He watched him as he removed coat and vest and took off his shoes and donned a pair of slippers. And then he crept softly across the room, unlocked the door that led to the hall, and slipped out.
Foot by foot he made his way along the hall, and noiselessly, for he had removed his shoes. He reached the door of the room where Black Star slept, and crept inside and went across to the other door, and there, crouching at one side, he waited.
The Black Star finished undressing and put on a pair of gorgeous pajamas. Then he turned off the light and started for his couch. He passed through the door.
And then he gasped in surprise and alarm, tottered, tried to curse, and fell forward unconscious into the arms of the other man, a victim of his own vapor gun.
The man who had caused his downfall laughed aloud now and ran to the lamp to light it again. From a corner he carried ropes and bound the unconscious man securely. He gagged him, too, and propped him up in a chair and tied him in it with ropes.
Then he whirled toward the trapdoor beneath the rug, and managed to get it open. He lifted out the suit cases and other boxes in which valuables had been stored.
“Money, securities, and jewels!” he said. “I guess I’ll just take care of these, Mr. Black Star!”
He laughed again, half in relief and half in pure joy, and then he rushed across to the telephone. For the second time that night he called a number—the number of police headquarters. And then he gave a startling message.
[CHAPTER XXXVI—IN CUSTODY]
When the Black Star opened his eyes he saw a peculiar-looking individual before him, scarcely half a dozen feet away, who held an automatic pistol in his hand in a threatening manner. This individual was dressed in greasy overalls and jumper, and had a soft hat pulled down low over his forehead. The collar of his jumper was turned up so that scarcely any of the face could be seen except the eyes. His hands were dirty; his hair was black and long, and apparently needed cutting badly.