The Ghost Makers

Chapter XVI — A Threat Is Met

Martin Slade walked with a slight swagger as he entered the lobby of the Callao Hotel. One week ago, Barney Gleason and his mob had done their efficient work of killing Dick Terry, although Barney remarked that the Texan had fought like a steer. During that week, Slade had lived an eventful life. He was no longer Martin Slade. He had assumed the identity of James Telford, and had been welcomed back by his overjoyed father.

Slade smiled to himself as he rode upward in the elevator. He could still picture the face of Thomas Telford when he had bumped into the waiting man in the concourse of the Grand Central Station. Rajah Brahman's prediction had come true. Thomas Telford had found his missing son in a place thronged with many people.

Satisfaction governed Slade's manner as he reached the door of Rajah Brahman's apartment. Stealth was unnecessary in his visits here. Thomas Telford had brought his son to meet the famous rajah. In fact, to-night, Slade had mentioned to the old man that he was coming to express his gratitude to Rajah Brahman.

The solemn face of Imam Singh greeted the visitor. Slade was ushered into Rajah Brahman's inner sanctum. He felt a trifle uneasy as he crossed the anteroom.

Even though he knew this to be a den of fakery, the silence troubled Martin Slade. He felt as he had felt that night at Telford's, when he had fancied that invisible eyes were watching him from the darkness. Shaking off his nervousness, Slade pushed the thick curtain aside and entered the sanctum. The room was in darkness. Only the glow of Rajah Brahman's cigarette betrayed the presence of a living being.

"Hello, Bert," said Slade in a low voice.

"Hello, Slade," came the rajah's reply.

Another voice spoke quietly from the darkness.

"Good evening, James Telford," it said.

"The chief!" exclaimed Slade. "I didn't know you would be here tonight."

"There is a reason," declared the voice in the darkness. "We shall discuss that later. First, let us hear what you have to say. Then Bert can tell you what is on our minds."

"Everything is O.K. with the old boy," declared Slade. "He has fallen straight from the start. I'm so used to being called Jim, that it seems like my real name, now.

"When I blew in with that phony snapshot, the game was in the bag. Every now and then I drop some wise remark about the past. It's getting stronger and stronger every day. The old boy is taking everything for granted."

"Where is he now?" asked Rajah Brahman.

"He had to take a run down to Baltimore overnight," continued Slade. "Some trifling business with an old friend down there.

"He wanted me to go along, but I begged off. I didn't know how much the other bird might know about the past of young James Telford. Besides that, I want a chance to go through that safe while the old man's away."

"Good idea," said Rajah Brahman.

"The old man showed me his will," declared Slade, "and it's all in my favor. I didn't have a chance to read it in detail. I want to know how much he's worth. I will know to-morrow night."

"The old man will be back then?"

"Will he? You're right he will," Slade replied. "You don't think he would miss that swell seance you have scheduled, do you? He wants me to come with him. If he's late coming back from Baltimore, he'll phone me when he arrives in New York. So that's all set.

"Telford will show up, and I may be on hand as one of the fish. I'm going to get out of it if I can on account of some of the people who will be here."

"That's right," agreed the rajah, "but as James Telford, you will be O.K. if you come with the old man. It doesn't matter, though, because Mrs. Garwood is the one I'm working on to-morrow night."

"She believes everything, now?"

"Absolutely. Just waiting for a materialization of her dear husband. She's bringing a certified check for fifty thousand dollars as an endowment to my shrine in India. I happened to mention that Mrs. Furzeman was doing that, and Mrs. Garwood fell for the idea, too.

"There's just one condition — that her husband appears and tells her it is all right. He'll be here — don't worry. Tony knows his stuff, and he has the part down to perfection."

"Has she said anything about Terry?" Slade wanted to know.

"No. She's through with him. She received that letter you mailed from Washington. That stunt was A-1, Slade. It clinched the whole affair.

"If Nephew Terry didn't think enough about her to stay in New York a while, his opinion doesn't amount to anything, in her estimation!"

