And an irate Roger Verbeck strode from the telephone booth, went out to the street, and sprang into his car to drive furiously down the thoroughfare. No excited chief of police could bully him with a lot of mandatory questions, he told himself. Let them fuss and fume for a time, then they'd listen when he telephoned.

His actions had the desired effect. At police headquarters there was a spirited debate for five minutes between the chief and his secretary as to whether the telephone communication had come from some practical joker. The secretary was inclined to believe that it had. The chief insisted that some member of the Black Star's band had turned against him and was engineering his downfall.

Verbeck drove on through the streets until he reached the Wendell apartment house. Faustina was waiting for him, and again Verbeck noticed that anxiety was stamped on her face, and now he thought there was a look of fear also.

"Well, here we are," he said. "And what about the ball?"

"I-I have decided to go," she said, looking at him peculiarly.

"Brother Howard going, too?"

"Yes-he is going."

"With any particular young lady?"

"No-alone."

"Good! Will you be angry, Faustina, if I ask you to go to the ball with Howard? I cannot explain just now, but-well, I'll be there late, in time to have a couple of dances and bring you home. I'm sorry that I cannot explain exactly-it is something important that will keep me away until late."

He looked up, to find her staring at him fixedly.

"Why-what is the matter?" he stammered.

"I-oh, Roger, it is nothing!"

He sat down beside her and started to take her in his arms, but she drew away from him.

"Why, Faustina--"

"I'm-oh, I'm just a bit nervous, Roger."

"There seemed to be something troubling you yesterday, and there certainly is to-day," he said. "Can't you confide in me, Faustina? Is there anything wrong-anything I can do to help?"

"Nothing you can do-to help," she said.

"Then there is something wrong?"

"Don't ask me, please, Roger. I'm nervous, worried. Just let me rest until to-night-I'll try to be all right then. Certainly I'll go to the ball with Howard-and expect you later. And now you'll go, won't you, Roger? I must lie down-and rest."

The puzzled Verbeck walked slowly to the door, Faustina following him.

He took her in his arms and kissed her. She did not return the caress, and she seemed on the verge of tears.

"Don't worry," he said softly.

"You tell me not to worry."

"Why, yes. Perhaps whatever is troubling you will cease to trouble.

We'll talk of it to-night? You'll let me help you?"

"Yes," she said, "we'll talk of it to-night. We must talk of it to-night."

Verbeck hurried out, got into the car, and started for the business district. Faustina's actions and manner worried him, yet his mind was busy with the Black Star and his affair. Once the Black Star and his band of crooks were handed over to the police he'd look into Faustina's trouble, he told himself. Perhaps Howard was running about too much. Perhaps there was financial trouble in the family. Whatever it was, he'd smooth things out, he promised. He couldn't have Faustina worrying.

He drove carefully now through the heavy traffic, and finally stopped before a hotel. There he entered a public telephone booth, and called police headquarters again. Once more he got the chief on the wire.

"Will you listen now, and ask no questions?" he demanded. "This is no hoax, so you'd better act on my tip."

Then he told the chief where the members of the Black Star's band could be captured, and when and how.

CHAPTER IX-"CHICKENS COME HOME TO ROOST"

That evening there came the heavy winds again. They came as night descended, to howl about buildings and shriek through the streets, carrying the merest suggestion of snow. They swayed the arc lights, rattled signs, and shook skeletons of trees. And then they settled down to a steady blow from the north, and soft snow began to fall heavily. And through the steady sheet of snow gleamed thousands upon thousands of incandescent bulbs at the big hall where the Charity Ball was to be held.

That hall had been built to hold thousands, and its capacity would be tested this night. On the dancing floor would be women famous in society, stately matrons, pretty girls enjoying their first social season. Gowns to dazzle would be shown by hundreds, and jewels-precious and famous jewels-would flash reflection from myriads of electric lights-jewels taken from safe-deposit boxes to be worn at this affair, and then to be returned to their hiding places.

The galleries would be filled with spectators; a gigantic orchestra would please musical ears; in the streets outside, hundreds of limousines would be waiting for the end.

Verbeck was thinking of the scene at the big hall as he drove his roadster out to the old place again shortly after ten o'clock that night. He had intended going to the old house earlier, but had been delayed in carrying out his plans. And now everything was done-there was nothing more to do except await the appointed hour, call police headquarters, ascertain that the members of the Black Star's band were in jail, and then turn over the Black Star himself. He would have a good excuse to escape the plaudits of the police and reporters at headquarters-he would have to hurry to the big hall to dance with his fiancee and escort her to her home.

The gates were open, and Verbeck sent the car through and along the driveway, and brought it to a stop where it would be shielded by the corner of the house from the swirling snow.

When he entered the living room, the Black Star was sitting on the divan in the corner, and Muggs was pacing back and forth before him, still preaching on the merits of an honest existence as compared to a life of thievery.

"Everything is lovely, boss," he reported to Verbeck. "This gent has been getting restless, but he hasn't made a move he shouldn't. I've been hoping he would-I haven't taken a pot shot at a man in ages."

"We'll have no carnage, Muggs," said Verbeck, laughing. "We want to hand him over entire, not in pieces. Give me that pistol, and I'll watch the gentleman while you untie his hands and fasten them again in front instead of behind his back. I'm going to give him a cigar to smoke; he'll need it to quiet his nerves."

Muggs did as he was ordered, and the Black Star accepted the cigar with good grace and puffed at it with evident enjoyment.

"Do we call the police now, boss?" Muggs asked.

"Not yet, Muggs."

"You and I have done a lot of things, boss, in all corners of the world," he said in a whisper, so the Black Star could not hear. "When you feel that you can't hold in any longer, you make me stop being a valet, and let me be a comrade, and we go out after adventure. It's always been all right. But, about this thing-- Boss, I told you I had a hunch."

"I'm afraid your hunch isn't working well this time, Muggs. The thing has been accomplished. I'm merely waiting here until the police make a move I requested them to make, and then we'll surrender the Black Star. It hasn't been so very much of an adventure, after all, has it, old man? There hasn't been much excitement-not what we call excitement."

"I'll not be satisfied until the police have their hands on him, boss."

"Neither shall I. But nothing is going to happen, Muggs, to bother us.

Keep that hunch of yours until another time."

Muggs resumed his guard of the prisoner, and, though he asked Verbeck nothing concerning the plans he had made, there was a question in the expression of his face. Verbeck lighted a cigar for himself, and sat down not far from the Black Star. He looked at his watch.