HE 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.