"And what about Dykeman?" asked Slade.

"He's fallen for the greatest stall of all," laughed the seer. "Ever since the spook of his daughter went away with those jewels, he's had an idea that money would count for something on the astral plane, too.

"He's out to supply capital to the spirit world. He's likely to sink close to half a million before he gets away from New York — in big installments, too."

"How about Coronado Copper?" questioned Slade.

"Doing nicely," interposed the quiet voice of the chief. "But if your new father begins to talk about buying stocks, shift to Mutual Industries. That's the next buy on the list. Bert is going to send word to the different cities very shortly."

There was a short silence; then the quiet voice of the man behind the spook racket spoke in a deliberate tone.

"Tell Slade about the trouble in Chicago," were the words.

"Trouble in Chicago?" questioned Slade.

"Yes," said Rajah Brahman. "Joe Cardona is out there."

"Cardona! How did he get into it?"

"We don't know. He dropped into one of Madame Plunket's seances, a few days ago. He's been coming every night since.

"She spotted him for a dick, and at last she got him placed. Sent a letter here to me. She's worried, because she was working strong in Cincinnati. She wants to know what to do about it."

"When is her next seance?"

"To-night — and she thinks Cardona will be there."

"Hm-m-m. What do you think about it, Bert?"

"I think it's the Little Flower angle, Slade," said Rajah Brahman seriously. "We've been working it too strong. It was a great racket, because it linked up one place with another, so that the visiting suckers would feel at home.

"But Jacques was using Little Flower — and that means Cardona may have heard about it. If he's traveling the whole circuit, he's liable to strike a clue that will bring him back to New York."

"To find Rajah Brahman."

"Yes. If we could get him out of the way for a couple of weeks — even for one week — I'd have time to clean up here. Then off for the tall timber of the Himalayas. The old stuff; not a trace behind me."

"It's pretty dangerous business monkeying with Cardona," began Slade.

"Here in New York, yes," interposed Rajah Brahman. "Out in Chicago, no. You know some mobsters out there, Slade. You can fix it like you did for Dick Terry.

"The stunt is to make Cardona talk. If he knows nothing, they can let him get away. If he knows a lot — curtains for him!"

"It might have a bad come-back—"

"Not on us. Cardona's working alone. He hasn't reached the end of the trail yet. What would it cost to fix it?"

"Five grand. Through Snooks Milligan."

"What do you say, chief?" asked the rajah.

"Go ahead," declared the quiet voice.

"All right," said Rajah Brahman. "You make the call, Slade. They can watch for him at Plunket's. It's only a little after eight, now. That's about seven in Chicago. Madame Plunket usually starts her seance at eight—"

His voice broke off suddenly. Rising in the dark, Rajah Brahman strode rapidly across the room and threw aside the curtain into the anteroom. He stood there, staring.

The others could see his form in the dim light that came from the anteroom. Rajah Brahman was attired in a dressing gown. In his hand he held a revolver.

"Tony," he called.

The white-clad form of Imam Singh appeared from the outer door.

"Have a gat ready," ordered Rajah Brahman. "Stay by the front door of the apartment. I've got a hunch that someone is around this place. I'm going to find out!"

As Tony departed, Rajah Brahman dropped the curtain and stepped back into the sanctum.

"I saw the curtain move," he explained quickly. "Come on — we'll make a round-up. You stay here, chief. Slade, you cut in by the seance room, I'll go through the anteroom."

Rajah Brahman's theory was incorrect. As he stood with his back toward the anteroom, a tall form clad in black emerged from beside the curtain, and moved through another entrance. It did not take the path toward the outer door where Imam Singh was on guard. Instead, it was headed directly toward the reception room. Reaching that apartment, it turned toward the seance room — the very place where Rajah Brahman intended to make search!

None of the three men in the sanctum were cognizant of what had taken place. The curtain which Rajah Brahman had dropped now obscured their view. The rajah lifted the curtain again and gave his last word to Martin Slade.

