IT was the last night in Burnsville. Business was good in the Ten-in-One. Zoda was working with his newly arranged platform. He was the big attraction in the sideshow. Wearing a turban above his full dress suit, the mind reader was holding the crowd with his marvels.
“Whisper a question to any of your friends,” he told the throng. “Let them be ready to confirm the thought that is in your mind. That is all I ask, as I stand here upon my small platform. Proceed—”
Zoda indicated a lady in the audience. The woman spoke in the ear of a man beside her. A suave smile appeared upon Zoda’s lips, as his eyes met the woman’s gaze.
“That gentleman is your husband, madame,” announced the mind reader. “You mentioned the name of your child and wondered if I could catch the thought. The child is a girl. Her name is Myrtle.”
A buzz passed among the spectators as the woman’s gasp showed that Zoda’s answer had been correct. The mind reader turned to a man who was standing by himself.
“Choose someone,” ordered Zoda. “Tell that person your name — the date of your birth — any bit of information that you care to give. I shall divine the thought.”
Thus speaking, Zoda turned to pick up a crystal ball from its pedestal. Staring into the clear sphere, he announced:
“You are thinking of your birthday, sir. September the twelfth, 1897. You are also concentrating upon your name. Since you have mentioned it to the person beside you, I shall announce it. Your name is Herbert” — Zoda polished the crystal — “Herbert Ranger.”
The man nodded. There was further buzz. Zoda singled out more persons and answered their questions. Then as Cap Guffy signaled from beside Princess Marxia’s pit, Zoda produced his supply of books and began to sell them to the crowd.
One man remained after the others had passed along. It was Cliff Marsland. He had come into the Ten-in-One as a shill. He had also started the book sale by making one of the first purchases. He was reading his horoscope as he stood by one of the pillars that Zoda had set up in front of the platform. The mind reader, up on the platform, was arranging his books on a table at the rear curtain.
“The password went around.” Cliff moved his lips in a faint whisper. “Everybody in the circle sent it along. The word was ‘pyramid.’ I don’t know what it was for, or who was supposed to act on account of it. But I think it went to some of the fake roughnecks.”
Cliff thrust the horoscope book into his pocket and strolled along past Marxia’s pit.
EVERY word that he had whispered had reached The Shadow’s ears. For Zoda, the mind reader, was wearing a pair of earphones in his turban.
Wires ran beneath his suit to metal plates on his shoes. These formed contact with copper nails in the platform. The nails, in turn, were connected by wires to microphones in the pillars out in front of the platform. The tiniest whisper from near those pillars was audible to the mind reader.
This was the secret of the startling act that The Shadow had performed in the guise of Zoda. He had arranged the hook up while the Ten-in-One was empty. But his work had not stopped with the placing of the microphones in the pillars.
Along the ground ran other wires. One terminated in a mike by Marxia’s pit; another was set beneath Luke’s platform; the third was under the little stage where Cleed was resting. Thus The Shadow was ready to hear anything that the conspirators might say.
He knew that the word had been passed along. Just after the first show, he had caught a low grunt from Cleed. Luke had left his platform to sneak to Marxia. Both had spoken — individually — to lounging roughnecks who had worked as shills.
Hence Cliff’s report had been unnecessary. It had told The Shadow neither more nor less than he had already heard. No one had given any explanation for the word “pyramid.” It had merely been started along the chain, through Luke and Marxia, at the instigation of Cleed.
A roughneck was approaching Luke’s platform. Zoda moved away from the table with the books. He sat down in a chair and let his feet rest upon a definite spot. Words clicked through the earphones, muffled by the protecting turban. The roughneck was talking to Luke.
“I’ve got a job for you,” the roughneck was saying.
“Tattooing?” questioned Luke.
“Sure.” The roughneck laughed. “That’s your work, ain’t it? Get busy. I’m the first, I guess.”
“What kind of a design?”
“Anything. Only make it quick. And spread it over this red circle.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Say — ain’t you in the know?”
“Sure thing.” Luke laughed. “Only I got to look like I’m surprised, ain’t I?”
