He could afford to retire for a time, and that was what he would do, he decided. He had ample funds. He would call the remainder of his band together in a couple of days, at some new headquarters—for he had a feeling that the present one was dangerous after to-night—give them their share of the money on hand, and then pack up and get out.
War-ridden Europe did not appeal to him now, but there was Japan and China and the South Seas. He’d spend a year or so touring around, taking life easy, enjoying himself, spending his money, and gloating over some of the magnificent jewels that the band had stolen and which he had claimed in his share of loot.
When the country had begun to forget the Black Star he’d reappear in some other city, organize his band again, and start his depredations anew.
It took the Black Star only a few minutes to decide this. Having decided it, he felt better. He looked down at the river, and failed to see any craft.
“I’ll go to headquarters,” the Black Star told his man. “You go on with the plane and hide it in the usual place back in the woods, and then get into town. I’ll send you word in the usual way within a couple of days where to have the men come for their share. I’m going to give up the present headquarters, for it’ll be dangerous after to-night, I am afraid. I’ll pack up and get out by noon to-morrow.”
“Verbeck’s roadster is near the front gate,” the man reminded him.
“That’s right—got to get that out of the way before daylight. You go ahead with the plane, though. I’ll get the suit cases in the house, and then run the roadster up the road and drive it into the river off the cliff.”
He turned the plane toward the shore and descended slowly. On reaching the ground the master criminal tossed the suit cases overboard, then sprang out himself.
“Good night,” he said.
“Good night, sir.”