Black Star Comes Back/Part 3

EITHER Grogin, nor Verbeck, nor Muggs ever fully understood the full facts concerning the sheriff's abduction. It was no great mystery, however. It was a thing that had been planned and arranged by The Black Star and his men as a part of the general campaign, and the telephone message from The Black Star a few minutes before was merely the master rogue's little joke.

As Roger Verbeck stepped into the corridor to go for the deputy at the sheriff's request, leaving the sheriff and The Princess alone in the former's private office, Grogin bent forward across his desk again and spoke to the woman in low tones.

“Maybe I can get you paroled, get you off entirely, you understand, if you show me how to catch The Black Star,” he tempted.

“You are wasting your breath,” she informed him.

“Fifteen years in prison is a long time.”

“It is—but I am not going to spend fifteen years there.”

“How can you hope to escape it?” the sheriff wanted to know. “There is an old indictment, there is ample evidence of the best sort, and the fact that you are associated with The Black Star will keep any judge from showing you the slightest mercy.”

As he spoke the window behind him was opened noiselessly. An arm came through with the hand holding a vapor pistol, the weapon was discharged, and the sheriff, without even being able to utter a cry for help, was rendered unconscious.

Two men the scrambled through open window and into the private office. Without speaking to The Princess they lifted the unconscious official and passed him through the window, and then helped The Princess out.

In the alley a few feet from the window a closed automobile was waiting. The Princess got into it at once, and the two men started to lift in the senseless sheriff. But they were not to escape detection entirely. A deputy who happened to be passing through the alley saw them, thought their actions suspicious, and sprang forward to investigate.

One of The Black Star's men turned in time to see him. The deputy's weapon flashed in the light that came through the window, but the member of The Black Star's band who happened to be nearest discharged his vapor gun, and the deputy staggered away, dropped his revolver, and finally collapsed on the pavement.

The Black Star's men did not waste as much as a second glance on him. The man behind the wheel of the limousine started the powerful car, and it darted to the street, turned into it, and started across the city at an ordinary rate of speed, like an honest vehicle on an honest mission.

The abduction of Sheriff Grogin from his private office with half a score of his deputies within call, and with Roger Verbeck and Muggs only a few feet away, had been accomplished with very little difficulty.

The limousine sped across the city as though the chauffeur wanted to make sure that he was not being followed. Then it turned back along the river drive, and finally entered the driveway of a large, old-fashioned house that once had been the country place of a man of wealth.

It stopped at the side of the house, and Sheriff Grogin, still unconscious, was lifted out by two of the men and carried into the building immediately. The limousine went back to the street and along the river drive toward the main part of the city.

The Princess entered the house by a different door, hurried through a narrow hallway, touched a button in the wall, waited for a moment, and, when a little bell tinkled in answer to her signal, opened a door and walked into a room.

The room was the private office of The Black Star, who was sitting behind a heavy mahogany desk in his black robe, the hood with its star of gleaming jet cast aside for the moment.

“Well, Louise?” he asked, glancing up as The Princess entered and walked across to him.

“It is done,” she replied.

“You mean, I suppose, that you got Sheriff Grogin all right?” The Black Star asked.

“We had no trouble at all. The men have him in the other room.”

“Good! I have been more than a bit worried. It is quite a lark to steal a man from the midst of his friends without resorting to a free-for-all fight.”

“I must have a little fun now and then, you know,” The Princess answered smiling at him across the desk. “I like a risk once in a while. I like the spice of danger, the same as you. Is there anything surprising in that?”

“But it makes me nervous to know that you are running a risk, and you know that it is not necessary at all,” The Black Star told her. “Some of the men could have attended to this Grogin matter without you putting yourself in danger.”

“There was no danger, really. And Roger Verbeck was right there, too.”

“Verbeck was there?”

“He recognized me, of course,” The Princess said. “And Sheriff Grogin offered to let me off with a parole if I would betray you. Then he sent Roger Verbeck to get the deputy who had taken me to the sheriff's office, and that gave the men the chance they needed. It was ridiculously easy.”

“So he offered you immunity if you would betray me?” The Black Star said.

“Yes.”

“And you refused?”

“Sir!”

“I beg your pardon, Louise. It is laughable, really. My people are loyal, thank goodness! If they were not, I am afraid that I would not keep my freedom long. What about Verbeck?”

“Verbeck had little to say. I think, though, that he suspected some sort of a trick. And they had been holding some sort of a conference, I am sure.”

“And I can tell you everything that was said and done at that conference, having had a trusted man near,” said The Black Star smiling again. “They do not know which way to turn. They are utterly bewildered; and now since we have Grogin they will be more bewildered. But Roger Verbeck is no fool. I wish that I had a lieutenant with half his shrewdness. And that man of his—Muggs?”

“I did not see Muggs, but I think he was there.”

“Of course he was there. Verbeck has a loyal man in Muggs, as loyal as the men and women I have. It is a pretty game, this battle of wits against an entire city.”

“And it will be the last game?” she asked bending toward him suddenly, her face serious.

“Perhaps, my dear Louise. The last for some time, at least. But I must collect my million, you know.”

“Sometimes I grow afraid,” The Princess said.

“Are you commencing to doubt my abilities?” The Black Star wanted to know glancing at her sharply.

“Not that,” she replied. “But I always am afraid of our luck changing.”

“It is not luck!” The Black Star declared. “It is preparation, hard work, the application of brains to a problem—to a thousand problems. If it were nothing but luck I should be afraid myself at times. But it is not luck. ”

“Then all your plans are working out?” she asked.

“All of them,” The Black Star replied, chuckling. “I have no fear whatever of the outcome, my dear girl!”

“I'll be so glad when it is over.”

“Growing afraid?” he demanded.

“A moment ago you said that you had been afraid for me. May I not be afraid for you at times?” she asked.

HE BLACK STAR got up from his chair, walked around the end of the desk, and patted The Princess on her shoulder.

“Get some rest,” he said kindly. “You'll feel more optimistic after you have slept. And in the meantime do not have any fear for me. Everything is going all right.”

