gradually surrounding the house, except in front, where it was brilliantly lighted.
And suddenly the lights in the house went out!
Feminine shrieks, boisterous laughter, jests came from those within. To them it was a joke—a fuse burned out at a critical time. Branniton called upon his servants to ascertain the cause of the trouble immediately and remedy it.
Then, as suddenly as they had been extinguished, the lights came on again. The waiter had manipulated the switch in the basement as the Black Star had instructed.
Mrs. Richard Branniton's guests shrieked in alarm now. The doors had been closed; the shades had been drawn at the windows. And before each door and window stood a man dressed in a black robe, with a black mask over his face. Each one so dressed held a weapon menacingly before him.
A voice from the hallway caused them to turn. They saw a tall man dressed in a robe, his face covered with a mask—and on the hood of his robe was a flaming star of jet.
"Do not make a move, ladies and gentlemen!" he cried. "I am the Black Star, and these are my men! We will use violence if we are forced to do so, though we'd rather not. I may mention that the few detectives you had in the house have been taken care of, and you are absolutely at our mercy. The telephone wires are cut, too. We are here to make a collection of rare jewels and ornaments, and to carry away with us three men."
"You crook!" Branniton cried, rushing toward him.
The Black Star raised his arm. A vapor gun
