# Black Star's Subterfuge/Chapter 6

pp. 53-55.

### CHAPTER VI.
#### THE BLAZED TRAIL.

VERBECK'S feet were lashed together and his hands tied, but Roger Verbeck refused to despair in the face of even such obstacles as those.
He waited until the masked and robed figure with the vapor gun was within six feet of him, until the gun was thrown up as if to be discharged, and then, holding his breath and half closing his eyes, Verbeck sprang through the air.
It was unexpected, and he crashed against the enemy with such force as to hurl him to the floor. Verbeck regained his balance and sprang nimbly to one side, as the Black Star, growling his anger, started forward. With his lashed wrists held at arms' length before him, Verbeck hopped like a toad across the room, and brought up against the wall beside the nearest blackboard.
His brain was working as well as his muscles. Through Verbeck's mind flashed the thought that his abduction and that of Muggs, their visit to the Black Star's headquarters, their knowledge of the crime planned for that night would be of no value unless he could tell afterward where the headquarters was located. If he inhaled that pungent vapor, he would be able to tell nothing except the appearance of the room's interior.
He backed away as the Black Star and the other man approached him again, with more caution this time. They sprang toward him together, and Verbeck whirled and presented his back. He threw an elbow back sharply as he felt one of them grasp him by the shoulder, and some one grunted in sudden pain as the elbow struck into the pit of his stomach.
Both men had their hands on him now, trying to bend him backward, with die intention, Verbeck felt sure, of discharging a cloud of vapor into his face, and rendering him unconscious. Then he would be carried to the taxicab like a bag of meal, and, after a time, deposited with Muggs near home, there to regain consciousness and remember that the Black Star held Detective Riley prisoner, and that he did not know where.
He struggled as well as he could with his feet and wrists bound. He grasped the end of the blackboard and bent his head, trying to avoid the cloud of vapor he knew was coming. His hands went into the chalk box—mechanically he grasped half a dozen pieces of crayon and crushed them in his palm.
A sudden wrench, and they bore him backward, working roughly and without speaking. Verbeck saw the vapor gun presented at his face, and caught his breath. The trigger was pressed; vapor filled the air about him.
Verbeck held his breath. He staggered backward, the Black Star still clinging to him. Foot by foot, pretending to grow weaker, he stumbled from the wall and the vapor cloud, fighting himself to keep from taking a breath.
At the same time he turned actor—his eyes fluttered, he grew limp, did everything to give the men who gasped him the idea that the vapor had done its work. It seemed that his lungs would burst. Red streaks flashed before his eyes. And then—carefully, slowly—he let air into his nostrils, hoping that the danger was over.
"That fixed him!"
The Black Star broke a rule and spoke in the presence of one of his men, but in a low voice not like his own. They let Verbeck slip down to the floor. He continued his acting, but his eyes did not close entirely. He was breathing regularly now, yet carefully and not deeply. And the rough his half-closed eyes he watched the vapor gun, fearing it would be turned against him again, that he would be caught off guard and inhale the sleep-producing gas.
The Black Star clapped his hands and hurried to the blackboard. Verbeck heard the squeak of the crayon as he wrote, but could not see what was being written without turning his head, and he did not dare do that.
The man who had used the vapor gun bent and took the bonds from Verbeck's wrists and ankles. He caught Verbeck under the arms from behind, and lifted him gently and carried him toward the door. He threw the door open.
They were in the dark, narrow hallway now, and the door was closed behind them. Verbeck's captor was dragging him along, and Verbeck continued to pretend unconsciousness, allowing his dead weight to rest upon the other man's shoulder. They made a turn, and there another man waited.
"Got him?" he whispered.
"Yes—he put up a scrap. Wait until I get this gown and mask off."
The chauffeur held Verbeck, while the other removed the regalia. Then they took him along the narrow corridor toward the door.
Verbeck did not know what instant they would discover he was conscious and use the vapor gun again to better advantage. He remembered the chalk he still held in one fist. A few chalk marks might serve as a trail and point the way to the Black Star's den.
He moved his fingers until he held one of the sticks of crayon in position for writing. He managed to lurch against the wall—and left a long, white mark.