“You are not making the mistake of underestimating Roger Verbeck?” she asked.

“You may be sure that I am not. Verbeck is a clever man, and I am aware of the fact.”

“And he had such a look of determination in his face when I saw him this evening.”

“You should have seen Muggs. One of the men reported to me that Muggs goes around growling low down in his throat, like a lion with a sore paw.”

“If—if anything happens”

“My dear Louise, you seem to be almost unstrung,” The Black Star replied. “Go and rest, please.”

He escorted her to the door, held it open, and with a smile on her face left him. The master rogue closed the door again, put on his hood, went across the room and lifted a tapestry, revealing another door, and stepped into an adjoining room.

Sheriff Grogin was there stretched upon a couch, and two of the members of the band were working to restore him to conscoiusness [sic]. The Black Star signed to them to continue, and then stood back to watch. Sheriff Grogin came back to earth with a growl on his lips, sat up on the couch, held his head in his hands for a moment, and then sprang to his feet and confronted The Black Star.

“So, you crook!” he began.

“Control yourself, my dear sheriff. My men will subdue you the moment you try to spring at me. Be sensible for a moment, please. I said I would get you to-night, and you are here. I am informed by The Princess that abducting you was ridiculously easy.”

“And I'll make you pay for it!” Grogin cried. “And I'll make that woman pay for it!”

“Use respect when you speak of her.”

“She's a crook, isn't she? And I never did respect a crook. I would respect an ordinary pickpocket or burglar before I'd respect you or any of your gang. A dip or a burglar takes chances, and doesn't work with a whole crowd.”

“I take a great many chances, too,” The Black Star said.

“Well, you've got me. And what are you going to do about it?” the sheriff demanded.

“I merely wish you to be my guest for a time.”

“We'll see about that!”

“Why is it that all of you gentlemen I am abducting make so much loud talk. You are in my power absolutely, and can do nothing toward an escape. Such talk is foolish!”

“What's your game?”

“You know it, do you not?” The Black Star asked. “I am going to keep you gentlemen with me until I am paid a million in ransom money—that is all.”

“And who is going to pay it?” asked the sheriff. “Maybe the general public will think we aren't worth a million, especially since we were such easy victims.”

“There are other ways if this one does not do the work,” said the master crook. “I think that I can startle the city into doing pretty much as I wish.”

“And you think you can escape punishment forever, do you? I'll admit to your face that you are a clever man, But no crook, no matter how clever, ever escaped forever.”

“Then perhaps I'll set a new style in crookdom,” said The Black Star. “Now, sheriff, I'll have you conducted to an apartment where you'll find some of your friends and acquaintances, Perhaps I'll have your chief deputy join you within twenty-four hours.”

“You fiend!”

“Sheriff, you are my guest. Is that any way to address your host?” The Black Star asked laughing.

Grogin came from a race of fighters. He knew that it was useless to offer battle, but The Black Star's manner was too much for him. He had been glancing around the room as they talked, and knew that there were only two of the band there in addition to the master crook.

Grogin had battled his way up in the world, and was not afraid to take a long chance. He started to speak to The Black Star again. But instead of speaking he sprang forward, his arms shooting out as though to clutch the master rogue's throat. So unexpected was his action that The Black Star gave a little cry and lurched quickly to one side.

Grogin failed to grasp him, but he knocked against him with such force that The Black Star was whirled half way to the wall. Then the two men rushed in and grappled with the infuriated sheriff. They did not have time to get out their vapor guns at first. Grogin floored one of them with a single blow, and rushed toward the second. But this man did not relish being struck by Grogin's powerful fist. He darted to one side, whirled, and got the vapor gun from beneath his robe.

The Black Star was out of the battle only for an instant, however. He came back into it angry, shrieking to the other man not to use the vapor gun. And then Sheriff Grogin found what it meant to stand up before an expert boxer.

The Black Star was hindered by his robe and his hood, but that did not prevent him using his fists to advantage. He went into the battle as calmly as a professional pugilist opening a boxing exhibition. Face to face they stood, and Grogin did his best. His blows were enough to render a man senseless, but they did not land. His fists shot past The Black Star's head, over the master rogue's shoulders. And The Black Star landed at will on Grogin's face and breast.

The other two men, vapor guns held ready, stood back against the wall and watched the combat. They said nothing, made no move, waited calmly for the end. And it was not long in coming. The Balck [sic] Star saw his chance, dodged a cruel blow, found an opening, and sent the sheriff crashing to the floor. He groaned, turned halfway over, and was still.

“Take him into the other room and put him into a separate cell,” The Black Star commanded. “He has had a lesson that will do him for the present.”

The two men picked Grogin up and carried him through the hall, and The Black Star followed. They opened the door and entered the big room where the other prisoners were sitting.

“Grogin!” Chief Somerset exclaimed. “They've got Grogin!”

“Sheriff Grogin was inclined to violence, and I was compelled to show him how to box,” the master crook said. “He will be all right in a few minutes.”

“They got Grogin!” Captain Wilkinsen repeated in amazement.

“We get what we go after,” said The Black Star chuckling behind his mask. “Have you gentlemen got to the point where you are willing to acknowledge that fighting against me is useless?”

“It is not useless,” said the chief. “You are working out a few plans arranged beforehand, but the game is not finished by any means. How many more guests do you expect to have?”

“Possibly a deputy sheriff or two, and a few financiers,” said The Black Star. “Have you gentlemen anybody else to suggest?”

“You don't seem able to get Roger Verbeck here,” the chief retorted.

“I do not want Mr. Verbeck here. I want him on the outside making futile and humorous attempts to catch me,” the master rogue replied.

His men had put Grogin into one of the cells and had locked the door on him. Now at a motion from The Black Star they retired to the door. And the master criminal bowed to his prisoners and backed out, and his men followed and closed and bolted the door.

Chief Somerset rushed to the cell. Grogin was groaning and recovering from the results of The Black Star's blow. He sat up after a time, and looked around as though dazed.

“Grogin, how did they get you?” the chief asked. “What is doing on the outside? Are there any police officers left to work?”

