He touched the button.
Light shot through the blackness and illuminated a pathway through the vault door and to the interior. From side to side Riley swung his light, expecting every instant to hear the shot he anticipated. There was no man in the light’s path, but it did not penetrate to the corners.
Riley expelled his breath in a great gasp of determination, and slipped forward. Verbeck and Muggs closed in. If the Black Star was waiting for them to rush, then the moment for the rush had arrived.
Muggs could endure the suspense no longer. His nerves were on edge. He gave a subdued squeal and sprang across the path of light, grasped the door, hurled it shut, twisted the handle.
“We’ve got him—got him!” he screeched.
Riley’s light showed the perspiration standing out on his forehead in great globules.
“Why did you do that?” the detective demanded.
“We’ve got him! Turn on the lights! The police will be here in a minute, then he’ll have no chance to escape!”
Riley would have had it otherwise, and Roger Verbeck had anticipated having the Black Star in shackles by the time the police arrived, but that could not be helped now. Riley went around the room until he found the electric switch; he threw it, and the room was suddenly brilliant with light.
“Well, we’ve got him, anyway,” Verbeck said. “The Black Star may be able to get into a vault, but I’ll defy him to get out of that one except by the door.”