“I don’t advertise my cleverness like some persons, and then fail to live up to my estimation of myself,” Verbeck replied.
“You have done something no outsider has done before—you have seen the Black Star in his workshop. That is, indeed, a rare privilege. And, of course, you’ll pay for it in the end.”
“You think so?” Verbeck asked.
“I presume you started out with the intention of handing me over to your stupid police. The greatest and most difficult thing, you perhaps thought, would be to locate me. Well, you have located me—and your task is but begun.”
“Indeed?”
“It takes evidence to convict.”
“Naturally,” said Verbeck. “Suppose I call the police now. How about the robe and mask you wear, that star, these blackboards, those printed letters identical with ones that have been received by the police and the newspapers? Evidence? This room is full of it!”
“But, when you get right down to the point,” said the Black Star, “you’ll want evidence of theft and burglary, you know.”
“I never heard of a gang yet where some one wouldn’t turn state’s evidence.”
The Black Star chuckled, and through the slits in his mask his eyes seemed to be dancing with delight.