Grogin did not reply instantly. His eyes were bulging with wonder, and he was looking around the room.

“Where are we?” he asked in a weak voice.

“In The Black Star's headquarters, but where that is we do not know,” replied the sheriff.

“This is monstrous!” Mayor Redner declared. “Why, this is not possible! Is he going to abduct the entire city?”

Grogin was fully conscious now. He leaned against the door of the cell and rubbed his sore chin. He glanced at the two precinct captains in the next cell, peered through the bars at the mayor, at William Brayter, at Wilkinsen, and the chief.

“Grogin, we've always been friends,” Brayter said. “Get me out of here, Grogin, and I'll never forget it. I'll make you rich, get you any political job you want”

Sheriff Grogin having a sense of humor grinned.

“If I can get myself out first,” he said, “I'll try to serve you, M. Brayter. One thing I'll say for this big crook—he has a wicked punch in either paw!”

OGER VERBECK and the dtputy [sic], entering the sheriff's private office to find both Grogin and The Princess missing, darted across the room to the open window and peered out. They were just in time to see the limousine leaving the alley and turn into the street.

Followed by the deputy Verbeck sprang through the window and rushed through the alley. A glance at the unconscious deputy on the pavement convinced Verbeck that he had been the victim of a vapor pistol.

Reaching the street they found that the limousine had disappeared in the traffic, possibly had turned into another street already, and that instant pursuit was useless. Muggs, who had seen them, drove up with the roadster, and Verbeck sprang in, and the car raced down the avenue for a few blocks, but they did not catch sight of the limousine.

Back to the sheriff's office they went, where the excited deputy was waiting for them. The place was in an uproar now.

“I caught the number of that machine, Mr. Verbeck,” the deputy declared.

Roger Verbeck could not help smiling.

“Have the police look out for it,” he instructed. “But it will do no good. I know The Black Star's methods, and you may be sure that the number on the limousine will be changed before any of us sees it again. And, if you look that number up, you'll find, perhaps, that it belongs to the governor, or some one like that. We'll never catch The Black Star through anything as trivial as an automobile license plate.”

There seemed to be nothing to do. The news could not be kept from the reporters, and already they were telephoning their offices how the sheriff had been abducted from his own office and carried away, and how The Princess, after being arrested, had made her escape at the same moment the sheriff had been kidnaped.

Extras soon were upon the streets, and a frenzied populace discussed this latest attack of The Black Star. The chief of police and the captain of detectives had been abducted, the sheriff, the mayor, two of the precinct captains. The forces of law and order were without their leaders, and The Black Star, according to his own letters to the newspapers, was not done.

It had been established now that William Brayter also was a prisoner, and other wealthy men of the city in a frenzy of fear hired private detectives to guard them, and called upon the disorganized police for aid, each fearing that he would be the next to be taken prisoner, and each fearing a heavy ransom.

Late that night more letters from The Black Star were delivered to newspaper editors by messengers, and attempts to trace the trail failed. The Black Star did not waste much space in these letters, but when they were printed the people knew fear, again. They read:

Opinion was divided, of course. Some were for taking up a huge collection and buying off the master rogue at once, others wished to fight him as long as there remained a chance to conquer. The last sentence of the letter was ominous. What The Black Star intended to do next was problematical. Perhaps he would abduct more prominent citizens, perhaps conduct a raid in some part of the city. He had done enough a year before to terrorize the entire town, and now he was supposed to have a more powerful organization.

And that organization in itself was enough to cause trouble in all parts of the city. No man knew who the members of it were. There had been in the old organization trusted citizens caught in The Black Star's trap and forced by him to play a part.

Each man began to suspect his neighbor. Rumors by the score poured into police headquarters, all of them without value. The president of the city council, acting as mayor, found himself powerless. He could only ask the police to do something. And there were many who wanted him to ask the governor for State troops to run down The Black Star.

It was ascertained in the morning that four more wealthy men had been abducted by The Black Star's men, and the acting mayor himself was a victim before noon, lured by a false telephone call to a place where he was rendered helpless and carried away.

Meetings were held, but nothing came of them. The people could not decide whether to fight or pay. The governor offered national guardsmen, but asked what they could do if called out? The search of the city for The Black Star's headquarters had been completed, and the place had not been found. An officer had merely glanced at the old house on the river drive. A caretaker and his wife lived there, the man knew. What he did not know was that the caretaker and his wife were members of The Black Star's organization, and had been so for some time. The officer might even have gone into the front room of the old house, and he would have found nothing suspicious—but it is doubtful if he would have emerged again for some time.

At noon a special meeting of the city council was called, and Roger Verbeck was appointed emergency chief of police and given full power to act in any way he saw fit. He began by swearing in Muggs as a special officer and giving him a star.

“Gosh, boss, I never expected to be a copper,” Muggs declared.

“And now that you are, be careful what you do,” Verbeck advised. “The city is responsible for your actions in a way, you know.”

“Let me meet that big crook, and the city will be ready to forgive anything I do,” Muggs said. “One chance at him with my bare hands, is all I ask.”

“He is no weakling, Muggs. I had a clash with him once, and I am not a weakling, you know.”

“But I could handle him,” Muggs declared. “You see, boss, I'm mad clear through.”

Verbeck found that he had his hands full in his new position. He got a little sleep, tried to reorganize the department, asked and obtained citizen volunteers who were appointed special officers, and wondered when he was appointing them whether some might not be members of The Black Star's band.

Night came again. Nothing had been heard of The Black Star since the abduction of the acting mayor. The master rogue had made no move, and had sent no more letters to the newspapers. But with the coming of night Verbeck grew more alert. He expected that The Black Star would strike in some new manner; he believed that the master crook had kidnaped all the men he wished to hold prisoner.

Verbeck had department automobiles held in readiness, had reserves ready to send to any part of the city at a moment's notice. How The Black Star would strike, Verbeck could not guess. He had said that he did not intend to rob trust companies or strip jewels from women's throats, but there were many other ways in which he could strike. Perhaps he would not strike for profit, but to terrorize and force a quick compliance with his demands.

