Rogue for a Day/Chapter 9

HAT evening there came the heavy winds again. They came as night descended, to howl about buildings and shriek through the streets, carrying the merest suggestion of snow. They swayed the arc lights, rattled signs, and shook skeletons of trees. And then they settled down to a steady blow from the north, and soft snow began to fall heavily. And through the steady sheet of snow gleamed thousands upon thousands of incandescent bulbs at the big hall where the Charity Ball was to be held.

That hall had been built to hold thousands, and its capacity would be tested this night. On the dancing floor would be women famous in society, stately matrons, pretty girls enjoying their first social season. Gowns to dazzle would be shown by hundreds, and jewels—precious and famous jewels—would flash reflection from myriads of electric lights—jewels taken from safe-deposit boxes to be worn at this affair, and then to be returned to their hiding places.

The galleries would be filled with spectators; a gigantic orchestra would please musical ears; in the streets outside, hundreds of limousines would be waiting for the end.

Verbeck was thinking of the scene at the big hall as he drove his roadster out to the old place again shortly after ten o’clock that night. He had intended going to the old house earlier, but had been delayed in carrying out his plans. And now everything was done—there was nothing more to do except await the appointed hour, call police headquarters, ascertain that the members of the Black Star’s band were in jail, and then turn over the Black Star himself. He would have a good excuse to escape the plaudits of the police and reporters at headquarters—he would have to hurry to the big hall to dance with his fiancée and escort her to her home.

The gates were open, and Verbeck sent the car through and along the driveway, and brought it to a stop where it would be shielded by the corner of the house from the swirling snow.

When he entered the living room, the Black Star was sitting on the divan in the corner, and Muggs was pacing back and forth before him, still preaching on the merits of an honest existence as compared to a life of thievery.

“Everything is lovely, boss,” he reported to Verbeck. “This gent has been getting restless, but he hasn’t made a move he shouldn’t. I’ve been hoping he would—I haven’t taken a pot shot at a man in ages.”

“We’ll have no carnage, Muggs,” said Verbeck, laughing. “We want to hand him over entire, not in pieces. Give me that pistol, and I’ll watch the gentleman while you untie his hands and fasten them again in front instead of behind his back. I’m going to give him a cigar to smoke; he’ll need it to quiet his nerves.”

Muggs did as he was ordered, and the Black Star accepted the cigar with good grace and puffed at it with evident enjoyment.

“Do we call the police now, boss?” Muggs asked.

“Not yet, Muggs.”

“You and I have done a lot of things, boss, in all corners of the world,” he said in a whisper, so the Black Star could not hear. “When you feel that you can’t hold in any longer, you make me stop being a valet, and let me be a comrade, and we go out after adventure. It’s always been all right. But, about this thing Boss, I told you I had a hunch.”

“I’m afraid your hunch isn’t working well this time, Muggs. The thing has been accomplished. I’m merely waiting here until the police make a move I requested them to make, and then we’ll surrender the Black Star. It hasn’t been so very much of an adventure, after all, has it, old man? There hasn’t been much excitement—not what we call excitement.”

“I’ll not be satisfied until the police have their hands on him, boss.”

“Neither shall I. But nothing is going to happen, Muggs, to bother us. Keep that hunch of yours until another time.”

Muggs resumed his guard of the prisoner, and, though he asked Verbeck nothing concerning the plans he had made, there was a question in the expression of his face. Verbeck lighted a cigar for himself, and sat down not far from the Black Star. He looked at his watch.

“It is half after ten,” he announced. “Mr. Black Star, in exactly an hour and a half the police will take into custody some of your people; eight men and two women, to be exact.”

“Indeed?”

“Exactly,” said Verbeck.

“Would you mind telling me how this is to be done? I am somewhat interested and wholly skeptical.”

“Last night,” said Verbeck, “I assumed your robe and mask, and played at being the Black Star. I destroyed the orders you had prepared, countermanded all of which I learned, and issued new orders of my own. There was no hitch in the arrangement. Not one of them became suspicious as far as I could see.”

“And the orders?” the Black Star asked, interest showing in his face.

“Were the same in each instance,” said Verbeck. “The orders make it possible for the police to round up the entire gang at one swoop. They’ll be kept separate until I turn you over and tell all I know. With those facts upon which to work the detectives will have no trouble getting confessions. As for you—Muggs and I can swear to enough to convict you, especially after the police have searched that house where you had your headquarters.”

There was a look of apprehension in the Black Star’s face now, but he did not pretend to Verbeck that he was alarmed.

“May I ask how you expect to catch these persons?” he asked.

“Yes—and I’ll tell you. There was a flaw in your perfect arrangement, Mr. Black Star. You taught your crooks to work in the dark, and not ask questions. They have faith in you; and if you ordered one of them to enter the First National Bank at noon and hold up the first teller to the right, he’d perhaps do it, believing that his work was only a part of a big scheme and that he’d escape consequences because of some plan of yours.”

“True,” said the Black Star. “I have issued orders that seemed dangerous, but were not so when a man knew all the different angles of my plan.”

“Exactly. And so, when I gave orders that seemed dangerous, scarcely an objection was raised. You want to know how they are to be captured, eh? Here is a copy of the orders I gave each, Mr. Black Star, listen to it!”

Verbeck pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and read:

Verbeck ceased reading, and looked across at the Black Star.

