will be a pleasure to have you try, Mr. Verbeck. It adds spice to the game to have a good foe—and I'll admit that you are a good foe. It will be entertaining to outwit you continually, to make you the laughingstock of the city."
"You tried that once before, and I had the last laugh!"
"Pardon me! It is not time for the last laugh yet—but when the time does come, I shall have it!"
"Well, what are you going to do with me?" Verbeck demanded.
"My dear Mr. Verbeck! Did you imagine you were to be treated with violence? You know that I abhor violence of all kinds. I merely had you brought here so that we could have this little conversation. I shall send a letter to the newspapers telling them how I had you here and let you see my new headquarters. That will give the city its first laugh at you."
"If I get the chance, I'll catch you!" Verbeck declared.
"I intend you shall have the chance, my dear Mr. Verbeck. I shall render you unconscious again, and have you taken to a certain place in the city and left there. When you regain consciousness, start on my trail, if you can find it. You were unconscious when you came here, and will be when you depart. You understand? And I don't mind telling you, Roger Verbeck, that anything done by me and my band before my arrest was insignificant compared to what we intend doing now. I shall strike within twenty-four hours, Mr. Verbeck. You need not trouble to warn the city. I already have sent letters to the papers telling them of my intention."
"And you can't get away with it!" Verbeck exclaimed. "I'll hunt you down——"
"That is your privilege, Mr. Verbeck," the Black Star interrupted. "I flatter myself that I am a sportsman. I have you in my power at the present moment, and could keep you where you could cause me no trouble or annoyance. But I'd rather have you free to use your wits against mine. As I remarked before, it will add spice to the game. Heaven knows that the police couldn't even make it interesting for me!"
"So you are going to stagger the city, are you?" Verbeck asked.
"I am, Mr. Verbeck. We are going to loot the city more thoroughly than we did before. We have perfected certain plans, and shall strike soon."
"Going to play your old game—going to let us know in advance what you are going to do?"
"Possibly—at times," said the Black Star, smiling. "And I feel sure that this time there will be no little accident that will make it possible for you to take me into custody. By the way, how is your man, Muggs?"
"In excellent condition," Verbeck said.
"My compliments to him, when you see him again, and tell him for me that it will be a pleasure to clash with him. In a way, I admire Muggs. He is such a perfect type of a thug."
"He is not the man to have for an enemy."
"Bah! I could outwit a score of men like Muggs without calling any of my organization to my aid. Well, Mr. Verbeck, I am afraid that we shall have to terminate this interesting conversation. I must get a little rest, and confer with some of my people."
He stepped back to the wall and pressed a button. Immediately the door opened, and the two robed and masked men entered the room. One of them held a vapor gun in his hand.
Roger Verbeck was well aware that it would be a losing fight, yet he fought to his utmost. But the fumes were discharged, the pungent odor struck into his nostrils and filled his lungs, he was forced to gasp for breath—and unconsciousness claimed him.
The last thing he heard was the sarcastic laughter of the Black Star!
CHAPTER IV
OVER THE TELEPHONE
The chief of police, notified by Sheriff Kowen that the Black Star had been rescued cleverly by members of his band, dressed quickly and hurried to police headquarters, there to go into his private office and rave and fume, and relate to the world that Sheriff Kowen was an official who knew not the meaning of precaution and efficiency.
"That's what he gets for being a bug on raiding gambling joints!" the chief cried. "Anybody would have known it was a plant—anybody with brains. We fight that fiend of a Black Star for more than a year, Roger Verbeck finally lands him, we convict the brute and have him handed a stiff sentence—and then an idiotic sheriff allows him to escape! Now I suppose we are in for another reign of terror, with every newspaper in town telling the dear public that the police are fit candidates for some old lady's home!"
There was a lot more of this, while captains and lieutenants, sergeants and roundsmen held their peace and hoped that their superior would not make this an occasion for reprimanding them for some fancied mistake. The chief had worked his way up from the ranks; he was endowed with more brute force than intelligence, and he was a bad man when aroused.
"Call Roger Verbeck's apartment, and get him on the wire!" the chief commanded.
The desk sergeant tried it immediately. He reported that the apartment house did not answer. The chief made a few remarks about sleeping telephone operators, and ordered the desk sergeant to try again. Not getting a reply immediately, the chief called two detectives, ordered them to hurry to Verbeck's place and acquaint him with the news, and to have Verbeck get in communication with the chief at once.
"The first thing the Black Star will do, will be to get hold of Verbeck!" the chief declared. "He'll probably put Verbeck out of the way if we don't prevent it. Verbeck caught him before, and he'll have to do it again. I've got a police force composed of idiots, imbeciles and blockheads! They couldn't catch a turtle walking across the street!"
At about the same moment the chief of police was indulging in this tirade, Muggs groaned, tried to turn over and found that he could not, experienced nausea, wondered whether he was being taken down with some disease—and then made the discovery that he was bound and gagged and lashed to the bed.
Having made that discovery, Muggs forced himself to breathe normally, composed himself, and tried to think. The last he remembered, he had retired, started to fall asleep, and had dropped into the middle of a not unpleasant dream. Now it appeared that there had been violence, and he had known nothing of it.
"Burglars!" Muggs thought at first. "Doped while I slept, and tied up like this! I wonder if the boss——"
The mere thought that something disastrous might have happened to Roger Verbeck moved Muggs to instant action. He struggled with his bonds, and at first believed that they could not be slipped; but finally he found a knot that gave a trifle, and he redoubled his efforts, working in a frenzy, his imagination picturing Roger Verbeck robbed and slain.
After a time the knot gave, and Muggs managed to get his hands free. He removed the gag and started working at the cords about his ankles.
"Boss! Boss!" he called.
There came no answer from Verbeck's room. Muggs managed to get off the last rope, and sprang from the bed. Immediately he reeled and fell
