*****
With a roar that could have been heard half a block, Detective Riley sprang through the door and toward the head of the stairs, Muggs and Roger Verbeck at his heels.
Four steps at a time they took the two flights, and burst into the living room like madmen, startling the officers there.
“Quick!” Riley cried to the sergeant. “Call headquarters, private line! Tell them to surround block of National Building. Black Star’s raiding Jones & Co.! You, Muggs! Start the car! Ready, Verbeck?”
The sergeant whirled toward them.
“Phone’s dead! Wires cut, I suppose!” he reported.
“Of course! Trust the Black Star not to forget that! Get the nearest phone, sergeant—probably one across street!”
He dashed out, following Verbeck. They sprang into the roadster. Muggs sent the machine shooting at the big gate, through it, into the broad boulevard, sounding his horn like a maniac, jumping the powerful engine into its greatest speed.
[CHAPTER XXXII.—INTO THE VAULT]
Verbeck and Muggs had taken many wild rides in the big roadster, but nothing that compared to this. On the boulevard, the street cleaners had removed most of the snow, but the slush had frozen, and the going was treacherous. The car skidded from side to side, at times almost turned end for end, lurched and swayed sickeningly.