In the kitchen Muggs was still putting paper into the stove, and Riley ordered him to stop.
“If he was in that chimney, he’s a dead man,” the detective said. “And if he was a dead man, he’d fall and smash that hood to bits. So he isn’t in the chimney—and wasn’t—and he isn’t upstairs in any room—and he didn’t enter from outside. We’ve been dreaming.”
“Not much we haven’t!” Muggs exclaimed. “Look at this bump on my head!”
“Then please explain it!” Riley roared. “Explain those stars on the bread and the one between your eyes. I suppose this Black Star has spirits to help him or something like that. Give me an answer!”
“The Black Star,” Verbeck observed, “is a smooth article.”
“He is,” Riley admitted, “when he can smash a man on the head without coming into the house to do it. Ha! The basement!”
There was a door opening into the basement from the kitchen, and it was locked. Moreover, an investigation showed that the bolt had not been shot for some time, for dust and cobwebs were on that bolt and on the door around it. Nevertheless, Riley opened the door, drew out his pocket flash lamp, and descended into the basement with Verbeck at his heels.
The basement was large, but nothing was stored in it now except a small quantity of fuel. It did not take Riley and Verbeck long to decide no intruder had been in the basement.
“Looks mighty funny to me!” Riley declared. “If that Muggs man of yours is playing tricks——”
“Would he smash himself on the head?” Verbeck demanded, something of anger in his voice.