He telephoned the garage for his roadster, and hurried out to the old Verbeck place, taking with him a lineman from the telephone company’s office. The lineman connected the telephone, which had been out of service.
“How is the prisoner?” Verbeck asked Muggs after the lineman had departed.
“Down in the vegetable pit, thinking of his sins.”
“Fetch him up,” Verbeck directed, and began carrying in the food he had purchased before running out from town.
It was a surly Black Star who entered the living room, with Muggs at his heels urging him on. He no longer was handsome because of a two days’ growth of beard and dark circles under his eyes. He glared at Muggs malevolently as he crossed the room and sat down stiffly on a divan.
“How long,” he demanded of Verbeck, “are you going to keep me prisoner, with a maniac for jailer?”
“Probably until a late hour to-night. But you need not be confined in the pit again. I’m going to have Muggs keep you in this room, where it is warm and comfortable. I want to give you a bit of liberty until to-night.”
“And then?”
“Then I’ll probably hand you over to the police, and you’ll have mighty small freedom for years to come.”
“Indeed?” the Black Star snarled. “You have arranged everything, have you? Planned a coup of some sort?”