"Wait about a half a minute," he said. "Then cut into the seance room. I'm going around the other way. We'll meet there."

As the seer left on his search, Martin Slade nervously drew a revolver from his pocket. He did not like this job. He was too worried about the possible identity of that invisible presence. Could The Shadow be here?

Slade did not voice his thought, because of the chief. Steadying himself, he started toward the seance room and cautiously opened the door from the sanctum. He waited, revolver in hand, then slipped through the door.

The seance room was empty. Its indirect light showed every spot, and there was no sign of a hidden person.

A man appeared from another door. It was Rajah Brahman. He shook his head as he saw Martin Slade. Together, they searched the room.

"Guess I'm the goat," declared Rajah Brahman. "Not a chance of any one being here. I looked all around."

"How about there?"

Slade made a significant gesture toward the center of the room. Rajah Brahman laughed.

"Not a chance," he declared. "Not a chance. You're the only person outside of the chief who knows how Tony and I work. That's as safe as a solid wall. Come along — let's find Tony." They went to the entrance of the apartment and found the turbaned man awaiting them. Tony shook his head in the characteristic fashion of Imam Singh. He had seen no one.

Rajah Brahman and his companion returned to the inner sanctum. The smooth-faced seer was laughing at his own suspicions.

"Guess I'm seeing spooks myself," he declared. "I thought that curtain moved — but it must have been that something distracted my attention at the time. There's no one here. What's more, there's not going to be."

He called Tony, and the assistant received orders to keep a careful watch.

"I always get a bit keyed up when the big time is here," declared the rajah apologetically. "It's hard for you to understand my end of the game.

"You have to sell yourself when you're doing these spook stunts. Make yourself pretty near believe it. That's what makes it look sincere.

"You know what I've told you about these small-fry mediums, who think that the big shots may have genuine psychic powers. There's nothing strange about that. These dollar grafters go into fake trances so often that they begin to get woozy.

"Some of them really imagine they see real spirits. When they get that way, they're impossible. Claim they only do the fake stuff to help the spirits along. They really think they're genuine."

"And now you're getting that way?" asked Slade.

"Not quite," laughed Rajah Brahman, "but this consulting work has put me in a funny mental state. I wouldn't be surprised if I did see a real spook, some night!

"Let's drop that, now," he changed the subject. "You've got a job to do, Slade. Are you sure you can reach this gunman out in Chicago?"

"Snooks Milligan? Easy. He hangs out at the Napoli Hotel. He's in with Gallanta's crowd. They'll do anything, particularly after I feed Milligan some soft soap.

"They've been worrying about some sort of a hook-up between the police in New York and Chicago. They'll be more anxious than we are to grab Cardona, if I give them the right kind of a tip."

"Do they know anything about our racket?" Rajah Brahman's voice was apprehensive.

"Not a thing!" declared Slade. "They think I'm out for blackmail. If they find out what Cardona's there for — and they know how to do it — they'll send me all the dope. If they bump him off, so much the better."

All three men seemed in accord on this last point. Martin Slade left, and Rajah Brahman accompanied him to the door of the apartment.

This time, Slade felt no apprehension. He had no feeling that hidden eyes were watching from the dark as he passed through the anteroom.

Leaving the Callao Hotel, he went to the Grand Central Station and put in a telephone call for Chicago. He was quickly connected with "Snooks" Milligan, at the Napoli Hotel. In well-couched words, Slade explained his purpose. He phrased the conversation so that it might bring alarm to Snooks Milligan.

Leaving the phone booth, Slade started for Long Island, completely satisfied. He chuckled as he drove along. There would be trouble for Detective Joe Cardona to-night!

While Slade was riding leisurely eastward, a giant monoplane was zooming west at a speed of more than two hundred and fifty miles an hour. Its mighty wings cast a strange, moving shadow across the moonlit countryside.

At the wheel of the roaring plane was a man who laughed!