The buzz of the electric needle began. The smile showed on Zoda’s thin lips. The Shadow knew from Cliff’s previous report that tonight’s plans were between Croaker Zinn and certain mobsters whom he had probably prepared in advance. The chosen ones were the only members of the circle who had understood the meaning of “pyramid.” They were following instructions. For some reason, they were having the red circles obliterated.
A few minutes later, Cap Guffy came along the line, followed by Princess Marxia. He noticed that Zoda had become suddenly busy with his books. Cap passed the mind reader’s platform. He stopped to watch Luke at work on the tattoo job.
“Go ahead, Luke,” decided Guffy. “I was going to use you on the bally stand; but since you’re doing a job, you can stay here.”
CAP moved along to Cleed’s platform. Zoda, obscured by a curtain, promptly moved to a new location. The conversation that followed was audible through the earphones. It was an odd conversation, for Cap Guffy was the lone speaker. He was talking to Cleed and the answers from the pasty-faced man were nothing more than weary signs with his head.
“Come on, Cleed. I’ll use you on the bally… What’s that?… No?… When I say come along, you come along… Don’t want to, eh? Well — I get the idea. You’re supposed to be too dopey to get up… That’s right. You gave me the nod that time… Well, keep on nodding. Get off that cot. You can act like you are a hop-head when you’re on the bally platform… Still saying no, eh? Listen. I’ll call a couple of punks and have them grab you when you start to collapse. It’ll look good… Yes? That’s better. Come along.”
Zoda was looking from his platform when Cap Guffy conducted Cleed toward the front of the tent. The Cigarette Fiend was leaning heavily on Cap’s shoulder. Cap was talking to him as they walked along. Cap’s words, however, were inaudible to The Shadow, for they had passed the range of the microphone.
Luke had finished his tattoo job when the acts came back from the bally platform. Cleed had evidently pulled his collapse stunt, for two roughnecks were carrying him into the tent. Customers were buying tickets in frantic haste, anxious to see what had happened to Cleed.
The roughnecks dropped their burden on the army cot. One of them sauntered away. The other climbed up on Luke’s platform. Again, the earphones served The Shadow. This fellow wanted a new design to cover up the red circle. He was showing Luke a butterfly design on his right forearm. He wanted it matched with one on the left.
THE show went on. Luke paused in his tattooing to display his pictured back to the crowd while Cap Guffy lectured at the platform. Then, as the throng moved along, Luke resumed his work. When the round had been completed, Cap bellowed out for Marxia and Zoda to come out for a new bally.
The snake charmer brought along a pair of bull snakes. Zoda looked impressive with turban and crystal ball. Cap, as an afterthought, added Cleed and instructed the fake freak to “do another flop.”
Luke was again eliminated. He had finished with his second customer; but a third had promptly arrived. The bally finished; and another show went on. The procedure continued. When the last show was in progress, Luke had supplied five roughnecks with new tattoo marks to cover their red circles.
Cliff Marsland was a shill on the last show. He lingered in front of Zoda’s platform and whispered his report into the mike. Cliff had been watching the roughnecks along the midway. He had not witnessed the tattooing done by Luke.
“Five of the mob have slipped out,” informed Cliff. “I watched them pull away in an old car. I don’t know what they’re up to.”
There was no response from Zoda. Cliff went back to the midway. He was needed at the circus tent, for roughnecks were getting ready to pull down the big top and load it for tonight’s jump.
A recent message from The Shadow had instructed Cliff to pass his information to Zoda. Hence Cliff had a hunch that Zoda and The Shadow were the same. He realized that to play his part successfully, The Shadow had been forced to let the five mobsters embark upon their trip. Cliff, however, could see purpose in The Shadow’s action.
Already, the counterfeiting game was known. But it had been put on the shelf, at Croaker’s order. The best way for The Shadow to learn Croaker’s new game of crime was to let it go unmolested on the first attempt.
THE big top was coming down. Cliff joined other roughnecks on the stakepuller. This was a long shaft that projected from an axle between two wagon wheels. A roughneck grabbed a chain that hung from the other side of the axle and wound it around a stake that had been driven deep in the hard ground.
Then Cliff and the others grabbed the high end of the shaft and bore it downward. The leverage yanked the heavy stake clear of the ground. The wheels revolved as the roughnecks rolled the stake puller along to make another hitch.
