“Now!” the voice whispered.
None of the criminals were facing Muggs. He stretched his arms and legs once to restore circulation, and then sprang from his chair.
“Hands up!” he shrieked, and leveled the automatic.
Every man in the room whirled to face him at that command. One reached for a weapon, and Muggs shot over his head. Behind him the window was shattered, and there was a sudden commotion as half a dozen uniformed policemen, a lieutenant at their head, tumbled into the lodge hall with guns held ready.
“Keep ’em up!” the lieutenant warned.
Another of the Black Star’s men reached for a gun, and the sergeant dropped him. Another darted quickly across the room, and the bullet that went in his direction missed its mark. He reached the wall—and the light switch.
The lights went out.
[CHAPTER XXXI—IN THE BANK]
The forces were about even, and these men of the Black Star’s organization whom he had taken into his inner circle, and, in a measure, into his confidence could be expected to put up a brave fight to save themselves and their master from capture or death. They knew how the public regarded the Black Star and his band; they knew what a jury would do to any one of them who stood in the prisoner’s dock, and that the judge would give the limit of imprisonment to any declared guilty.
So, as the lights went out, there came a scattered volley from the criminals, who had darted to different parts of the lodge hall. Muggs and most of the policemen, however, anticipating that volley, had thrown themselves flat on the floor, and they fired at the flashes and changed their positions quickly.