They made another turn, went up a short flight of steps. Verbeck made more marks. A door was opened, and the cold night air struck them. Outside, Verbeck saw a littered factory yard, with a gate in the distance, and a taxicab waiting before it at the curb.
Verbeck continued his acting as they half carried him across the yard to the gate, and there they propped him against the wall for a moment, while the chauffeur glanced up and down the street, and started the engine. And when they carried him forward again, Verbeck had left on the gatepost and the wall beside it a series of crosses marked with chalk.
They readied the cab. Verbeck managed to break off a small piece of crayon and grind it beneath one heel, leaving a white blotch on the dirty walk. They tossed him inside—and he lurched across the unconscious Muggs and fell against the opposite door. The window was open, and Verbeck managed to fall on the seat in such fashion that the hand holding the chalk was extended a few inches out of the window.
The chauffeur sprang to his seat; the other man entered the cab and closed the door; the vehicle started away.
Now Verbeck's every sense was alert, though he continued to pretend unconsciousness. Born and reared in this city as he was, yet he did not recognize the locality from what he saw through the window of the cab. He could guess what part of the city it was in, but that was all. And there was going to be no time to waste if the Black Star's headquarters was to be raided in time to prevent the gold theft. It was essential that Verbeck be able to lead police to the scene as speedily as possible.
There would be no time to search fifteen or twenty blocks for some certain abandoned factory building, when possibly there were a score of such buildings within that area. And a search would warn the Black Star. There could be but one way to success—a direct and unexpected descent upon the master crook's den.
Verbeck noticed that the pavement was rough—cobblestones, evidently. He could see little of the buildings he was passing, because of the dark. At the first corner he noticed an empty, one-story store with boarded windows. Beside it was a billboard flaunting a glaring soap advertisement. These things Verbeck remembered.
He counted the blocks until the taxi made the first turn, and there, beneath the arclight on the corner, he dropped a piece of chalk to the street. He was trying to remember the trail, also to mark it.
And, at the same time, his brain was active in quite another direction. He wondered whether he should attempt to overpower this man sitting beside him, and the chauffeur, and make an effort to turn these two of the Black Star's band over to the police. That done, he could call for help and lead the way back to the master criminal's headquarters, possibly capture him at work, and rescue Riley.
But the chances of failure were too great, the percentage was against Verbeck. Suppose he tried it, and failed? Then the vapor gun would come forth again, he would be rendered unconscious in truth, and left near home with Muggs, and. not having marked the trail, would be unable to lead a squad of police to the Black Star's place. It was best, Verbeck decided, to continue his acting and try to remember the trail.
Whenever the taxi turned a corner, Verbeck dropped more chalk. He also was trying to remember the number of blocks between the turns, and he was gaining some sense of location now. On and on the taxi dashed, until it reached the retail district. Verbeck identified a corner; he was not forced to remember anything more now—he could begin the back trail there.
Again he considered whether to attack the man beside him. But he decided against it again. If he did, and failed, the Black Star would be warned that he had not been unconscious, and escape. If he allowed himself to be put out near home with Muggs, he could hurry to the house, inform the police, and begin the effort to frustrate the Black Star's plans and capture him and some of his band.
The taxi sped along a boulevard, made another turn, and lurched toward the curb. They were within three blocks of the Verbeck place now, and here giant maple trees lined the street, casting great shadows. It was an ideal place to drop unconscious men without being observed.
The taxicab stopped. Verbeck heard the man beside him laugh lightly to himself. And then——
Why hadn't he anticipated it? He might have guessed the Black Star's man would use the vapor gun again before putting him out of the cab with Muggs, for fear they might awake too soon and create a disturbance before the taxi got away! Why hadn't he been on guard, ready to hold his breath again, and act as before?
His senses whirled. Dimly he remembered the chalk trail—the corner from which he was to start—that the possible capture of the Black Star and the immediate rescue of Riley depended on his memory—and there was something about a hundred thousand in gold——
His head fell forward—he seemed to hear a voice in the distance—and then the dreamless sleep came to him as it had come to Muggs!