While Cliff was aiding on this job, the last show finished in the Ten-in-One. The freaks departed from their platform. Princess Marxia’s snake boxes were carried from the tent.
While Cap Guffy was out calling for roughnecks, Zoda remained alone. Unobserved, he detached the microphones and packed them. Then he strolled out along the midway, where the concessionaires were packing up their joints.
Jubo the Geek was working with the ticket seller who ran his tent. He had become a very tame wild man; but that excited no comment among the circus folk. They knew that all geeks were fakes. Thus Jubo, rolling canvas, was an object of interest only to the few townsfolk who were staring from the fringes of the circus lot.
As Zoda’s tall figure stopped near a tent close by the office trailer, Cap Guffy strode into view. Tex Larch was talking with Stuffy Dowson outside the office. Cap came up with an angry scowl on his face.
“Say, you!” he hurled his challenge at both Tex and Stuffy. “What about them roughnecks that’s supposed to be tearing down my top? Where are they?”
Tex Larch stared. Neither he nor Cap Guffy had patched up their differences since they had left Marlborough. Both had been reasonably cordial, but Guffy’s outburst looked to Tex like an effort to widen the breach.
“Don’t stand there like a couple of hicks,” roared Guffy. “Where’s the roughnecks? It’s your job to supply them. That top of mine is ready to come down.”
“What about the roughnecks, Stuffy?” questioned Tex, turning to the general agent.
“They ought to be up at the Ten-in-One,” returned Stuffy. “I had eight men on Cap’s top.”
“Hear that, Guffy?” challenged Tex. “You’ve got eight roughnecks waiting for you.”
“Have I?” demanded Cap. “Have I? Well, you go up and count them. Maybe you can make two and one add up to eight. There’s three roughnecks using the stake puller. That’s all I’ve got.”
“Take a run up there, Stuffy,” ordered Tex.
Stuffy nodded. He departed.
Neither Tex nor Cap knew that Zoda was watching them as they resumed a silent feud. Each showman was curbing his temper. Cap Guffy stared sullenly while Tex Larch bit the end from a cigar and applied a match to the stogy.
A FEW minutes passed; Stuffy came back on the run.
“Cap’s right, Tex,” informed the general agent. “Only three roughnecks there.”
“What do you say to that?” quizzed Guffy.
“Nothing much,” retorted Tex. “When you need roughnecks, ask for them. If you give us reasonable notice, we’ll have them when you want them.”
“I didn’t know they were gone,” growled Cap. “I saw them around a while ago. They came in the Ten-in-One. They shilled for the shows. They didn’t blow until the top was ready to come down.”
“That’s just the time when they would blow,” returned Tex, coolly. “Go down to the big top, Stuffy. Yank five roughnecks off of it and send them up to the Ten-in-One. Does that suit you, Guffy?”
“All right.” Cap’s tone seemed mollified. Turning on his heel, the owner of the side show stalked back toward his tent. Tex Larch grinned sourly as he watched Cap’s departure.
Zoda was not the only witness of the scene. Peering from between two trucks, another person was looking on. The keen eyes that burned from Zoda’s masklike countenance saw the pasty face of Cleed. The man whom The Shadow knew as Croaker Zinn turned suddenly and headed back toward the Ten-in-One.
Cliff Marsland, coming up with four other roughnecks whom Stuffy had delegated to the Ten-in-One was just in time to observe Zoda’s tall form moving into the tent that had once been The Solvas’.
But neither Cliff nor any of the others saw the tall, black-garbed figure that later emerged from the canvas flaps. When they had finished tearing down the Ten-in-One, they dropped the small tents also. Zoda’s bags went aboard a truck along with the rolls of canvas.
Once more, The Shadow was strolling unseen about the circus lot. His figure was invisible as it kept away from the scattered spots where lights aided the roughnecks who were loading the trucks.
Five men had left the lot tonight. The Shadow knew that they had fared forth on crime. But The Shadow was unperturbed. Like Vic Marquette, he was biding his time. Like Vic, The Shadow was waiting to spot the big shot whose hidden hand was guiding the deeds of Croaker Zinn.