It was ten o'clock at night when Verbeck received a telephone call that he had half expected.

“Mr. Verbeck, this is The Black Star speaking.”

“Well?” Verbeck asked.

“You are too foolish, I feel sure, to attempt to trace this call. It would avail you nothing.”

“Possibly not,” Verbeck replied.

“First I want to congratulate you on being appointed chief of police. Quite a job for a young millionaire.”

“Suppose we discontinue sarcasm and get down to business,” Roger Verbeck said.

“Very well. Of course, as chief of police, you are a busy man and have no time for friendly conversations. Has the million been collected?”

“I think not.”

“Any steps being taken?”

“I am quite sure the city has no idea of paying you a million,” Verbeck replied.

“The city will pay, all right, before I am done with it. I do not want to go ahead with my plans if there is a disposition to pay.”

“Going to kidnap a few more men?” Verbeck asked.

“Possibly a few. But there are other things in my mind.”

“Do you care to tell them to me?”

“Oh, I don't mind,” The Black Star said laughing over the wire. “You see, Mr. Verbeck, I merely wish to alarm the citizens so they will take up that little collection. Anything that will serve to frighten them will help me. I want the million in gold, and so I do not expect to have my people go out and rob banks, or steal jewels or anything like that. I could collect the million in that way with little difficulty, but it must come direct from the city as a punishment.”

“I understand,” Verbeck said. “By the way, how are the prisoners?”

“You may say to anybody interested that all, with the exception of Sheriff Grogin who has a sore jaw, are well, and all are receiving the best of treatment. I call them my guests. I told Chief Somerset of your appointment, and both the chief and the mayor seemed pleased. I am sure you'll make a good chief.”

“Thanks,” said Verbeck dryly.

“What is this—sarcasm, Mr. Verbeck, and after begging me not to resort to it?”

“I thought you were going to tell me your plans,” Verbeck said. “During your other campaign you always were eager to let us know when you intended to strike. Do you wish me to understand that you are using more caution now?”

“Meaning, am I afraid to tell you what I am going to do? Oh, I have not the slightest fear, Mr. Verbeck.”

“I am listening.”

“Let me see. I have several things planned, and have not quite decided which to do first. I want to frighten the public as much as possible. What have you to suggest?”

The Black Star's laugh came to Verbeck over the wire again.

“I am a busy man,” Verbeck said, “and unless you care to talk straight to the point perhaps we had better terminate this conversation.”

“How deliciously impolite,” The Black Star retorted. “Very well, I have decided. Telephone the chief of the fire department to have his men ready.”

“You fiend! Going to use fire, are you?”

“Just as a gentle reminder to the public that I mean business, Mr. Verbeck. And it may give you a chance to pick up a trail, and that is what you want, is it not?”

The Black Star laughed again, and the connection was broken. Verbeck knew there would be no use in trying to trace the call. The Black Star had men who could tap a wire easily, and connect it with a line that would reach him in his headquarters. Perhaps this could be done in half a hundred places, since he had been preparing for this campaign for a year.

Verbeck telephoned the chief of the fire department, and then made sure that his reserves were waiting, that the automobiles were ready. He issued orders that half the men were to dash immediately to the scene of any fire alarm, and half be held in reserve. For it was not beyond The Black Star to have a false alarm sent in, decoy the police to the scene, and then start his real fire in some other part of the city.

And then they waited for the gong to strike, for the alarm to be given. Midnight came, and there had been no alarm. The Black Star knew, doubtless, that the suspense was wrecking the nerves of the police and firemen.

One o'clock came. Verbeck was pacing the office, Muggs was in a chair before the desk, a fireman was standing in the doorway, ready to shout to Verbeck the location of the fire the moment the box had been struck.

The gong rang!

In the outer room men sprang to their feet and rushed to the waiting automobiles, piled in, and waited to get the location. Muggs ran out to the roadster, started the engine, and prepared to get away at an instant's notice.

Two—three—two!

“National Warehouse!” the fireman cried.

Roger Verbeck plunged through the door and toward the street, calling out the address.

HE National Warehouse was an institution of which the city was proud. It had been constructed by a syndicate of local men on the bank of the river, a huge, modern structure supposed to be fireproof, but no more so than other “fireproof” buildings.

Tracks led to it from the railroad yards, and river transportation was at its door. The largest firms in the city used it, and it was always filled with goods from top to bottom—a twelve-story structure a block square.

The value of the building in itself was enourmous [sic], but the value of the goods it generally stored was more. There were silks and satins, dress goods, imported delicacies, huge stocks of groceries, flour, sugar, even a cold-storage plant.

The warehouse had a special fire alarm and sprinkling system, and a force of watchmen day and night. By day it was a busy place with tons of goods being moved in and out, and hundreds of workers busy at their tasks. At night it was empty of humans save for the watchmen, one on each floor, and a captain over all.

On this night, a few minutes before the hour of one, a score of men approached the warehouse from different directions. Some walked down the streets, others came from the riverside in rowboats, the oarlocks of which were muffled.

An officer stopping one of these men would probably have let him go on again. All had excellent reasons for being abroad at that hour, even the men on the river. The Black Star always attended to little things like that.

Adjoining the big warehouse on one side was a small wood structure that had been constructed years before, and which was soon to be torn down to make room for an addition to the warehouse proper. One side of this wooden structure was shrouded in darkness.

One by one the approaching men slipped along the wall and through a little door into the old building. The men from the river fastened their boats to one of the docks, scrambled up, and made their way noiselessly toward the building and entered.

Inside the old building the men spoke in whispers. They put on black robes and masks that had been carried beneath their coats, and their leader, one of The Black Star's lieutenants, gave whispered instructions.

In one corner of the old building a pile of débris was swept away, and before them was the mouth of a small tunnel that had been constructed for this purpose a month before. Into the tunnel they went, and through it, where the dust was thick, and the heat almost stifling.

In time the leader stopped, listened, then cautiously lifted a tiny trap door. Up they went into the pitch darkness of a storeroom on the ground floor of the warehouse, and there they waited to adjust their hoods and masks, looking to their weapons.

