He grinned at the prisoner and ripped the envelope open. In it was a single sheet of paper. The letter, too, was printed, and its uneven lines showed that it had been stamped one letter at a time. It was similar in appearance to the letters the newspapers declared the police had received. Verbeck read it swiftly:
Mr. Roger Verbeck: Last night at a certain reception people were talking of the Black Star. You made the remark that the Black Star was not a crook, but a gang—that the police didn’t catch him because they had so many cases on which to work that they couldn’t give their undivided attention to any particular one. You declared that any clever man who applied himself to the task could capture the Black Star and break up his gang. You boasted that you could do it yourself, and easily.
To show you how useless it would be for you to pit your brains and skill against mine, I am putting this letter on your desk while you sleep in an adjoining room, and am leaving my sign on some of your belongings. I am even putting a black star in your bed within a foot of the spot where you rest your head while you are sleeping. After this exhibition, either admit that the Black Star is clever, or do as you boasted you could do—catch me.
“Read it, Muggs,” said Verbeck, guarding the prisoner himself as Muggs obeyed. “What do you think of that, eh? Intended us to wake up and find these things stuck all over the place! Trying to show us how very clever he is, this naughty Black Star, and we catch him at it. There’ll be joy at police headquarters over this. Now you just keep your eyes on this gentleman, Muggs, while I get into my clothes, and then we’ll continue the entertainment.”
Verbeck hurried to the dressing room, leaving Muggs on guard, and dressed as swiftly as possible. He carried a topcoat and cap to a chair near the door of the bedroom, and then he hurried over to the bed.
The Black Star had done as he had said. On the head of the bed was one of the little signs, and whoever had placed it there had put his hand within six inches of Verbeck’s head. The man in the other room, Verbeck decided, had done that first, then gone into the library to finish his work.
Verbeck hurried back and relieved Muggs.
“Go and get into your clothes,” he ordered, “and then hurry back here. I’ll try to entertain our guest while you are gone.”
He drew up a chair and sat down, facing the prisoner, and less than six feet away. He was humming a tune, and there was a smile playing about his lips. Had the prisoner been well acquainted with Roger Verbeck that smile would have put him on guard.
Verbeck already had formed a plan. He and Muggs understood each other well, thanks to sundry adventures in which they had participated in the four corners of the earth, and he knew that Muggs even now was reading the note he had scrawled hurriedly and left on the dressing table, and would act accordingly.
“The Black Star—well, well!” he exclaimed, grinning at his prisoner again. “And so you are the clever crook?”