He racked his brain for an idea that would lead to release, and could think of none. On the first floor of the adjoining building, he guessed, the Black Star and his men were filling suit cases with the wealth of the National Trust Company, and a helpless and raging prisoner was being forced to watch the crime and endure the taunts of the Black Star at the same time. If only he could be free and have a good automatic in his hand——
He glanced at the Black Star’s men again; they were not even looking in his direction; they knew well, he supposed, that he could not make a move. He could only sit in the chair against the curtained rear window and look straight ahead, absolutely helpless.
He imagined that he could hear a slight noise outside the window, but it was not repeated. If he could have seen, he would have noticed that the point of a sharp knife pierced the heavy curtain directly behind him, and where none in the room could see. Working slowly, cutting an inch at a time, that knife made a slit half a foot long.
Then Muggs heard the slightest suggestion of a whisper.
“Muggs! We’re here to help, but must move carefully. I’m going to cut your ropes and slip you a gun. Hold your arms tight so the ropes won’t fall away until you’re ready. Steady now!”
Muggs might have shrieked his happiness had not the gag prevented. He didn’t pretend to know the owner of the voice, and he didn’t care much, so that it was a friend. One thing he did know—it was not the voice of Roger Verbeck. And it was not the voice of old Detective Riley, who had helped Muggs and Verbeck several times in their effort to take the Black Star. It was a strange voice, but welcome for all that.
Muggs felt a knife sawing at the ropes that bound his wrists together behind him. He caught the ends as the ropes were severed, and held them so that they would not drop away and alarm the Black Star’s men before his feet were free.
The knife was working on the ropes that bound his feet now. It was slow and tedious work, and at times the knife was still. Finally Muggs felt the last rope give, and he heard the whisper again.
“I’m going to slip you an automatic. Stick ’em all up and hold ’em while we break in behind you. If we make a false move we’ll lose. Is the Black Star still below? Wiggle your fingers if he is.”
Muggs wiggled his fingers by way of answer, and almost immediately he felt the butt of an automatic pressed against his palm.