Muggs jerked open the door, rushed through the furnished room, and entered the hall.
“Boss! Boss!” he hissed.
Verbeck was just recoiling from the outer door. He closed it as noiselessly as he could and hurried back.
“Boss!”
“That you, Muggs?”
“Yes. That devil worked a trick on me—he got away. He intended to come here and get money, then hurry out of town. I—I telephoned the police, boss, to come here, and I came myself to identify him. I didn’t know that——”
“All right, Muggs. I understand. You did right.”
“But I let him trick me—and the cops are here. If they catch you they’ll think you’re the Black Star.”
Verbeck realized that even better than Muggs. If the capture was made at the big hall, and the prisoners questioned—as they would be, and mercilessly—Faustina Wendell and her brother, under the strain, might give evidence that would convict him.
“We’ve got to get away, boss!”