There were more whispered instructions, and then the leader led the way through a maze of stored goods to another door. He fitted a key in the lock; turned it, glanced at the radium dial of his watch, and whispered again.

“They will be reporting now. Any questions?”

No questions were asked. Each pair of men had their work to do, and knew that it would have to be done if the entire plan were not to fail.

“All right,” came the leader's whisper. “Line up. Plenty of time, you know. And report to me on the lower floor as soon as your work is done.”

He opened the door a crack and peered out into a wide corridor in which tiny night lights were burning. With one other man he slipped out and along the corridor hurrying noiselessly toward the rear of the building, where the watchman on the lower floor would be ringing in at that moment, and where the captain of the watchmen would be in his little office taking the regular hourly reports.

Neither the watchman nor the captain expected trouble. This night was simply like any other—a long period of monotonous routine. The floor watchman was caught as he turned a corner of the corridor, and rendered unconscious without having a chance to utter a cry. Bound and gagged he was placed against the wall, and The Black Star's lieutenant and the other man slipped quietly toward the captain's office.

The captain had concluded his reports. Now he was leaning back in his chair, his feet crossed upon the desk, reading an evening paper.

He sensed that somebody was entering the door behind him. He supposed it was the watchman on the lower floor stopping in for a moment as he made his rounds. Dropping his feet to the floor the captain turned in his chair, a greeting upon his lips.

But the greeting was never uttered. He tried to spring to his feet and shout as he saw the two men, robed and masked, before him. A cloud of vapor assailed his nostrils. He sputtered, gasped, and started to fall. One of the men caught him and stretched him out. Bound and gagged he was carried into the corridor and placed beside the unconscious watchman.

Meanwhile other men had slipped from the storeroom and proceeded silently to the floors above. And now they began returning in pairs carrying watchmen who had been overcome. The lieutenant stood back and waited until he was certain that every watchman had been accounted for, was bound, gagged, and helpless.

“Get them out now,” he directed. “Orders from the boss. We don't want any of these poor devils' burned, you know.”

Through the corridor the watchmen were carried to the rear of the building, and to a sliding door where trucks were unloaded. The door was opened, and a truck was there—a truck driven by a member of the band.

Into the truck the senseless watchmen were tossed, a tarpaulin was thrown over them, and the truck drove rapidly away. The sliding door was closed again and bolted. And then the men who had subdued the watchmen hurried back to the main corridor.

The Black Star's lieutenant led the way now to another storeroom, flashed an electric torch, and indicated half a dozen large packing cases.

“There's the stuff,” he said. “The boss had it consigned to one firm by another out of town. Break into it, do your work, and report in front as before.”

The tops were ripped from the packing cases disclosing boxes and cans of combustibles. These were carried to the several floors and their contents scattered where they would feed the flames. Two men, skilled mechanics, who knew the arrangement of the building, wrecked the sprinkling apparatus effectually.

Down in the corridor The Black Star's lieutenant received reports of work completed. He got his men near one of the entrances used by the watchmen, and then designated six to do the final work. They hurried up the broad stairways and scattered on the lower six floors.

On the sixth floor the man applied a match to a pile of combustibles and then hurried to the floor below. The man there did the same, and then followed him down. Floor after floor they passed, and each man in passing touched a match to inflammable material and joined the group.

On the lower floor the lieutenant himself started the fire in one of the offices. Then they hurried to the outside door, opened it, glanced out, made sure that there was nobody in the vicinity, and slipped out into the night.

After removing their gowns and hoods the men separated. Now that their part of the work was done they did not care to be taken into custody and have gown and hood found on them.

Some went back to the boats, others hurried through dark passageways and alleys to get as far away as possible in the least time. Behind them the flames spread to the piles of goods, and the work of destruction began.

Inside the great building the heat became intense. The automatic fire alarm signal did its work, and throughout the city the fire gongs rang in engine houses, and at police headquarters Roger Verbeck got the alarm.

Verbeck sprang into the roadster, Muggs turned it into the middle of the street and began the race, the police department machines filled with officers following. Down the broad avenue they went toward the river. From the distance came the noise of gongs and sirens as the fire engines turned out in answer to the alarm.

“Faster, Muggs!” Verbeck urged.

Muggs did not reply. He was driving the powerful roadster at a terrific rate of speed, almost to the limit of its engine's power. He was wondering what would happen if a fire truck suddenly turned into the avenue from a cross street just ahead of him. There would be no time to stop or avoid a collision.

On he drove, and the broad avenue was left behind, and the police automobiles were far in the rear. Now Muggs was driving through the narrow streets of the wholesale district, where the gaps and breaks in the pavements obliged Verbeck to grasp the side of the car to keep from being hurled out.

Far ahead of them they could see already the flash of flames against the sky and the billows of fog that clung close to the bosom of the river.

“Faster!” Verbeck said again.

They could see some fire engines ahead of them now. On every side the sirens were screeching and the gongs were ringing. The chief of the fire department, fearing that this was the work of The Black Star, dreaded what he would find when he reached the scene.

Then Muggs turned the car into the street that ran straight to the river, and ahead of them was the big warehouse with flames bursting from every window. Muggs stopped the roadster half a block away, and Roger Verbeck was out of it instantly and running down the street. The fire chief met him there, but did not stop to talk. The fire chief knew that here was a task that would call for every resource at his command.

Now the police authorities charged up, and the officers piled out, their captains and lieutenants shouting at them. They scattered, prepared to keep back the crowd, ready to stop any person who looked at all suspicion.

It took Verbeck a very few minutes to realize that no man was to be captured. He did not doubt that The Black Star's men had been some distance away before that alarm came in. And there was no way in which they could be traced.

The flames were raging now. Streams of water were playing on the furnace of fire. Fireboats had dropped down the river and were at their work. But any sensible person could have told that the magnificent warehouse and the goods inside it were doomed, that within a few hours there would be nothing left but the gutted shell of a building to stand as a monument of The Black Star's animosity.

Down from the city came throngs of the curious to find themselves barred by the fire lines. Through the crowds went the word that this was the work of The Black Star and his band, just a reminder that he meant what he had said about a million dollars ransom money. Verbeck found himself shouting orders until he was hoarse. Muggs was always at his heels ready for any orders.

