CHAPTER XXXV—AN UNEXPECTED BLOW

The Black Star took his aëroplane to an altitude of three thousand feet, circled over the city, and finally started down the river. He gave all his attention to the machine, and did not even glance at the man who sat beside him. Far below were the lights of the city where he had stolen so many fortunes in money and jewels the past six months, the city he had terrorized, at whose police he had scoffed, and the home of Roger Verbeck, the young millionaire clubman who had sworn to capture him.

Well, Verbeck had not captured him, he thought. He had made the young clubman a laughingstock more than once. He had made his efforts appear childlike and foolish, and so he was satisfied. For he would have to leave this particular city now, he knew. His last two adventures had almost resulted in his downfall. In them he had lost many men, including his most trusted lieutenants. The man beside him really was the only one left whom he could trust.

He could afford to retire for a time, and that was what he would do, he decided. He had ample funds. He would call the remainder of his band together in a couple of days, at some new headquarters—for he had a feeling that the present one was dangerous after to-night—give them their share of the money on hand, and then pack up and get out.

War-ridden Europe did not appeal to him now, but there was Japan and China and the South Seas. He’d spend a year or so touring around, taking life easy, enjoying himself, spending his money, and gloating over some of the magnificent jewels that the band had stolen and which he had claimed in his share of loot.

When the country had begun to forget the Black Star he’d reappear in some other city, organize his band again, and start his depredations anew.

It took the Black Star only a few minutes to decide this. Having decided it, he felt better. He looked down at the river, and failed to see any craft.

“I’ll go to headquarters,” the Black Star told his man. “You go on with the plane and hide it in the usual place back in the woods, and then get into town. I’ll send you word in the usual way within a couple of days where to have the men come for their share. I’m going to give up the present headquarters, for it’ll be dangerous after to-night, I am afraid. I’ll pack up and get out by noon to-morrow.”

“Verbeck’s roadster is near the front gate,” the man reminded him.

“That’s right—got to get that out of the way before daylight. You go ahead with the plane, though. I’ll get the suit cases in the house, and then run the roadster up the road and drive it into the river off the cliff.”

He turned the plane toward the shore and descended slowly. On reaching the ground the master criminal tossed the suit cases overboard, then sprang out himself.

“Good night,” he said.

“Good night, sir.”

The plane, with its engine roaring, took the air. The Black Star picked up the heavy suit cases and started for the road.

After all, he was thinking, it would be a relief to get away and give up his dangerous occupation for a time. He hated to admit it even to himself, but to-night’s business had shaken him. He had almost felt fear, especially when he had been cornered in the halfway room.

But he had succeeded. He had made a last big haul. He was safe now—there remained only to leave the headquarters, meet the men, and distribute some money, and then quit the city for the West and China and the South Seas. Crime didn’t pay, eh? Well—he had made it pay!

He decided that he’d send a last sarcastic note to the police, the newspapers, and to Roger Verbeck, just as he left. He chuckled again now as he thought of Verbeck. It seemed that he had been unable to get into action to-night. How he would rage when told that the Black Star had escaped again! How funny little Muggs would snort! How the fat chief would fuss and fume! Yes—the Black Star had had his fun as well as his profit!

He reached the gate and passed through it up the drive to the house. Here he set the suit cases down on the porch and unlocked the front door. Then he took the loot inside, struck a match, and applied it to the wick of a lamp. A hasty glance around the room told him that nothing had been disturbed during his absence. For a moment he stood in the center of the room and listened and looked about. Then he put the suit cases on a table.

He threw off hood and mask and overcoat and hat, and opened the suit cases. Before him were the bundles of bank notes, the two bags of gold, the packages of securities—a fortune!

He laughed lightly and went to a cupboard and got out crackers and cheese and a can of fish. He laughed as he ate his simple meal, and promised himself a gorgeous dinner before another twenty-four hours had passed.

Having eaten, he put the remainder of the food away, closed the suit cases again, lifted a trapdoor in the floor beneath a rug, and put the loot in a hidden box there. He stretched his arms and glanced at his watch. It would be daylight within the half hour now, and he needed sleep. He decided that he’d retire and rise in about four hours. Four hours of sleep would refresh him enough, he decided, for the time being. He wanted to smuggle himself and his ill-gotten gains into the city by noon.

Keen eyes watched his every movement through the keyhole in the door that opened into the adjoining, unused room. The mysterious man who had trailed the abductors there early in the evening was still in the house. The hours had seemed doubly long—but he had waited.

He watched the Black Star carefully now. He had made sure that he had returned to the headquarters alone, and now he was awaiting his chance. He knew that the Black Star had a couch in the room on the other side of the headquarters room, and would sleep there if he decided to go to bed.

He watched him as he removed coat and vest and took off his shoes and donned a pair of slippers. And then he crept softly across the room, unlocked the door that led to the hall, and slipped out.

Foot by foot he made his way along the hall, and noiselessly, for he had removed his shoes. He reached the door of the room where Black Star slept, and crept inside and went across to the other door, and there, crouching at one side, he waited.

The Black Star finished undressing and put on a pair of gorgeous pajamas. Then he turned off the light and started for his couch. He passed through the door.

And then he gasped in surprise and alarm, tottered, tried to curse, and fell forward unconscious into the arms of the other man, a victim of his own vapor gun.

The man who had caused his downfall laughed aloud now and ran to the lamp to light it again. From a corner he carried ropes and bound the unconscious man securely. He gagged him, too, and propped him up in a chair and tied him in it with ropes.

Then he whirled toward the trapdoor beneath the rug, and managed to get it open. He lifted out the suit cases and other boxes in which valuables had been stored.

“Money, securities, and jewels!” he said. “I guess I’ll just take care of these, Mr. Black Star!”

He laughed again, half in relief and half in pure joy, and then he rushed across to the telephone. For the second time that night he called a number—the number of police headquarters. And then he gave a startling message.