Black Star's Subterfuge/Chapter 10

OGER VERBECK, millionaire and clubman, wealthy son of a wealthy father, realized in that moment what true brotherhood means. His relations with Muggs flashed through his mind. Muggs, derelict of destiny, crook, offspring of scum—Verbeck had picked him up in Paris one night when Muggs, weary of existence, was about to throw himself into the Seine. Muggs was at the points those who tread the paths of crime often reach—disgusted with what he had made of his life, seeing no hope of living differently, ready to die rather than continue.

Verbeck saved him; Muggs became an honest man. They had been comrades since—a peculiar comradeship that caused comment because of the difference between them.

Now Verbeck remembered the adventures through which they had passed. Why, Muggs had even saved his life once! And now Muggs had gone into that factory, facing almost certain death—gone to the rescue of a man he did not know two weeks before, simply because he admired that man. Should not Roger Verbeck, then, stand by Muggs, whom he had known for five years, with whom he had stood shoulder to shoulder in many battles?

Verbeck forgot his wealth, his station in life, even his fiancée, and the happiness in store for him. He remembered only Muggs—Muggs, who often had fought for him, who now was facing danger, perhaps death, without Verbeck by his side.

Acting on the impulse that had come to him, Verbeck started forward:

"Oh, no, you don't!"

It was the chief who spoke, who grasped Verbeck around the waist, and called to two officers near for help.

"We can't allow it, Mr. Verbeck," he said. "I'm sorry Muggs went in. Certainly we cannot allow you to throw your life away."

"Then send in your men! Muggs has gone because Riley, one of your detectives, is in there!"

"Soon—but not just yet!" the chief said. "We must batter them more first!"

He signed to the two officers to watch Verbeck, and then hurried away to have another searchlight turned on the doorway in place of the one Muggs had smashed. Verbeck, raging, walked back and forth along the fence.

And Muggs, meantime, was crouching just inside the door, recovering breath after his dash. Muggs was the fighter, the killer now. His lower jaw was shot forward again, his lips set tightly over his teeth, his eyes narrowed.

He buttoned his coat tightly across his breast and pulled his cap down low over his eyes. Gripping the revolver, holding it in front of him ready for instant use, he began to creep slowly along the hallway.

When Muggs had passed through that hallway before, he had been unconscious, hence he knew nothing concerning it, and he did not dare strike a match; he was not sure his dash for the door had been unobserved. He made his way forward slowly through the blackness, his left hand continually feeling the wall. He reached the short flight of steps and felt his way down them, stopping now and then to listen. From outside came the rattle of revolver fire; from the rooms above him came the answering shots. Muggs realized he was in the basement of the building, and he wanted to get to the first floor.

He came, presently, to the other hall, to the stairs, and went up, one step at a time, ready for instant battle, trying to hear the voices of the Black Star's men. But it was the voice of the Black Star himself that he heard.

"At them!" it shrieked. "No quarter! Die like men!"

Muggs could not locate the voice in the din. He was not sure from which room it came. He crept on along the hallway until he reached an open door. There he hesitated a moment, then, holding his weapon ready, he peered into the room.

The searchlight did not penetrate here, and the only illumination was reflected from the wall outside the one window. Not a person was in the room.

"At them! Die like men! No quarter!"

Muggs decided the voice of the Black Star came from another room down the hall. Again he went forward, always alert, expecting every instant that one of the master criminal's men would run into the hall and discover him. He came to another door, and found it closed.

He stopped to listen. Yes—shots were being fired from that room. And a searchlight flooded it, too, for the strong light came from beneath the door. To open that door meant to face bullets, perhaps. And Muggs did not want to do that unnecessarily until he had found Riley, or the Black Star.

He heard the Black Star's voice again—and it seemed to come from the basement. He went on along the hall and turned to the right. Before him a streak of bright light swept the floor. The door of the next room was open.

Crouching at the turn in the hall, Muggs listened and watched. He knew shots were being fired from that room, too, and bullets were being poured into it by the police. Some of them came through the door and crashed into the wall.

He heard the Black Star's voice again, and turned back. It would avail little, Muggs knew, to clash with some of the master crook's men. A single shot might strike him down, and his effort would have been in vain. He wondered where Riley was being kept. He wondered where the Black Star could be found. He didn't want to go out without either trying to help Riley or getting the Black Star if Riley had met with foul play.

Back along the hall he went, listening for sounds that would tell him how to meet the Black Star or his men to best advantage. He came to another flight of steps, and went down them. The master criminal's voice came to him again, and Muggs could distinguish from which direction now.

Once more in the lower hall, he turned to the left and crept along the wall. The voice was louder, more distinct. "Die game! No quarter! That's the boys!"

Muggs hurried on. In the distance he saw a faint streak of light. When he got nearer he saw that it came from the side of a door. Here was a time for extreme caution, and Muggs used it. He stopped again to listen. The rattling of revolver shots continued. And the voice of the Black Star rose above the din.

Muggs crept forward to the door. The Black Star was in that room! A sudden entrance—and Muggs might get him covered. And at the first move he would shoot! He'd be quicker than Riley had been. He'd be watching for treachery. Even if they got him, he'd get the Black Star first!

Now he was beside the door. The crack at the side, through which the light came, was wide enough to give a man a glance at the room's interior. Muggs put an eye to the crack.

He recognized the room instantly—for it was the headquarters room. He saw Detective Riley, bound and gagged, stretched on the couch in the corner, tossing from side to side. The lamp without a chimney was smoking on the table, casting its uncertain light. But it gave light enough for Muggs to see around the room. And, as he looked, he gasped in astonishment.

Outside, by the gate, Roger Verbeck was raging at the chief and the mayor. Once more a searchlight bathed the doorway in brilliance. The volleys of shots continued, and answering shots came from the factory. Throngs of people were behind the police ropes two blocks away. Rumors were flying again—twenty policemen had been killed, the criminals were breaking out; the police were going to take the place by assault!

The chief was holding a conference with some of his captains, and plans for the assault were made. The searchlights would go out for an instant when a whistle was blown. A score of officers would rush for the doors, while the others volleyed bullets at the building's windows. The halls would be seized, and the Black Star's men driven from room to room until they surrendered or gave intimation that they would die fighting.

Verbeck, automatic in hand, braced himself for the race across to the door. He intended to be one of the first inside the building. The chief could not hold him back when the police rushed.

The orders were passed around; the searchlight operators were warned. There came another lull in the fighting, and the chief started to raise his whistle to his lips to give the signal. But a cry from one of the captains stopped him.

"Look! Look in the door!"

A stick had appeared there—a stick to the end of which was attached a white handkerchief—a flag of truce. Orders to cease firing sped down the lines of police. The white handkerchief was waved frantically. Gradually the firing died out; not a shot came from the factory.

The man in the doorway evidently wanted to be sure his appearance would not be greeted with a volley. He continued to wave the handkerchief from the end of the stick, not even his hand showing.

"Well?" the chief bellowed. "What do you want?"

Another moment's wait, and then—Detective Riley appeared in the open door!

As the cheers of the police greeted his appearance, Muggs suddenly stood beside him.

"It's all right, boss!" he called to Verbeck. "Come on in!"