Dawn came and the fire still raged, though it slowly was burning itself out. The morning newspapers were telling the world what The Black Star and his men had done, and were printing a new letter from the master rogue saying that this was only the first blow the city might expect, unless the million was forthcoming immediately.

Roger Verbeck got into the roadster and had Muggs drive him to police headquarters. Here the members of the council and a committee of citizens were waiting for him.

“Gentlemen, I can tell you nothing except that The Black Star threatened to do something like his, and has done it,” Verbeck said. “His men had disappeared long before we reached the scene. The watchmen have been found, dumped like so many bags of potatoes, at the edge of a parkway, and they can tell nothing with the exception of the captain. And he can say nothing except that he got a glance of two men in black gowns and hoods, before they subdued him.”

“But what are we to do?” one of the councilmen demanded. “The loss will run into millions.”

“And the fiend will commit other atrocities,” put in another. “Is there no way of stopping him without paying the million?”

“Perhaps he can be stopped, and finally caught, but he will do a certain amount of damage first,” Verbeck said wearily. “Remember, gentlemen, he had an entire year to plan this campaign of crime. We cannot expect to overcome him within a few hours. Personally I am doing all that I can. If you wish some other man”

“Nothing of the sort!” the councilman exclaimed. “No other man, amounts to anything. Verbeck. We have no other man that If—if you think it best to appoint a committee and talk about the ransom”

“I think that it would be better to fight a little longer,” Roger Verbeck said. “The Black Star is clever, but even a clever man may make a mistake. And some slight mistake may be enough to put us on the right trail. That is the trouble now, gentlemen—we are working in the dark. We do not know where he is, or from what part of the city he is conducting his campaign.”

“We might wait for another day, at least,” the councilman said. “As Mr. Verbeck says, some slight mistake on the part of this fiend may result in his capture.”

“And a delay of another day may result in the loss of several million more dollars,” put in another.

“Then you want to raise the ransom—is that it?” the councilman asked. “How much of it are you willing to pay? And are you willing also to acknowledge you are a citizen of a town that would let a notorious crook hold it up for a million?”

“My—er—idea is to stop him as soon as possible and rescue those he has made his prisoners. Perhaps he is even mistreating them.”

“I scarcely think The Black Star would mistreat them,” Verbeck put in. “I have had some experience with him, remember. He will hold them until we meet his terms, or are able to conquer him.”

“But we do not know that—are not sure of it,” said the councilman.

“I feel sure The Black Star would communicate with us before taking extreme measures, or let his prisoners communicate,” Verbeck declared. “As a last resort, he probably will have Mayor Redner write a letter asking that the ransom be paid.”

“And what can we do—anything?” the councilman wanted to know.

“I am doing all that I can, sir, and so are the police,” Verbeck said. “I am ready to step down and out the moment the council wants another man on this job.”

“But we do not want another man, Verbeck, as I said before. We have no other man.”

“Then suppose we wait for twenty-four hours, gentlemen, and see what happens.”

The committee agreed and went away. Verbeck went into the office of Chief Somerest [sic], now his own, and sat down before the desk. Muggs was waiting for him.

“Don't you let that gang bluff you, boss,” Muggs said.

“I have no intention of doing so, Muggs.”

“We can catch this big crook if they give us time. That's what he wants to do—rush things.”

“Exactly,” Verbeck replied. “And that is what those men could not see. They are frightened, naturally, and in a way I do not blame them.”

“Scared stiff,” Muggs admitted. “They talk big, but if it came to diggin' up that million some of them would move mighty slow.”

“They would,” Verbeck agreed smiling.

“And they howl about goin' out and grabbin' this Black Star in about ten minutes, but I haven't heard any of them suggest how it might be done.”

“That's right, Muggs.”

“If I knew how it could be done, I wouldn't be sittin' here a second longer, boss. I'd be out and doin', as the guy says.”

“What guy?” Verbeck asked grinning again.

“I forget the guy, but he said it. Don't you forget, boss—when we catch this bird, I want you to turn your back for about two minutes and let me handle him.”

“Muggs, I'm surprised. You are now an officer of the law.”

“Oh, that!” said Mr. Muggs.

HE prisoners in The Black Star's headquarters spent a night as comfortable as possible under the circumstances, except that Sheriff Grogin raved the greater part of the time because they would not let him out of the cell he occupied, and Captain of Detectives Wilkinsen got thrown into a cell himself because of an attack upon one of The Black Star's men.

When morning came they were served with an excellent breakfast, while some of the master rogue's men stood guard over them, ready to act at the first show of violence. Only William Brayter protested because his eggs were not cooked to suit him.

Presently The Black Star himself made his appearance, bringing copies of the morning newspapers. He asked the prisoners to be seated, his men stood around on guard as before, and The Black Star indicated that he had come for the purpose of discussing business and wished the closest attention.

“The city is inclined to be a little slow in ransoming you men,” he announced. “Last evening I ascertained that no steps had been taken to that end, and so I was compelled, much against my wishes, to teach a bitter lesson.”

“What have you done now?” Chief Somerset cried. “Abducted some more men—or women?”

“I do not fight women, sir,” said The Black Star. “And I have all the male prisoners I wish at the present time. I merely have taught the people, I hope and trust, that I mean business. The famous National Warehouse has been totally destroyed by fire. Here are the newspapers, gentlemen.”

He tossed the newspapers onto a couch and stood back, and the prisoners began to devour the story of the conflagration of the night before.

“The National Warehouse!” William Brayter cried. “I had money tied up in that!”

“You also had full insurance,” The Black Star informed him. “Almost the entire loss is covered by insurance, as I happen to know. And there were no lives lost, as you will see if you read. But perhaps the people will be more inclined to listen to reason now.”

“You fiend!” Mayor Redner cried.

“Fiend appears to be a popular designation with you gentlemen when you are speaking to me,” said The Black Star. “Why not vary it once in a while by calling me a scoundrel?”

