Black Star's Subterfuge/Chapter 9

HE rattling of pistol shots continued. From every direction police officers hurried toward the block and reported either to the chief or one of the captains. Lines were stretched two blocks away on every side, and behind the ropes gathered scores of automobiles that had carried hundreds of morbidly curious persons to the scene of battle.

Throughout the city had flashed the news that the Black Star and his band of criminals had been surrounded by the police in an abandoned factory building, and that a siege was in progress. Rumors told of the death of Roger Verbeck in a duel with the master criminal, others that the Black Star had escaped, and only some of his men were surrounded, still others that a dozen policemen had been wounded, and some slain.

Held in check by the ropes and the police guard, the throng, ever increasing, passed these rumors around and invented new ones on the spur of the moment. Police arriving from suburban districts had to fight their way through the jam to get to the battle line. The sheriff, hearing of the siege, journeyed to the spot with his deputies to offer his aid to the police. A frantic mayor, unable to get into communication with the head of his police department, debated whether to visit the scene of conflict or wire the governor of the State for the use of militia.

The first hysteria passed, as it always does. The throngs behind the ropes settled down to a steady wait, plying police officers for late information; the sheriff and his deputies mingled with the city's officers on the firing line; the mayor remembered that only a few criminals were in that building, and that it would be a reflection on his administration to ask the governor for help.

The searchlights arrived and were connected. Floods of light bathed the factory building, but they did not stop the volleys of bullets. Officers poured leaden hail through those windows, until it looked as if no man could approach one near enough to fire out, yet from the factory's interior came answering shots.

A perspiring chief crept close to Roger Verbeck again. "Please come with me, Mr. Verbeck—you and your man," he said. "The mayor wants to speak to you."

Verbeck and Muggs, hugging the wall, and so keeping in the darkness, followed the chief to the gate and dashed through it. The mayor stood against the wall outside, half a dozen other officials with him.

"We ask your advice, Mr. Verbeck," he said. "You believe the Black Star is in that building?"

"I heard his voice urging his men," Verbeck replied.

"And how many men do you believe he has with him?"

"Frankly, I have no idea, sir."

"I am insisting that the chief have his men rush the building, Mr. Verbeck. He tells me it would be a foolish thing to do at this juncture. I am of the opinion that few, if any, policemen would be wounded making the dash to the doors."

"Kindly remember," Verbeck said, "that getting inside the doors is not all of it. Once inside, there'll be a hand-to-hand fight. I know the Black Star, Mr. Mayor. He is a tricky individual. He had traps in his other headquarters, and he may have in this."

"Are we to do this sort of thing forever, then?"

"I believe the chief is taking the right method," Verbeck replied. "He is flooding the place with light now. If they continue the fight, they must appear at the windows to fire, and sooner or later some of them will be wounded. A few wounded men, a few hours of this continual warfare, and the men inside that building will lose heart."

"I understand Detective Riley, an old and tried officer, is held prisoner in the building."

"The last I knew of him, he was," Verbeck said.

"Um! It seems peculiar to me that you and your man could not have overcome this Black Star when you were in the room with him and Riley had him covered. I understand he defeated the three of you."

"He did," Verbeck admitted. "Muggs and I were bound hand and foot. The Black Star took a chance and smashed the only lamp in the room. In the darkness he overcame Riley and Muggs with a vapor gun he uses. The rest was simple, since I was helpless."

"Say!" Muggs shoved his way forward and confronted the city's chief executive. "Have you got the nerve to stand here and bawl out my boss because we got the worst of it? Why, he's got more nerve than you and all your police together! He"

"Muggs!" Verbeck shouted.

"Well, it makes me mad! Why are we mixed up in this thing, anyway? Because the police can't handle the job—that's why! And now the mayor tries to bawl us out"

"My good man" the mayor began; he was an aristocratic mayor.

"Don't you 'good man' me! Want to rush in there, do you? Peel your coat, Mr. Mayor! Get a gun and come on! I'll lead the way, if you'll follow! Riley's my friend—I'll lead the way! Well?"

