# Black Star's Subterfuge/Chapter 8

pp. 60-63.

### CHAPTER VIII.
#### THE VOICE OF DESPERATION.

THE chief crept slowly along the fence until he stood beside Verbeck and Muggs.
"They're on to us!" he exclaimed. "They must have had somebody watching. Afraid Riley had given the tip before he was caught, I suppose. Now we've got to smoke 'em out!"
Shots came at intervals from some of the windows, and now and then one of the detectives fired in return. The chief spoke a few rapid words to the chauffeur, and in an instant the machine was tearing down the street, the siren shrieking.
"Told him to send in an alarm!" the chief explained. "No use trying to handle this thing by ourselves, Verbeck. We'll have a sweet time getting in there—but we've got 'em! Thank Heaven, it's an easy place to surround, and if they try to come out, we'll get every last one of them. This will be the end of the Black Star. But I'm afraid for Riley, if he's still in there. These smooth crooks are always the worst when they get cornered. They forget they're human. I wouldn't put it past the Black Star to do for old Riley, if he finds he's up against a losing game."
More shots from the windows—then a lull! It was somewhat of a ticklish situation. Here were five men guarding the four sides of the building, and it was impossible to say how many were inside. If the master criminal and his men made a rush, some of them might escape.
Crouching nervously in the shadows of the fence, the five waited, straining their ears to hear sounds that would tell of the coming of a police machine. Minutes passed, and there came no rush of determined and desperate men from the building. Verbeck remembered the Black Star's cleverness—began wondering whether there was some sort of underground passage through which he could lead his men to safety.
Again a fusillade of shots, and he knew they still were in the building. Did the fusillade herald a rush for freedom? Gripping their weapons, those near the fence waited, but the rush did not come.
And then, from far down the street, came the shrieks of a siren, rapidly drawing nearer. The chief gave a sigh of relief. He left Verbeck and Muggs and hurried through the gate and to the curb. The machine turned the nearest corner and dashed up to him, and half a dozen police sprang out.
Another siren in the distance—another machine. The chief had reinforcements of some fifteen men now. He explained the situation rapidly, sent his men to surround the building. When those inside fired again, they drew a volley in reply.
"Give it to 'em hot for a while," the chief passed the word. "We won't try any rushes yet—can't be losing men. Get too much criticism—and it isn't necessary. Make it so hot they can't stay near the windows. Give it to 'em!"
From all four sides of the factory building volleys were poured at windows and doors; and from the windows came answering shots, now in twos and threes, now with such rapidity that it seemed at least a score of men were on the defensive there.
"How many crooks has he got with him, do you suppose?" the chief asked.
"That is what puzzles me," Verbeck admitted. "According to his usual methods, there never are more than two or three men besides himself at the headquarters at any one time."
"Well, it looks to me like there's a couple of dozen in there now!"
"Perhaps," Verbeck offered, "we caught them just at the right time to nab quite a number. According to what was written on the blackboards, six men were to steal the gold, and they may be there for final orders. There may have been other crimes contemplated for to-night, too. Or, it is possible there is a grand gathering of the band for a distribution of money from other thefts. I have ceased to be surprised at anything unusual connected with the Black Star."
"Well, we've got him now!" the chief said. "It will be the same old story of police besieging desperate men barricaded in a building. They'll hold us off just so long, and then we'll get in. And I'll bet we find him a suicide when we do."
"He made the remark to-night that when the time came he would know how to die, even if he had to descend to suicide."
"There you are! Those smooth crooks always do that—can't stand the thought of prison. Well, we'll end his work anyway; we'll get him—either dead or alive."
There came another lull in the battle, and then another volley from the windows. From one side of the building came a shriek of pain.
"Barton's hit!" the word traveled along the line to the chief. "He's got it bad—through the breast!"
The chief sent orders to have the man removed and hurried to a hospital.
"That's the thing I'm afraid of," he confided to Verbeck. "I want to get the Black Star, but I don't want to lose men. And those fiends in the factory, if they think they're cornered, will shoot to kill."
Another shriek of pain from the side of the building. The chief muttered a curse as he slipped away, following the fence, going to see what man of his had been wounded now.
"How long they goin' to keep this up, boss?" Muggs whispered to Verbeck.
