They started back down the narrow stairs. As they reached the second floor they heard Muggs’ voice, coming to them weakly, as if from a great distance, and with a note of pain in it.
“Boss! Boss!”
Four steps at a time Verbeck took that last flight, with Riley two jumps behind him. They rushed through the living room and into the kitchen. They saw Muggs reeling toward them from the door, staggering toward the table, trying to hold one hand to his head.
“Muggs! Muggs! What is it?” Verbeck cried, grasping him by the arm. “You’re hurt, man! Your head’s bloody! You——”
“Look! His forehead!” Riley cried.
On Muggs’ forehead was a tiny black star!
[CHAPTER XIX—SUSPICION]
Muggs apparently was making an effort to speak, but could not collect his wits. Blood was flowing from a wound on the back of his head. He staggered again, and would have fallen had not Verbeck helped him to a chair. Riley, preferring effective methods to kindness, grasped a pail of water and dashed the contents of the pail in Muggs’ face.
“What happened?” the detective demanded.
Muggs sputtered and spat, and sat more erect.