"Tell the mechanic to be ready to start in ten minutes."
The servant hurried out. The Black Star glanced into his memorandum book again, and paced the floor, now and then looking at the little clock on the table. After a time, the servant returned.
"The mechanic is ready, sir," he reported.
"Good. Take care of Muggs while I am gone, but do not pester him so long as he is a good boy."
"He'd better not pester me!" Muggs growled.
The Black Star wrapped his robe closely around him, and put on the heavy ulster over it. He looked at Muggs once more, his eyes glittering through the mask. Then he chuckled, and hurried through the door.
Muggs threw himself full length on the couch and glared at the man who acted as the master rogue's servant.
"I'm gettin' mighty tired of this," he complained. "The eats are all right, and I suppose I hadn't ought to kick, but it ain't nice to have your wrists tied together all the time."
"If you're schemin' to get me to unfasten 'em, you ain't goin' to work the scheme, I can tell you that!" the servant declared. "Them wrists of yours stay just as they are, far as I'm concerned."
"You'd better never let me get 'em loose!" Muggs warned him.
"You wouldn't do much if they were."
"Is that so? I could separate you into sections in about ten minutes!" Muggs told him.
The servant laughed, sat down at the end of the table, and started to smoke. Muggs glared at him,