“You understand?” he asked. “Each one thinks he does not know all the plan, but will be safe if he carries out his instructions. I gave each a bill out of the drawer in the table, and I told the women to wear the red ribbon on their shoulders. A score or more of detectives will be in the neighborhood. At midnight they will take in custody all who wear the red ribbon. A quick search will disclose stolen property in their possession. You see? I don’t know whether I'm guilty of a felony or not, ordering them to steal like that, but I guess I’ll be forgiven, since it is in such a good cause.

“So there goes your perfect arrangement, Mr. Black Star. Those crooks who have been trusting you will be cursing your name before long. And you’re going to the penitentiary with them. You can’t be crooked and get away with it always—no matter how clever you are. And all this, Mr. Black Star, because you overplayed your part by sending a man to put a letter on my desk. You needn’t sneer—I’m not meaning to praise myself. There are a thousand men in town who could have overcome you, given the chance I had.”

“I am not sneering at your egotism,” said the Black Star, apparently without emotion. “I am sneering at the futility of your plans. I warned you, Roger Verbeck. I told you that chickens come home to roost. So you’ll send my men and women to jail, will you? You’ll break up my organization? You strike me a deathblow like that—and you’ll strike yourself one at the same time.”

“I’ve heard your pointless talk before,” Verbeck said.

“But this is not pointless talk, Roger Verbeck. It is very much to the point. I told you that I had an organization that gathered information, didn’t I? I said it was separate and distinct from the band that committed the crimes. You have made the grave mistake, I fear, of mixing the two bands together—and the consequences will not be to your liking.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes—indeed! How do you suppose I heard of your boast at that reception a few nights ago? How do you suppose I know so much about people’s private affairs? I’ll tell you, Roger Verbeck—I know because men and women of your acquaintance belong to my organization. You don’t believe that, eh? You will—soon.”

“I scarcely can imagine any of my friends turning crook.”

“Not voluntarily, perhaps. Not because they need money, either—not always.”

“Explain,” Verbeck said.

“I’ve told you I have a partner who knows me well—he and I work together. Some of the organization know him, but not one knows me, nor has seen my face or heard my voice. If you are skeptical, I’ll outline the plan in a few words. In Chicago, for instance, we caught a certain youngster of this city when he was in trouble. He was extricated from his scrape, and the price of it was that he join my organization. We held something over his head. Deathly afraid, he carried out my orders; he feared to refuse. Through him we brought into the organization the girl to whom he was betrothed—threatening to send her sweetheart to prison unless she joined the band. You see? A sort of endless chain affair.”

“I don’t believe it!” Verbeck exclaimed.

“You want proof, eh? In ten minutes, Roger Verbeck, you’ll be giving me my liberty, and you’ll be moving heaven and earth, with me beside you, trying to prevent the capture of those people at the Charity Ball. You know who told me of your boast at that reception? He told me because he admires your native cleverness—begged me to stop everything and leave town, for—he said, if you started out to get me, you’d do it.”

“He was a sensible man, and you should have taken his advice,” said Verbeck.

“I am telling you the truth, Verbeck. The man who told me was Howard Wendell, the brother of the girl you expect to marry.”

“You lie!” Verbeck cried, springing from his chair. Muggs snarled, and stepped forward, ready for a fray, but Verbeck motioned him back.

“I do not lie,” said the Black Star. “I told you to beware, that the chickens might come home to roost. Two months ago Howard Wendell was in Chicago on some business for his uncle. We knew him—we wanted him. A man already a member of the organization saw to it that Howard Wendell went the pace for a few days. He is but a boy, we’ll say—he was easily led. He woke up one morning to find that he had gambled away three thousand dollars of his uncle’s money. He was almost insane because of what he had done. His friend took him to my partner; my partner gave him the money.”

“But that”

“Wait! In return, he gave my partner a check drawn on a bank in this city. Of course it was a forged check. Oh, he did not intend it as deceit! He said the check was worthless. My partner laughed and said he knew it, but that he would keep it until the boy could pay—if he never paid, it would be all right. My partner, you see, owned the gambling house where the money was lost. You begin to understand?”

Verbeck still stood before him, hands clenched.

“But the next day he was informed that the check would be presented, would be returned, and that he would be arrested for having written it—unless he did as he was ordered. That is how Howard Wendell became a member of our organization.”

“You beat!” Verbeck cried.

“Don’t beat me up yet—please,” sneered the Black Star. “If you stop to do that you’ll suffer considerable anguish later. I am not done—there are more chickens coming home to roost. What numbers did the men have, those to whom you gave orders?”

Fearing, Verbeck told him.

“So? Howard Wendell is one of them, Verbeck. He is the one who brought you the letter that first night concerning the Greistman jewels—remember? He’ll be one for the police to nab to-night. He must have been surprised to get orders like that—he understood he was to do nothing except gather information.”

Verbeck felt that the Black Star was speaking the truth. Howard had objected to the orders—had said that they were unfair to him, but that he was unable to help himself. It had been possible for him to tell the Black Star of Verbeck’s boast. He had given the sign that afternoon before seeking a talk with Freda Brakeland. And the police would capture Howard Wendell through Verbeck’s planning, capture him with stolen jewels in his possession

“And the women?” the Black Star asked. “Tell me quickly! What numbers did they have?”

Verbeck told him.

“The first is one of the cleverest in the organization,” said the master crook. “She is an experienced thief. But the second—small wonder you did not find her number in the book! She is a new one. That was her first visit, and I had ordered it some days before. She was brought into the organization through her love for another, a member of her family. So she’ll be caught, too, eh? And do you know her identity, Roger Verbeck? Do you know the woman you are handing over to the police through meddling with my affairs? I’ll tell you—gladly: She is Miss Faustina Wendell—your fiancée!”