black Star appeared.
“Glad to see you, Mr. Mayor,” the master rogue said, laughing.
“You—you scoundrel! You'll suffer for this! I'll have the police run you down if it takes them years! I'll see you in prison for a long term!”
“If you care to issue orders to the police, it should not be at all difficult,” The Black Star told him. “I can promise you an immediate interview with the chief.”
He motioned, and two of his men approached the mayor, Then there occurred the scuffle that Chief Somerset heard, a scuffle that did not last long. The mayor found himself led through a hall and to a door. It was thrown open, and he was forced into the large room. And there was Somerset, his chief of police, standing before him with astonishment written in his face!
Again The Black Star motioned, and his men left the room. The master rogue regarded the mayor and the chief through the slits in his mask.
“Mr. Mayor, if you want to talk to the chief about planning my capture I'll see that you are not disturbed,” The Black Star said. “But do not make the interview too long, please; we are expecting other guests.”
With that The Black Star backed through the door and closed it in front of him. They heard a bolt shot into place.
“Somerset, what does this mean?” the mayor demanded. “You—in this den of thieves
“Lured here the same as you,” said the chief. “By the way, what trick did they play on you?”
The mayor, remembering the cultured and refined Miss Faley, grew red in the face.
“It doesn't matter so long as I am here,” he replied. “And we've got to get out. Do you intend to sit still and let these rogues have their way with us? You're a police officer.”
“Let us be calm,” the chief begged. “The Black Star, with a new organization, has started his work again. He had certain plans made, and it is not surprising that we fell into the net. I have gathered that he means wholesale abductions and ransom.”
“Can't we do anything?” the mayor asked.
“Wait and watch,” replied the chief, “Wait until he makes some little slip. What else can we do? How far would we get if we tried to escape? It may interest you to know that I already have tried it. You may be sure every door is guarded. And we do not even know where this place is; remember that. We were unconscious when we reached here.”
“What—what are those?” the mayor cried. He had turned around and discovered the cells.
“Ordinary jail cells,” said the chief. “I was given to understand that they are for any of The Black Star's guests who make an attempt to be violent.”
“Somerset, you must get me out of this. Police are supposed to conquer crooks. We must get free, wage war against this fellow and his band.”
“We'll do that as soon as possible, Mr. Mayor. I am not here from choice.”
“Confound it, do something!”
“There is nothing to be done at present, my dear sir. I'll do all that I can, and as soon as I can. Meanwhile we must depend upon Verbeck and that valet of his.”
“What about them?”
“The Black Star is not going to abduct them. He intends to let them remain free and make an effort to catch him. It is his old bravado, you see.”
“But I cannot remain a prisoner here. Think of the ignominy of it! We must do something.”
“Listen!” the chief said.
Loud voices came from the adjoining room. Chief Somerset recognized one of them.
“Wilkinsen!” he exclaimed. “They've got Wilkinsen! I was hoping he'd be on the outside to handle this.”
“Is he going to abduct the entire police force?” the mayor asked. “Can one man handle an entire city as he pleases?”
“He happens to have a lot of people working with him,” the chief explained. “Don't worry, Mr. Mayor. We'll get him in the end!”
A grim expression came into the mayor's face.
“Yes!” he answered. “You'll get him—or I'll ask for your resignation. There's something to think about!”
CHAPTER IV.
On the Trail.
Roger Verbeck, getting police headquarters, ascertained that the chief was at home, and called Somerset's residence. There he was informed by the chief's wife that he had received an emergency call from Captain of Detectives Wilkinsen that the mayor had been shot by a burglar and that the chief had started for the mayor's residence in a department automobile.
It took Verbeck less than ten minutes to ascertain that there was something wrong. He called Captain Wilkinsen's home, told him of The Black Star's nocturnal visit, what the chief's wife had told him, and suggested that the captain meet him at headquarters as soon as possible.
Verbeck and Muggs dressed in record time. When they reached the street Verbeck's powerful roadster was waiting for them.
Muggs drove rapidly to police headquarters. Roger Verbeck, observing what went on around him, presently smiled and bent nearer Muggs.
“We're under surveillance, Muggs,” he said. “They are very clever, but I spotted them. Try to dodge the car behind.”
It was an order that Muggs relished. He had done such things before, and now he gripped the steering wheel and turned the car into a broad boulevard, where speeding at that hour of the night was not attendant with danger.
