The Black Star Part 16

"You think I swallowed it, Muggs?"

"I was hopin' you didn't."

"Well, I didn't, Muggs. I boasted I could capture the Black Star, and he's just the sort of man to try to show me I cannot. I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if he remained in the city for the purpose of making a laughingstock of me."

"That's the way I'm looking at it, boss."

"I fancy we'll hear from him in a few days, Muggs."

They put the roadster in the garage at the rear of the bachelor-apartment house, and then ascended to Verbeck's apartment.

Muggs snapped on the lights in the library, while Verbeck threw off hat and overcoat and gloves and reached for his favorite pipe. He glanced at the clock on the desk-it was within a few minutes of four in the morning.

He gave an exclamation, took a quick step forward, and looked at the face of the clock again.

On the gla.s.s, directly over the figure IX, _had been pasted a tiny black star_!

"That wasn't there when I dressed last evening," Verbeck mused. "So he's been here since he escaped the police, eh? That is pretty swift work!"

Muggs hurried in from the bedroom.

"Boss! Look!" he cried. "This was pinned on your pillow!"

He extended an envelope. A black star was pasted on it. The letter was addressed to Roger Verbeck.

"Swift work!" Roger exclaimed again.

"Boss, my hunch is workin' yet! Telephone the chief to send up them men-let him send twenty of em!"

"One moment, Muggs! Your solicitude for my welfare is overwhelming-but suppose we read this entertaining epistle before making a move.

Perhaps I'll want to fight this out alone."

He ripped the envelope open, took out a sheet of paper, unfolded it, and read:

Mr. Roger Verbeck: You almost had me, but at the supreme moment I escaped. You have seen me; so have police officers and eight of my band who never saw me before. You have discovered some things concerning me, but what you have found out is as nothing when compared to what you do not know. This little incident has served to put an edge on my wit.

You boasted you could catch me-do it! And the next time hang on to me until I am behind the bars-and even then I'll triumph. I laugh at you and your efforts, as I laugh at the police. I am not going to run away! I'll even keep you informed of my movements-and then you cannot get me. And, for the trouble you and your man have caused me, I am going to get you, Roger Verbeck, and get you good! I do not contemplate violence on your person-that would be the resort of an ordinary thug. But I'll hurt you, Roger Verbeck, in a thousand ways, break you down, ruin you, make you a joke, until you'll curse the day you first heard of the Black Star. It's a fight to a finish between us.

Every place you turn you'll be reminded of me and my purpose.

Sleep well to-night, and in security, for you'll need the rest.

The moment you awake the fight is on. And I'll know when you awake. I'll know every move you make, and I'll almost know every thought in your head-you poor fool!

Roger Verbeck took the most of that epistle as a matter of course, but his eyes narrowed to two tiny slits when he read that "poor fool," and his lips set in a straight line. That "poor fool" stung Roger Verbeck almost as much as the unpardonable phrase would have stung him.

He handed the Black Star's letter to the waiting Muggs.

"We've fought some pretty good battles, Muggs, but nothing to what this is going to be," he said. "On your toes, Muggs! Forget that hunch of yours! We don't quit until I stand in court and hear a judge sentence the Black Star for his crimes, until I watch him pa.s.s in through the doors of a State prison. Think what he's done, Muggs-of the decent persons he's forced into his gang! This is going to be the hardest fight of our lives."

"My coat's off, boss, and my sleeves rolled up!"

"Good! We'll fight alone, if we can. There is no one we can trust.

Police officers, persons we meet every day, our acquaintances, even our friends, may be in his organization-and he'll soon get it working again. But we can trust each other, Muggs."

"You said something there, boss! You bet we can!"

CHAPTER XVI-A NOCTURNAL VISIT

Verbeck opened his eyes at eleven o'clock that morning after a dreamless, refres.h.i.+ng sleep to find Muggs standing at the foot of his bed, fully dressed, grinning, the morning newspapers in his hands.

"They've got it all, boss," he reported. "That Black Star sent letters to the papers last night by special messengers, and from a downtown hotel. Whaddaya think of his nerve? Here it is-story of the whole thing, givin' us a lot of credit and makin' fun of the police for lettin' the crook escape. I'll bet that fat chief has a fit when he reads this!"

"Probably he read it several hours ago and already has had his fit,"

Verbeck said. "Had breakfast? Yes? You're the original early bird, Muggs. Well, I'm famished!"

Verbeck bathed and dressed in record time, and hurried to the cafe in the bas.e.m.e.nt, eager to eat and be gone before the regular luncheon crowd gathered to point him out and make remarks about his pursuit and capture of the Black Star.

No sooner had he seated himself at his favorite table than the waiter placed before his eyes an extra edition of one of the evening papers, damp from the press. Roger spread it open to find his own portrait gazing at him from the front page, and as he waited for his toast and eggs and coffee he read.

The Black Star had sent a letter to the evening paper also, but through the mail, with a special-delivery stamp affixed. Again the master criminal scoffed at the police, threatened some particularly daring crimes to demonstrate that he did not fear them, and then paid his respects to Roger Verbeck. A reproduction of the last paragraph of the Black Star's letter was shown in the paper:

To All Whom It May Concern: There is war between myself and Roger Verbeck, who caused me considerable trouble the last few days. I hereby warn all persons not to give aid to this enemy of mine-to refuse him shelter, food, clothing, refuse to hold conversation with him, or have business dealings with him of any sort whatsoever. Against those who dare disobey this order I'll strike-and strike hard.

Roger smiled as he read that paragraph; he presumed it was one of the Black Star's jokes-for he had discovered that the master rogue had a sense of humor. Certainly it could be nothing else. Roger Verbeck was the last of one of the city's old families, a young man respected by all, with unlimited wealth at his command, possessing a myriad of acquaintances and legions of friends. This warning of the Black Star was very liable to fall upon deaf ears.

Still, it was embarra.s.sing, and Roger found himself frowning because of the unpleasant publicity. That was one way the Black Star could fight him-by making him ridiculous through the newspapers; for it was certain that the papers would print any letters the Black Star sent them. Roger caught a vision of future days of horror, with every one pointing him out, joking him, making his life miserable. On the streets, at any of his clubs, wherever he met his friends, his name would be coupled with that of the Black Star. There would be but one escape-and that by capturing the master crook, turning the laugh on him, and so ending the affair.

Having breakfasted, Verbeck had Muggs get out the roadster, and they drove to police headquarters. The snowstorm was at an end, and the day was warm for March. But they failed to find the spirit of spring prevalent when police headquarters was reached.

A sleepy chief paced the floor of his private office, chewing at his inevitable black cigar. Detectives, plain-clothes men, and uniformed officers rushed in and out. Telephones rang.

"Don't ask me," the chief roared when he saw his visitors. "I'll tell you-it'll take less time. We haven't got him. We haven't even discovered a trace of him. The handcuffs he wore were found in an alley less than half a dozen blocks away-and that's all. He's found time to send letters to the papers-and to me."

"He sent one to you?" Roger asked.

"He did. If ever I get my two hands around the throat of that Black Star I'll choke the life out of him. I wouldn't care if he got mad and sent me cuss words-but he called me a blanked fool!"

"Ah! We are fellow sufferers," Verbeck said. "That's what he called me."

"You! You've heard from him?"

"When I got home this morning his black stars were pasted around my apartment, and I found a letter pinned to my pillow-or rather Muggs did. Here it is."