Those were samples of the remarks being passed, and they made Muggs want to get from the roadster and fight his way into the midst of the mob. Muggs knew better than any one else how Verbeck, since the memorable day when the Black Star had dared the young millionaire to capture him, had tried every means in his power to get hands on the master criminal.
The Black Star had written again to Roger Verbeck, saying that he and his man Muggs would be abducted by the Black Star’s men, taken to the master crook’s new headquarters, for which they had been searching in vain, and from there taken to the scene of a big crime. They would be forced to stand by under guard and watch the crime committed, and then they would be treated to shots from the vapor gun the Black Star and his men used, and left unconscious on the spot—laughingstocks for the public.
That letter had been sent to the newspapers three weeks before, and as yet the Black Star had not abducted Roger Verbeck and Muggs. The criminal, in another letter to the papers, insisted that this was not because he had not had an opportunity to effect the abduction, but because preparations had not been completed for the next big crime.
So now, as Verbeck’s roadster waited at the corner, those who recognized the car and its occupants enjoyed a few moments of sarcastic abuse. It was nothing to the general public that Verbeck had spent time and money in an effort to capture the master criminal after the police had failed, that he had risked his life half a score of times, and once even had been accused of belonging to the Black Star’s band himself.
The unthinking public looked only at results—and there had been none. Muggs and Verbeck and the few thinkers in the city knew well that, if the Black Star was caught, these thoughtless ones would be the first to praise Verbeck loudly; but in the meantime the sarcasm was highly unpleasant.
After a time the traffic cop turned and raised a hand, and Muggs growled again and threw in the clutch and piloted the heavy car across the street and down the broad avenue. They were out of the congested district within a few minutes, and speeding along a boulevard that led to a section of the city where large and modern apartment houses were to be found.
Half a block behind Verbeck’s roadster a man trailed on a motor cycle, seemingly paying no attention to the car ahead, but in reality keeping close watch on it. A short distance behind the motor cycle trailed a runabout with one man in it. The runabout was a small car, but a mechanician could have told after a second glance that it was a powerful one. The man in the runabout was watching both the motor cycle and Verbeck’s car.
A short distance behind the runabout was a lightweight truck. Behind the wheel of the truck was a young man, who appeared eager to get home after an overtime delay in making deliveries. He wore greasy overalls and jumper, and a slouch hat pulled well down over his eyes. The collar of the jumper was turned up to keep out the drizzle.
Thus the procession moved along the broad boulevard, and, after a time, Verbeck’s roadster drew up at the curb in front of an imposing apartment house. Muggs remained behind the wheel, but the man he had been driving got out and hurried into the building. It was natural that he did so, for on the ground floor lived his fiancée. The threat of abduction, it appeared, did not keep Roger Verbeck from paying his customary visits to his sweetheart.
The man on the motor cycle pulled in at the curb on the opposite side of the street, dismounted, and appeared to be tinkering with his machine. The runabout passed him, and its driver bent out and spoke a few words as it passed, the motor cyclist nodding in reply. Then the runabout went around the next corner, where it stopped, its driver getting out and walking slowly back up the boulevard, like a belated laborer on his way home.