Verbeck smothered a grin. The chief turned away quickly to hide the twinkle in his eyes.

"I—er—we'll just drop the subject," the mayor said. "Perhaps the chief knows best."

A volley of shots came from the building; volleys from the police answered it!

"Some shootin'!" Muggs exclaimed. "And it takes just one of them bullets—just one—to do considerable damage to a man. Want to rush in, mayor?"

"That'll do, Muggs!" Verbeck commanded. "The mayor is all right—he just didn't quite understand."

"Well, if he thinks we haven't got nerve enough to go in You might tell him we'd have been in there before this, except that the chief is commandin' officer and said to stay out!"

"There is no question of your courage, Muggs."

"Nor of yours, Mr. Verbeck," the mayor said quickly. "Let us drop the subject, and await developments."

The firing ceased for an instant. From the factory came a chorus of such shrieks as a man undergoing torture might make.

"If—if that's Riley" Muggs said. He whirled suddenly upon Verbeck. "Let me go, boss!" he implored. "If I can get in all right, I'll take a chance afterward. If that's Riley"

"No, Muggs!"

"Aw, boss! Just turn off the searchlight from that door. It won't take me a second to run across. I'll—I'll take a chance! I might do something where a gang of police couldn't. I—I might be able to pick 'em off!"

"Perhaps that would be a good idea," the mayor said.

Verbeck whirled upon the city's executive, and the mayor involuntarily took a step backward. He realized he had said the wrong thing, and he didn't care to antagonize Roger Verbeck, for Verbeck had political influence.

"Muggs life is worth as much as that of any man!" Verbeck said. "He's not getting paid to do such a thing, and your police are. I refused to say I thought the police ought to go in. You might do as much for my friend."

"I—I didn't think!" the mayor stammered.

The shooting was continuous now. Despite the glare of the searchlights on the windows, shots came from the factory. Verbeck found himself wondering why they did not shoot at the searchlights. Perhaps they had, and had proved poor marksmen, he thought. Certainly they were not hitting many policemen, for none had been wounded except the two early in the fray. Yet the police, of course, fought from the shadows.

More officers struggled through the crowd and reached the firing line. Word reached the chief from the central station that all men had been sent to him except a dozen or so who remained there and at the precinct stations to receive telephone messages and issue alarms in case of an emergency. The cordon around the factory was as strong as the chief could make it without swearing in special officers. And he had enough men—it would be impossible for any of the Black Star's band to escape.

It was unusual, this stripping the city of defenders by gathering them all at one spot, but both the chief and the mayor felt the situation justified it. For months the Black Star and his men had terrorized the city. Every attempt to capture them had failed. Banks had been raided, jewels stolen. Citizens were demanding protection. And now that he had the Black Star in his headquarters, it was policy to make it impossible for him to escape.

"Boss," Muggs implored. "It'd be a cinch! And Riley's in there!"

"If you go, Muggs, I go with you."

"No, boss. Just let me take the chance. I ain't worth much, anyway, boss. I've had my fling. And you—you're goin' to get married—and all that. You stay here, boss, and let me go. Just have 'em turn off that searchlight a minute"

"No, Muggs!"

"But old Riley"

"I know, Muggs. But we must wait."

"I've always done as you wanted me to, boss. Can't I have my own way this once. Let me go."

"No!" Verbeck answered again. "It would be foolish, Muggs. You'd only get into trouble yourself—and you'd not be able to help Riley, perhaps."

"I—I could try."

Another fusillade of shots. More shrieks from the factory. It seemed to Muggs that those shrieks sounded like Riley. In the past ten days he had learned to think a great deal of Riley. And he hated the Black Star. To think of the Black Star torturing Riley, killing him

A cry from the mayor caused the chief and Verbeck to whirl around. Muggs, revolver in hand, had run out into the path of light.

"Muggs!" Verbeck shrieked.

But Muggs did not seem to hear. He turned around, threw up his revolver, and fired. The lens of the searchlight was shattered—the path of bright light that illumined the door died away. A shadowy form darted in zigzag fashion toward the factory.

Muggs had gone to try!