They had not hoped to get away without an uproar being raised, and they did not. Two of the four guards shrieked as they fell, and other policemen came running from the front of the bank. They arrived in time to see their comrades falling and to see four dusky shapes running down the corridor. Their revolvers spoke, and the Black Star and his men once more found themselves in the midst of a leaden hail. As they got to the bottom of the stairs one of the men stumbled and fell, coughing because of the wound he had received.
The Black Star and the other two had no time to stop. It was an axiom of the master criminal’s organization that every man should care for himself in such an emergency. “Get away with the loot!” was the motto. A man arrested would be bailed out or aided to escape from prison by the organization, if possible—but the others of the organization were waiting to share the loot and could not be denied for the sake of a single man.
So the three ran on, springing up the stairs two at a time, reaching the second floor and going on to the third. Behind them came the determined pursuit. Outside in the streets other officers heard the commotion, and prepared for a dash on the part of the crooks. The Black Star hurled another vapor bomb, and checked the pursuit for a moment, but not for long.
They were on the fourth floor now, and they could tell by the sounds that officers were rushing up the broad stairs in front. The Black Star was glad that the elevators were not running. Had they been, he could have made a swifter get-away, but also the pursuit would have been closer.
Now they were panting because of their exertion, but did not slacken their pace. The fifth floor was reached, and half a dozen policemen dashed down a hallway at them. Once more there came a fusillade of bullets—and another of the Black Star’s men fell. There remained only himself and one other now—but they kept hold of the two suit cases filled with loot.
The top floor was above them, and they reached it only by hurling two more vapor bombs. They rushed along a hallway toward the front of the building now. They came to where a curving iron stairway led to the roof, and up this they rushed, exposed to the shots of the police as they came into view.
The Black Star threw his last bomb. The man behind him staggered and fell, but was upon his feet again instantly. He gasped that he had not been wounded, had only tripped on the edge of a step. They reached the little door at the top, threw it open, and dashed out on the roof. The door was slammed behind them, bolted, and barred. The bars constituted another of the Black Star’s preparations against emergencies—his men had affixed them the last thing that evening.
On the other side the police crashed against the little door, fired into it, and then realized that it was a metal, fireproof door, and proof against their bullets. It was another case where axes would be necessary.
It took several minutes to send word down and get axes from below, and then the assault on the door began. They took turns working at it, for this was no easy task. Finally the hinges gave a trifle, and they redoubled their blows, while others behind them got ready to give battle. The word spread below rapidly—the Black Star and one of his men were on the roof, trapped. They would be prisoners or dead soon now. If the police could not get at them through the door, then the fire department would be called, ladders would be raised, and they would be reached that way.
The door gave again; some of the police cheered. With revolvers held ready, they waited for the blow that would hurl the door to the roof and let them through.