Johnston McCulley

“ A minute of silence, then the tinkling of the bell!
"Ah; he has gone!" the Black Star spoke. "You see, Mr. Verbeck, I have the same arrangement as before. I never see the faces of these men of mine, and they never get a glance at me. We do not hear each other's voices. I gather information, plan the work, divide profits. They are faithful men who work together at my bidding. But they could not testify against me, nor I against them, in case of capture. You see?"
"Yeh?" Muggs cried. "How about the eight we caught before? They saw your face, all right!"
"My dear Muggs! ”

“ The rattling of vehicles on a busy paved street, the moaning of the wind that had been blowing a gale at the time of his abduction, the low-pitched voices of men in the room, discussing his case—the things he expected to hear—were not discernible.
Still he did not open his eyes, hoping that, if anybody was in the room, they would speak sooner or later and give him some clew to his predicament. He was breathing deeply and regularly now, his brain had cleared, and he knew the effect of the vapor he had inhaled had worn away. ”

“ You'll get more than life!"
"Meaning death, Muggs? When the time comes, my man, I'll know how to die, even if I have lo descend to suicide!"
The Black Star turned and paced the length of the room. Verbeck leaned back against the cushions on the couch, and wondered what the Black Star intended doing next. He was willing to let Muggs do the talking, while he strained his ears for some sound, and his eyes for some sight, that would reveal to him the location of the building in which they found themselves. He knew the Black Star never would let him and Muggs leave the place while conscious. ”