The big roadster tore down the street like a racing car on a speedway. Muggs and Verbeck bent forward, watching carefully. They began losing the car behind. Muggs turned off into a side street, cut through it to an avenue, and darted back again. Verbeck decided that they had lost the other car.
“Probably do us no good,” he said. “The Black Star will have his men watching police headquarters, of course. Might as well drive there now, Muggs.”
Muggs remained in the roadster while Verbeck hurried inside. Captain Wilkinsen had already arrived, and took Verbeck into his private office.
Verbeck told all he knew in a few words, and the captain sat down before his desk and reached for the telephone. After making a few calls, he turned to face Verbeck with a startled expression.
“He's at work, all right,” the captain said. “The chief has been decoyed away, if you ask me. I was speaking to the mayor's wife, and she says that he has not been home. You heard me call his club, didn't you? And the clerk says that the mayor got a telephone call about ten o'clock, then hurried away, and hasn't been back.”
“He's doing it!” Verbeck exclaimed. “I know what he meant now. The Black Star has abducted them and is holding them for ransom.”
“Abducted the mayor and the chief of police?” Wilkinsen cried.
“Exactly. It's a sample of his nerve. And in my humble opinion he will abduct several more. We've got to get busy, captain. I'm in this again with Muggs.”
“I want you in it,” the captain said. “Work with us or work alone, Verbeck, but for Heaven's sake, work! We've got to do something. The public will howl! The newspapers will grill us!”
“Trust The Black Star to keep the general public informed,” Verbeck said. “Part of his game is to keep the public fear-stricken.”
“And where can we start?” the captain demanded. “It is the same old story over again. The scoundrel has a headquarters somewhere, but perhaps you remember how long it took us to locate his headquarters last year.”
“You're handling the police end,” Verbeck reminded him.
Captain Wilkinsen thereupon gave an exhibition of a police official sending out a general alarm. Detectives off duty were routed out of bed, reserves were put in readiness, department automobiles were prepared for fast runs at an instant's notice.
The sudden activity attracted the attention of the police reporters. Captain Wilkinsen told them that there was some reason to fear that The Black Star was about to inaugurate a new campaign. He said nothing of the supposed abduction of the mayor and chief of police. The reporters telephoned their papers and received shocks in turn.
At two o'clock every morning newspaper had received by special messenger a letter from The Black Star. The letters were identical, and read:
- A year ago my band was broken up and
Frantic editors shrieked for rewrite men, and copy readers struggled mentally to think of screaming headlines that would cause a riot of hysteria throughout the city. At police headquarters there was no news forthcoming. Detectives had been sent to the chief's residence, to the mayor's residence and his club in an effort to pick up a trail. Captain Wilkinsen and Roger Verbeck found that they could do nothing until The Black Star made another move. They did not know what to do, where to start.
Police officers throughout the city made frantic telephone reports of little value. Suspects by the score were arrested and brought into headquarters, some held and others immediately released.
“If we only knew where to start, Verbeck!” Captain Wilkinsen said half a dozen times. “Here we are running around in a circle. We've got to have a trail before we can follow it. The chief and the mayor! And who will be next?”
“If only you were the next!”
“What do you mean by that?”
“If they'd make an attempt to decoy you now, there might be a chance of shadowing the decoys and locating The Black Star's headquarters. But it would be a slim chance, I must admit. The Black Star's men probably are watching every move I make, as well as every move made by the police.”
The telephone buzzer sounded again, and Captain Wilkinsen reached for the instrument.
“What's that?” Verbeck heard him say.
A short conversation followed, and then the captain hung up the receiver and faced Verbeck.
“Maybe you are to have your wish,” he said. “That was some man who refused to give his name. He said he would give me some important information about The Black Star and his plans if I'd meet him on a certain corner downtown.”
Verbeck sprang out of his chair.
“You're going to do it?” he asked.
“I am.”
“Wait for five minutes. I'll give Muggs some orders.”
Verbeck darted out to the street and whispered his instructions to Muggs.
“Drive half a dozen blocks up the street, cut across to the avenue, and come back two blocks down. I'll meet you there,” he said.
Muggs drove away, and Roger Verbeck hurried back to the captain's office.
“How are you going to do it?” he demanded.
“I'll take a police auto and go within a block of the corner he mentioned.”
“Good enough! Where is it?”
The captain told him.
“I'll meet Muggs, go to the neighborhood in the roadster, and be waiting,” Verbeck explained. “Don't start for about five minutes, which will give me time to act. I want to try to dodge them if they are following my car.”
