Black Star's Campaign. Johnston McCulley

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      "You are," the Black Star said. "You will be wondering how we did it."

      "Did what?"

      "What it is that we are going to do—the first blow, chief!"

      "Lost your nerve, have you? You used to tell us what you were going to do, and dare us to catch you at it."

      "Chief, your work is too coarse. Trying to anger me into telling you my plans, are you? It cannot be done to-night, chief. But I'll tell you this much—we intend making quite a haul! Expenses have been heavy recently, you know, and I must have a sort of indemnity."

      "You'll get something worse than that when we get our hands on you!" the exasperated chief cried. "You'll go up for life when we catch you!"

      "Catch me first!" the Black Star suggested. "By the way, some of my men left Muggs bound and gagged when they carried Verbeck away. You should see that he is released."

      "He has been—he's here."

      Muggs thrust the chief aside and grasped the receiver.

      "Yes, he's here, you big crook!" Muggs cried. "He'll be on hand when you're caught, too, and then you want to look out for yourself! Kidnap my boss, will you?"

      "Why, Muggs, how violent you are!"

      "You—you——" Muggs sputtered. "When I get hold of you, I'll make you think you never saw or heard tell of that violence stuff before! I'll show you some real violence, you crook!"

      "Tut, tut, Muggs! You'll be working yourself into a passion, my dear boy. By the way, Muggs, tell the chief that he need not bother about tracing this telephone call. I have tapped a private wire and am talking over it—understand?"

      A click came over the wire, and it went dead. Muggs put up the receiver and turned away from the desk, growling.

      The door of the office was thrown open—and Roger Verbeck hurried in.

      "Boss! Boss!" Muggs cried.

      "One minute, Muggs! We haven't time for a demonstration of affection at present. Well, chief, he had me nabbed, and I've seen the inside of his new headquarters."

      "Know where they are?"

      "I haven't the slightest idea. I was in an inside room—unconscious when taken there, and unconscious when they brought me away. I came back to life up in the park, where they had dropped me, got a taxi and hurried here. I suppose we have it all to do over again. We've got to catch that fiend, of course!"

      "Will you help, Verbeck?" the chief cried. "Will you take the time and trouble?"

      "You know it! Why, the Black Star challenged me again—said I couldn't catch him."

      "You're in command, Verbeck, as you were the other time. Any orders now? Where shall we start in?"

      "You're having the roads watched?"

      "Of course."

      "Throw out the dragnet and pick up what you can. Can't tell—might get a clew of some sort, you know. Get the rental agencies——"

      "I've planned to do that."

      "It probably will do no good, but it won't hurt any to try. The Black Star is too smooth to be caught in that way. His headquarters probably is in some house one of his band has owned and occupied for years."

      "He just called up," Muggs put in. "He said we'd be busy within twenty-four hours."

      "And the Black Star, as we know well, always keeps his word!" Roger Verbeck declared. "So his message probably means that he will strike his first blow to-morrow night—or, rather, to-night. But where? And what? Those are the questions."

      "And all we can do——" the chief began.

      "Is to wait until he strikes, and then take up the trail," Roger Verbeck added. "I found out one thing—he has some new people in his organization. He is using the blackboards again."

      "What's that?" the chief asked.

      "Each member of the band has a number and a countersign. Each enters the headquarters room robed and masked, and carries on the conversation by means of the blackboards. The Black Star issues his orders the same way. He handles them by number, and in his other organization the numbers were issued by one of his lieutenants."

      "What's the use of all that?" the chief asked.

      "It is very simple, chief. The Black Star may know what Number Eight or Number Ten does, but he doesn't know the identities of the persons with those numbers. He never could go on the witness stand and swear that a certain member of his band did a certain share of the work. Understand? It is a protection all around. On the other hand, the men could not swear that the Black Star issued the orders—it might be somebody else wearing the master crook's robe and mask. See?"

      "He's a clever devil!" the chief grunted.

      "He is!" Verbeck agreed. "We discovered that much before, remember. But we know his methods now, and that is a help. We will not make the mistake of underestimating him. It's all right to let him think so, and to talk like it when he calls up by telephone, but in truth we know we're up against a tough proposition, and we've got to act accordingly."

      "You mean to say you think it's going to be a hard job landing him?" the chief asked.

      "I mean just that," said Roger Verbeck. "But we'll get him!"

      "You can bet we will!" added Mr. Muggs.

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