"They are cornered, Muggs, and you know what that means. I suppose they'll keep it up until the Black Star is dead, and the others decide to surrender and take their medicine rather than to die. I'm sorry about this. I had hoped the three of us would get the Black Star alone, without gun play."
"Why don't they go in and get 'em?" Muggs demanded, with a tinge of disgust in his tone.
"It could be done, but we might lose men," Verbeck said. "They can't leave the building without facing police guns—and we're sure to get them in time. The chief intends to batter at them, wear them down, then make a rush when they realize they are losing the fight. They'd fight twice as desperately now, at the beginning of the battle, as they will later, when their nerves are on edge and the truth of the situation dawns on them."
"Then we're just goin' to stand off and fight long distance?" Muggs said. "If we'd get in the building, we'd end it quicker."
"I realize that, Muggs. But between the shadows of this fence and the nearest door is a patch of bright moonlight fifty feet wide. Why take chances in that bright moonlight when, by playing a waiting game, we win without such grave chances? Eh?"
"Well—you see, boss—Riley is in there."
"I—I realize that, too, Muggs."
"And Riley is a good scout. I had a little run-in with him once, when I thought he believed I wasn't square, but I'm strong for him now."
"I understand, Muggs."
"And he had a nerve comin' in the headquarters like he did, in that mask and robe—and he did it to help us out, I'll bet, as much as to get the Black Star."
"You want to make a rush for it and get in the factory? Is that it, Muggs?"
"Well, I'd take a chance, boss, to help Riley. This game belongs to the three of us, anyway—the police are just backin' us up, you might say."
The chief slipped back to them through the shadows.
"I got a little of that conversation," he said. "It would be foolish to make such an attempt now. We'd just have more men in there in trouble. Why, I've known Riley for years—knew him before I ever got in the department. I'd be the first man to go across that patch of moonlight, if I thought it would help."
"Well——" Muggs said.
"We'd walk into trouble. We can tell there's from a dozen to a score of men in there, and they're desperate, ready to die with their boots on like the old-time bandits did. Suppose two or three of us did get across that moonlight and get in the building. We might whip the dozen or score, and again we might not. And, if I order a rush now, I'm going to lose men. I don't want to do that. We'll just batter away at them for a time first. I've sent for searchlights."
"Searchlights?" Verbeck gasped.
"I can connect with a power wire at the corner of the alley. We'll flood every window with light, so not a man will dare get in one of them to shoot. And then, when the proper time comes, we'll rush and get into the building. I've sent for more men, too."
"More men?" Verbeck asked.
"Exactly—more men! Two of my men are down now, and one of them is liable to die. Nothing in this town is as important, right now, as getting the Black Star, no matter whether we arrest him or kill him trying to. We've got him cornered—we know that. He's got some of his gang with him. And the police department drops everything else until we finish this! All the reserves are coming. Every policeman in the city now on duty is getting orders to report here as soon as possible when he pulls a box. I'm stripping the town of police to throw a police army around this block. It'll never be said we had him surrounded and that he got away. Here's where we finish the Black Star."
"If news of this is scattered around town——" Verbeck began.
"It is scattered around town already. The call for the reserves scattered it. There'll be extra editions of the papers on the street in another quarter hour, or I'll miss a guess. And then we'll have a mob down here—several thousand fools who want to see the scrap, and won't have any more sense than to try to see it at close range. I want men to handle the fool mob as well as surround the block."
There came another lull in the firing. No flashes of flame showed at the windows. On the outside, the police refilled weapons and waited, half expecting a delayed rush, ready to close in and balk an attempt at escape.
An instant of comparative silence—and in that instant a voice—deep, striking, staccato—that seemed to come from the interior of the factory, but could be heard plainly.
"No quarter!" it cried. "We're cornered! Die game! Get as many as you can! They'll never get me alive!"
A confused murmur came as if in answer.
"Good!" the voice cried. "That's the boys! Make every shot count! after them!"
Another fusillade of shots from the windows, and answering volleys from the police!
Verbeck bent close to the chief so that the latter could hear him above the din.
"That was the Black Star!" he said. "You were right—he'll die with his boots on! And he'll get as many of us as he can before he dies!"