“The back door,” said the captain.
Verbeck passed through a corridor to a little rear door that gave upon an alley. He opened it cautiously, peered and saw nobody. Into the alley he slipped and along it toward toward the street.
Reaching the street, Verbeck paused for a moment to look about. There were less than half a dozen persons in sight, and two of them were uniformed policemen hurrying toward headquarters. Verbeck went down the street toward the corner where he had instructed Muggs to meet him.
He stepped into a dark doorway there to wait, and again he scrutinized the immediate neighborhood. He saw nobody who looked at all suspicious, but that in itself meant nothing. He knew that The Black Star had all sorts or persons in his organization.
Presently he saw Muggs driving the roadster down the street. He pulled in at the curb, stopped the car, and sat waiting. Verbeck was in no hurry. He wanted to see whether anybody appeared to be showing undue interest in the roadster.
After a time he stepped from the doorway and walked along the curb until he came to the car. He got in quickly, whispered an address to Muggs, and then watched closely as the roadster went down the street.
“Muggs, if we are being followed and watched, I don't know it,” he said. “There is just a possibility that some of The Black Star's crew are careless, that we may get on the right trail early in the game. I'll admit that it is a faint possibility.”
“We'll get the crook, boss!” Muggs declared. “And when we do I just want two minutes alone with him.”
“There's a cell waiting for him, Muggs.”
“There's a hospital cot waitin' for him, too,” Muggs declared. “Spring a dummy on us, will he? And them dictograph and amplifier things! We'd ought to get him just for that.”
On they drove through the streets, making good time because of the scant traffic, which consisted for the greater part of milk wagons.
They reached the corner Verbeck had designated, and Muggs stopped the roadster on the side street behind a pile of building material.
“Wait for me, and be ready to get away instantly,” Verbeck said.
He hurried down the street to the next corner, where Captain Wilkinsen was to meet the man who had telephoned him. Wilkinsen had not arrived. There were half a dozen men loitering around the corner, and Verbeck could not guess which was The Black Star's man.
Once more he stood in a dark doorway, almost sure that he was not being watched. Presently he saw Captain Wilkinsen walking along the street. He reached the corner and stopped. One of the men loitering there approached the officer.
Verbeck watched carefully now. He saw Wilkinsen and the man hold a whispered conversation. When Wilkinsen glanced around, Verbeck showed himself long enough for the captain to see him and know that he was there and ready to do his part.
Immediately the captain and the other started down the street. Wilkinsen hailed a passing taxicab, and it drew in at the curb. That was as Verbeck wished it. He felt certain that Wilkinsen, once in that cab, would be rendered unconscious. He did not doubt that the taxi happened along purposely at that moment and that it was driven by one of The Black Star's men.
Wilkinsen would even submit to a shot from a vapor gun if he could make it possible for Verbeck to follow and get in touch with The Black Star. He watched while the captain and the other man got in. The cab lurched to the corner and around it, and Verbeck ran quickly after it to the roadster.
“Follow that taxi, Muggs,” he directed. “Try to keep it in sight, but don't let them know that we are following.”
Roger Verbeck was imagining what was happening in the taxicab ahead. Captain Wilkinsen by this time had been rendered unconscious, he supposed. And it remained for Verbeck to see that the captain did not go through the ordeal in vain.
They followed the taxi through the streets toward the residential section of the city, now far behind, now approaching closely. And presently they were in the suburbs, where there were few vehicles, and Muggs had to use care to keep from attracting the attention of the chauffeur of the cab.
Half a block ahead of them, the taxi turned in from the street upon a private driveway. At Roger Verbeck's whispered order, Muggs turned a corner and came to a stop at the curb. Verbeck sprang out; Muggs locked the car, and sprang out in turn.
Keeping well in the deep shadows, they hurried along the street toward the driveway. They crept through a maze of brush and approached the house. They could see the red rear light of the taxicab now. And they saw something more—two men carrying an unconscious man from the cab and into the house.
“We've got 'em, boss,” Muggs whispered.
“Got your automatic ready?”
“I sure have, boss.”
“Careful now,” Verbeck warned, “This may be The Black Star's nest, you know.”
The chauffeur of the cab turned in the driveway, and now was driving back toward the street. Roger Verbeck and Muggs, their automatics held ready, started through the darkness toward the house.
To be continued in next week's issue of DETECTIVE STORY MAGAZINE.