CHAPTER XVI—A NOCTURNAL VISIT

Verbeck opened his eyes at eleven o’clock that morning after a dreamless, refreshing 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 café in the basement, 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 embarrassing, 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.”

Verbeck handed it over; the chief read it. Then the head of the city’s police department sat down before his desk, thought for a moment, and finally pushed a button. A sergeant entered.

“Send me Detective Riley!” he ordered.

A moment’s waiting, while the chief chewed his cigar and Roger and Muggs puffed at theirs. Then Riley entered and saluted his chief respectfully.

Detective Riley was a man of fifty, and he had been in the department since the age of twenty-one. He knew every inch of the city, and was a man of nerve and resource. But for his honest and outspoken opinions of political leaders undoubtedly he would have been high in the department. As it was, he was satisfied.

“I believe you know Mr. Verbeck, Riley,” the chief said.

“I certainly do, sir,” the detective answered, grinning at Roger. “His father got me my job on the force, and I taught Roger how to hold a bat when he played ball on the corner lot near the old Verbeck place.”

“Um! You know this town pretty well, too, and you’re an honest man. Sit down—and listen. You’re going on the trail of this Black Star, Riley. And if you’re in at the death when he’s nabbed I’ll see you made a captain, if I have to go into politics myself and slay half a dozen ward bosses who don’t like your looks.”

“Some special line of work, sir? I’m already assigned to the case.”

“So is every other man in the department. Yes—this is a special line of work. You are to glue yourself to Mr. Roger Verbeck and hang on. Understand?”

“But, chief——” Roger began.

“Just a moment, Mr. Verbeck. I admire your courage and all that, but we’ve got to do this in proper fashion. You’ve been threatened by this Black Star. He’s going to take you partly into his confidence so he can make a fool of you. I want Riley with you for two reasons. The first is that you are going to have police protection whether you wish it or not. If Riley is with you and Muggs, one man can be awake and on the job always, yet all of you get plenty of rest. The second is that Riley can add his police experience and knowledge of crooks and the city to your natural courage and cleverness. Understand? If this Black Star communicates with you or makes a move against you in any way Riley will be there and on the job to help. You’ll not lose time sending to headquarters for assistance.”

“I understand, chief.”

“Another thing. Do you feel you can trust Riley?”

“I certainly do,” said Verbeck earnestly.

“Good enough! It isn’t every one we can trust in this game. You take Riley with you and go after the Black Star, independent of this department—just as you did before, except that you’ll have a regular officer along. And we’ll work on our own lines. And between us, we’d ought to get our hands on him. Riley knows a certain private phone number he can use in case of emergency, and a call will rush a score of men to any part of the city. That’s agreeable? Get out, then, and take Riley with you! I’m going to lie down on the couch and take a nap.”

Verbeck laughed and led the way from the private office, waiting in the lobby with Muggs while Riley went to his locker for certain paraphernalia he always had on his person when engaged on a particular case.

“I like that guy,” Muggs confided in a whisper.

“The chief?”

“Naw! This Riley. I’m glad he’s goin’ to be along.”

“If I needed a recommendation for Riley—which luckily I do not—that would be the best I could get,” Roger said, and he meant every word of it.

“I think the three of us can make the Black Star look like a sucker!”

“You don’t want to underestimate the Black Star, Muggs. Whenever you feel inclined to do so, remember a certain smash behind the ear he gave you recently when you thought his hands were tied.”

“He’ll never do it again!” Muggs declared. “If I ever get my lamps on that man again I’ll forget how to turn my head!”

Riley returned, and the three went out to the roadster.

The greater part of the afternoon was spent in Verbeck’s apartment discussing plans for the campaign. There was no sense, Riley pointed out, in running blindly around town trying to find the man they wanted; for the Black Star, it was to be supposed, was in hiding for the time being, and without doubt planning a campaign of his own. Detectives were watching railroad stations, hotels, and lodging houses, and the deserted residence where the Black Star had had his headquarters. There was nothing for the three men who sat in Verbeck’s library to do except wait for the master criminal to make the first move.

Roger visited Faustina Wendell for an hour that evening, while Muggs and Riley remained outside in front of the house where she lived with her mother and brother. Then the three returned to Roger’s apartment and spent an hour around the pool table.

“A crook works at night if he’s breaking safes and vaults,” Riley said. “Hence it is proper that we are prepared for night work. I suggest we never retire until four or five o’clock in the morning and get up about noon. Then we’ll be ready to jump if anything happens.”

“Get a deck of cards, Muggs,” Verbeck ordered. “What Detective Riley says goes. By the way, Riley, I’ve ordered the roadster left standing in front of the building all night, ready for a quick jump.”

“That’s the stuff! I wish this Black Star would hurry up and start something. I’m anxious to get into action.”

Tired of cards, they played pool again, and then they read, and then they talked of the Black Star some more, and finally they began wondering if it wasn’t time to retire.

“Just four o’clock,” Verbeck announced.

And then the telephone rang!

Roger stepped across the room to the desk and picked up the instrument; Muggs and Riley were on their feet, eager to know what the message would be, and hoping it was a call to battle.

“Is this Mr. Verbeck’s apartment?” a voice demanded.

“Yes,” Roger answered.

“And who is this speaking?”

“This is Mr. Verbeck.”

“Indeed? I thought perhaps it was that dolt, Detective Riley, from headquarters. I understand he is a more or less permanent guest of yours.”

“Who is this?” Roger demanded in turn.

“Pardon me for not telling you before. This is the Black Star.”

“What’s that?” Roger exclaimed.

“I assure you I am the Black Star. This is not one of your friends playing a joke on you. I just thought I’d call you up and say that the