“And what—what will be the end of all this?” William Brayter wanted to know.

“I would suggest that steps be taken to obtain the ransom,” said the master crook. “The moment I learn that sincere steps are being taken in that direction, I'll hold my hand. Otherwise, I shall put into execution certain other plans of mine.”

“What more could you do?” asked the mayor.

“My dear sir! What I have done already is as nothing compared to what I might do if it pleased me,” The Black Star replied. “I could destroy the entire city by fire, if I wished. I could have the bridges across the river destroyed with explosives. I could start an epidemic of disease easily. I can frighten the people, drive them from the city, wreck the city's business and its future. And I can think of other plans if it is necessary.”

“What can we do?” the mayor asked.

“Why not suggest to your friends outside that it might be a good thing to meet with my demands. As soon as I learn that a committee is at work, I'll prevent my men doing any more damage.”

“Pay you a million?” Somerset asked.

“Let the general public pay it—let them take up a subscription.”

“The public wouldn't do it.”

“I think they would,” The Black Star said. “I'll send a letter to the newspapers at the same time, saying what I can do if I wish. That will make them think. I'd suggest that you write the letter. Let Mayor Redner write it.”

“We'll talk it over,” the mayor said with a sigh.

“Very well. There is pen and ink and paper on the table. If you decide to write the letter, do so, and then knock at the door and a man will call me. If you do not, I think it possible that the city will know another disaster to-night.”

Without another word The Black Star left the big room, and his men followed him one by one, and the door was shut and bolted again.

The prisoners were silent for a moment looking at one another. The mayor was the first to speak.

“If I write and sign that letter, people will be calling me a coward in a few days,” he said.

“Write it merely as the mayor suggesting to your fellow townsmen that they save their city,” suggested Brayter.

“Listen!” said Chief Somerset speaking in low tones. “Bend across the table and listen, all of you. Why not send this letter to Roger Verbeck?”

“And what good would that do?” the mayor asked.

“Conceal a message in the letter.”

“What sort of message?” Brayter wanted to know.

“If we had any idea where we are, we could suggest it to him, and the letter might get past The Black Star. Verbeck would look at it closely.”

“I've been trying to think what there is about this room that is familiar,” Brayter said. “It has been done over recently, I can tell, yet there remains something familiar.”

“Try to think—try!” said the chief.

“There is the size and shape of it for one thing. And there is a sort of peculiar angle in that corner.”

“I've never seen it before,” the mayor declared.

“But I know I have,” Brayter persisted, “though perhaps not for a long time. I have it! The old Burton place on the river drive! Burton and I were boys together and used to play all over the house. Afterward the family used it as a country place until the city grew out to it. That angle in the wall—I seem to remember it!”

“It's a chance,” Somerset whispered.

“But how can we tell Roger Verbeck where to investigate?” the mayor wanted to know. “The Black Star is no fool—he will not let us send out a sealed letter. He'll read and examine it.”

“Possibly so, but he thinks we are frightened, and he will not believe we are playing a trick. He does not think anybody here knows this place. Mr. Brayter wouldn't if he hadn't played around here as a boy.”

“How can we do it?” the mayor asked again.

“Go ahead talking, you men, and let me try my hand,” Chief Somerset begged.

They continued their conversation, speaking in low tones for the greater part, but now and then raising their voices. And Somerset sat down at one end of the table, a piece of paper before him, and scribbled upon it with a pen.

He tried repeatedly before he had what he wished, and then he explained it to the others.

“It's a chance—a chance!” the mayor said.

“Mr. Brayter may be wrong, of course, but, as you say, it is a chance,” declared the chief.

“I'll copy it,” the mayor said. “And let us hope that it gets past that fiend unchanged, and is delivered.”

He wrote rapidly, read carefully, let the others see it. And then he got up, walked across the room and knocked on the door, and went back to the table and sat down again.

Five minutes passed, and then the door was opened and The Black Star entered with a couple of his men.

“Well, gentlemen, you have decided?” he asked.

Mayor Redner stood up.

“We have talked it over,” he replied. “As mayor and citizen, I cannot see you wrecking the city if it can be prevented. Frankly, we have decided that it would be best to have the ransom raised, and to make an attempt to catch you afterward and see you properly punished for your deeds.”

“I'll chance that,” The Black Star said laughing. “I am glad that you have come to your senses. I dislike to destroy more valuable property.”

“I have written the letter to Roger Verbeck, the best man, I suppose, to attend to the affair.”

“He seems to be the head of the city at present,” The Black Star admitted.

“Here is the letter, sir. Tell me whether it is satisfactory. I did not make it stronger because I do not want the people of the city to believe I am thinking only of my own safety.”

The Black Star took the letter, stepped back, and read it carefully while his two men remained on guard. He read it a second time, held it up to the light, and then folded it carefully.

“The letter seems all right to me, gentlemen,” he said. “And allow me to say that I think you are taking the proper course. I hope Mr. Verbeck and the others look at it in the same way.”

“They must! I have to get out of here,” Brayter said. “My business is going to ruin.”

“You should be out before long, if the people are willing to raise the money,” the master rogue replied. “And I'll do this much to help you—I'll send a letter to the papers threatening to do all sorts of dire things if the ransom is not raised immediately.”

Again he left them, but they were careful not to show their glee. Chief Somerset suggested that they appear to be downcast in order to deceive any spying eye. They scattered around the room, some reading, some trying to play cards. And Sheriff Grogin continued to howl from his cell, telling what he would do to The Black Star when he had the opportunity.

“If Verbeck only gets it!” the mayor whispered.

“It was so plain, I was afraid The Black Star would tumble to it,” the chief declared. “Evidently he did not—he thinks we are frightened and really want the ransom raised.”

Within a few minutes the mayor's letter was on its way to Roger Verbeck. For once, the master rogue had been careless. The message contained in the letter had escaped his eye. But would it escape the eye of Roger Verbeck, also?

HROUGHOUT the entire morning Roger Verbeck sat in his office receiving useless reports, assigning men to run down rumors, answering foolish inquiries, until he was almost frantic.

