“The red signal!” he exclaimed. “The signal from the lodge hall!”
“Quietly, quietly, my man,” the master criminal said. “Nothing ever is gained by getting into a sweat when quick thinking is necessary. Give the signal and go out the rear way—all of you.”
“But you, sir?”
“I’ll take care of myself—go! Undoubtedly those fools upstairs are frightened at nothing.”
But a fusillade of shots from the lodge hall above gave the lie to his words.
“Something appears to be wrong,” he said. “I suppose we may as well get out of here and into our between-the-walls box. Pick up the suit cases, men. I am sure I don’t imagine what has happened. There is no way in which the police could have been informed. If you were not my prisoner now, Mr. Verbeck—but you are, and so is Muggs. I was going to bring Muggs down here and leave him with you, but he’ll have to miss this share of the fun, I think. One moment, Mr. Verbeck, until I decorate your breast with a sarcastic note.”
He reached in his pocket and brought forth the note he had prepared, and stepped toward the prisoner, reaching to his lapel for a pin.
“We’d better hurry,” one of his men suggested.
“Are you afraid, when I am here beside you?” the Black Star demanded. “Such a man has no place in an organization like mine.”
“I’m afraid for you, sir—that’s all.”