“There, Mr. Black Star!” he said. “It has been an exciting night. You sent a man to invade my apartment, and in turn I invaded your place of business—I suppose that is what you’d call it—and made you prisoner, with the aid of this very good friend of mine. And now you are here—and I’m quite sure you don’t know just where. And here you’ll remain for the time being, until I form some plans and put them in operation. You’ll be kept warm, and you’ll have food. Muggs will guard you. And you’ll be unable to escape.”
“All very clever,” the Black Star retorted. “But you are playing with fire, Mr. Verbeck, and are liable to be badly scorched.”
“I’ll run the risk of that.”
“Remember, I told you my organization has a long arm. I’m storing all this up against you.”
“Very kind of you, I’m sure.” He turned to Muggs. “How do you want to work this thing?” he asked.
“Just let him fuss around with his hands tied, boss,” Muggs said. “I’ll get a strap or some rope from the closet and tie ’em properly. And if he tries any funny tricks I’ll either shoot him or pound him on the head with the butt of the gun—’tis immaterial. You can leave it to me, boss.”
And Verbeck knew by the expression of Muggs’ face that he could.
[CHAPTER VI—AN UNPROFITABLE AFTERNOON]
Verbeck put his car in the garage, returned to his apartment and slept. He awakened at eleven o’clock, rushed through bath and breakfast, got the car out again, purchased groceries, and whirled away toward the old house.
There he found Muggs pacing back and forth, with the pistol in his hand, reading the Black Star a lecture on the evils of a nefarious existence. The Black Star looked disgusted.