Turning to answer a call on the telephone he heard the voice of The Black Star talking over the tapped wire.

“Mr. Verbeck, that was rather a spectacular fire, wasn't it?”

“Another score you'll have to settle,” Verbeck said.

“I doubt it. But it has made an impression on several people. I have been speaking to Mayor Redner and my other guests, and have been urging them to write a letter asking that the ransom be paid and the city saved. If it is no, there will be other disasters, of course.”

“I suppose they wrote the letter?”

“Though you may doubt it, they did. It is on its way to you now, and you should have it in less than an hour, I have to be careful about delivering letters, you understand, but have arranged this very well.”

“And what does the letter say?” Verbeck asked.

“Wait and read it,” said The Black Star. “It will interest you, I feel sure. And allow me to suggest that it might be an excellent thing to do as the mayor says.”

The Black Star broke the connection, and Verbeck replaced the receiver and sat before the desk wondering what it could be. The mayor, he supposed, was asking that the prisoners be ransomed and the city spared further disasters. In that case Verbeck scarcely knew what to do. The mayor was the chief executive of the city, and had the right to suggest what he thought was best for the city's welfare.

Verbeck decided if the letter contained a suggestion of that sort that he would merely hand it over to the council and let them take the responsibility for any move they cared to make. He gave orders that any letter addressed to him should be delivered immediately, and the messenger held for investigation.

Half an hour later a sergeant entered with the letter, and said that a boy had brought it into the office. Verbeck had the boy inside before he even opened the envelope. The name and address stamped with the little rubber type convinced him that the letter was from The Black Star.

“Where did you get this letter?” he demanded.

“A man met me on the corner and gave me fifty cents to deliver it,” the boy declared.

“What sort of a man?”

“Just an ordinary man, about fifty years old, I guess.”

“Dressed well?”

“No, sir. He was a bit shabby, sir,” the boy answered. “He said another man had given him a dollar to deliver it, and that he'd give me half if I'd fetch it the rest of the way, because he had to go see about a job.”

Verbeck knew that the boy was innocent of wrongdoing. His looks and manner told that. He ordered that the boy be released, and then he opened the letter and read it carefully.

He happened to know Mayor Redner's handwriting, and saw that the letter and signature were genuine. He had thought at first that perhaps The Black Star would resort to a forgery, but Mayor Redner's signature was one difficult for even an expert forger to duplicate. Verbeck read the body of the letter a second time:

It seemed at the first glance to be the letter of a man stricken with fear for himself and the city of which he was the executive head. Verbeck wondered what The Black Star had done to get the mayor to write that letter, what threats he had made.

He did not want to act hastily. So he sat before his desk trying to think it out. To ignore the letter entirely would be to assume a great responsibility, and he did not care to do that. It would be the best, he decided, to make the letter public a little later and let the city council act as it pleased.

The editor of one of the newspapers telephoned him at that instant. Another message had been received from The Black Star. He told of the letter the mayor had written, and threatened dire things if the committee was not appointed at once and set to work—more fires, the destruction of the bridges across the river, an epidemic started by the release of germs.

Verbeck read the letter to him, and then sat with the note in his hand. Its style did not seem to him to be free and easy. There was something unnatural about it, and Mayor Redner, Verbeck knew, was a fluent man when it came to writing letters.

Could there be something hidden in it? Was there some message that had passed the eyes of The Black Star, had escaped the master rogue. Verbeck read the letter again, held it up before the light, tried using every second or third word, and failed.

And suddenly he saw it, and called to Muggs.

“Look!” he said. “Read the first word of every sentence, Muggs. What does it say?”

Muggs read it slowly.

“Try Burton place on drive.”

“That's it!” Roger Verbeck cried. “A message right under The Black Star's nose! It may be a fake, of course, or a mistake, or a trap, but it is worth trying, certainly. The Burton place on the river drive, is what it means.”

“What place is that, boss?” Muggs asked.

“An old country place that hasn't been used for years except as a home for an old caretaker and his wife,” Verbeck replied. “It was a great place once. And what a place for The Black Star's headquarters! The old trees are heavy and untrimmed, and the brush is thick. The house sets far back from the drive. Nobody ever thought of that place. I'll bet the man on the beat never even investigated it.”

“You think the big crook is there?”

“I don't know, Muggs, but this thing is worth looking into. That letter was written by the mayor, and those words didn't come that way by chance alone. I scarcely can believe this got by the eyes of The Black Star, but it got by mine at first. I'll bet The Black Star tried the second and third words, and all those combinations, the same as I did, and never happened to glance at the first word of each sentence. He might not know, of course, that it is the old Burton place.”

“Gosh, boss”

“Wait, Muggs! Forget all this for the time being. Stop and think how The Black Star works. We don't know who his people are. Drop a hint now of this, and he may find it out within an hour and be on guard.”

“I forgot that, boss.”

“Remember the last time we found three policemen were members of the crook's organization? We've got to make plans carefully, Muggs. So wipe that hopeful look off your face and try to appear as though there was no news.”

“What are you goin' to do, boss? You're not goin' to pass up this chance, are your”

“Not much, I'm not! But The Black Star, if his headquarters is at the old Burton place, isn't going to learn that we know it until it'll be too late for him to make a getaway. Go out and send Captain Jones in here—and remember all that I have said.”

Jones was a veteran in the department, a man of much wisdom and experience.

“Jones,” Verbeck said, “I think that I am on the trail of something, but we must move carefully.”

“Yes, sir.”

“If The Black Star has somebody watching us closely, we don't want them to suspect that we are about to make a move.”

“I understand, sir.”

“I want fifty reserves an hour after dark to-night. Release that many now, and see them one at a time when you do it. Have them leave headquarters separately, and let each man think he is being given a few hours off.”

“Very well, sir.”

“Have about twenty-five of them report at the southwest corner of the city park at eight o'clock, and have the other half report at the northeast entrance at the same time. We'll send machines to carry them, but we'll not give the chauffeurs orders until the last minute.”

“I understand, sir. A raid, I may ask?”

“I hope so, Jones. A raid on the headquarters of The Black Star, I hope!”