The Ghost Makers

Chapter VIII — The Man from India

Another seance was in progress. This was far more impressive than the one that Joe Cardona had observed in the home of Anita Marie. A master was at work, and those who surrounded him were more than mere believers. Their countenances wore the enthralled look of disciples. Not only was the group a remarkable one; the surroundings themselves were impressive. It seemed as though this little cluster of enraptured persons had been transported from the matter-of-fact atmosphere of New York to the glorious environment of India.

There were only half a dozen persons in the room, and their evening clothes betokened them as members of New York's upper strata of society.

The leader of the throng was attired in a splendid Oriental costume. He sat in a thronelike chair near one end of the impressive room, the walls of which were hung with shimmering tapestries woven in cloth of gold.

The smoke from two incense burners floated up in wreaths about the golden image of a solemn-faced Buddha.

Rajah Brahman was the medium. He was ending the first seance that had marked his return to New York. Only the most faithful had been permitted to attend this initial meeting. Now that they had heard the mystic's words of wisdom, and his promises of future marvels, they were awaiting his command to leave.

As was his custom, Rajah Brahman must spend the later hours of the evening in contemplation of the vaster things of life. He was about to commune privately with the spirits of the other world; to learn all hidden things which he would later reveal to his disciples, when he summoned them again. Clad in a golden robe that bore the symbol of a hooded cobra, his head adorned with the resplendent turban worn by the highest caste in India, the rajah's dark-hued face was that of a man of superior knowledge. His close-cropped beard gave him a masterful appearance; his dark, glittering eyes transfixed themselves upon each true believer as he stared upon each in turn. Rajah Brahman clapped his hands three times. The sharp sounds echoed through the gilded room. The tapestries seemed to waver as though controlled by the action. A slender, white-clad Hindu entered the room, and stood toward the enthroned master.

This servant, Rajah Brahman's faithful Imam Singh, bore himself with the same solemnity as his master. He reached the throne, and stood at the left side, arms folded, his youthful face stern and inflexible. This was his appointed place.

No one ever stood upon the right of Rajah Brahman's throne. That was the spot where the master received his spirit guide.

Again, Rajah Brahman clapped his hands thrice. Like sheep, the students of the master arose and bowed. One by one, they filed through a curtained door that led to an outer room. Imam Singh stalked after them, to usher them from the sacred premises. Rajah Brahman was alone. A strange man amid strange surroundings! Yet this luxurious abode, with all its fashionable glory of the East, was located in one of the highest stories of a New York skyscraper. The Callao Hotel, Manhattan's newest and tallest apartment building, had been chosen by Rajah Brahman as his residence. Money meant nothing to this man of wealth, who brought great and unfathomable messages from the Yogi of the Himalayas.

Within ten minutes after the servant had departed, Imam Singh returned to interrupt his master's soliloquy. He approached the throne and spoke a few words.

The rajah arose and went into another room, the entrance of which was hidden behind the tapestries in the corner. This was his consultation room. It was as exotic as the room which he had just left. Beneath the dim lights a huge crystal ball glittered upon the lap of a smaller Buddha. The fragrance of incense pervaded the room.

A small cushioned throne was in the corner. There the rajah took his seat and waited, the sole occupant of a weird pagan shrine. The curtains opened across the room. A man slipped through and approached the seated figure.

The newcomer was Professor Raoul Jacques, the medium who had conducted the seance at which Herbert Harvey had been slain.

Rajah Brahman motioned his visitor to a chair. Jacques glanced furtively toward the curtained doorway as he sat down. In a low, excited voice he began to speak.

"I got your message," he said. "I had to be careful coming here, though, because they may still be watching me. You know about the trouble I got into."

Rajah Brahman spoke. His voice was low and solemn, as impressive as his appearance and his environment.

"You have made a grave mistake," he said. "This disturbance in your circle may cause untold harm. You were not wise to act as you did. You should have concluded your seance when you encountered difficulty."

"I didn't know what was coming," declared Jacques. "I've had a few funny things happen before, and that luminous dagger was always a good stunt. It was planted on Harvey, and he slipped it to me. I didn't think there was going to be a fracas.

"I was trying to get the other guy, but he slipped away. There I was in a jam, for sure! Lucky for me the cops didn't get wise to those gags on the chair. They let me go. They were sure I couldn't have been loose. I stuck to my story, and had a lucky break with it—"

"That was the only wise procedure that you used," declared Rajah Brahman. "It was, indeed, fortunate that your statement was not doubted."

"It pretty near floored me," replied Jacques, "when the whole crowd stuck with me. I knew that some of them would tell the same story that I did; but I thought that a few would say something about the fellow who got away. I couldn't spill that story myself.

"It was lucky that one of them had enough sense to figure the real dope. A fellow named Castelle told a detective that he thought there was another bird. Now they are looking for him, and I guess they figured he did it."

"You have arranged for your believers to join my circle of enlightenment?" questioned Rajah Brahman.

"That's all been fixed," replied Jacques. "They are all good, and I have all the dope that Harvey gave me.

"There's one good customer that was coming to my next seance — a man named Telford — that Harvey dug up for me. I have the inside dope here with me" — he drew an envelope from his pocket — "and I want to get rid of it."

He extended the envelope toward Rajah Brahman, but the Hindu master held up his hand reprovingly.

"Rajah Brahman needs no such information," he declared solemnly. "You may give it to my servant as you leave, since you fear that its possession might work to your disadvantage. That is sufficient. Go, and be cautious in your deeds."

Professor Jacques slunk from the room. Rajah Brahman laughed. After all, such fakers as Professor Jacques were superstitious. Despite the fact that they knew their work was trickery, they were ready to believe that some one more intelligent than themselves might actually possess a true psychic power. Rajah Brahman had ended with the first of his special visitors. The appearance of Imam Singh told him that another had arrived. At the rajah's command, the servant left the room. Anita Marie entered. This woman, who was ordinarily so domineering, was now abject and subdued. Even more than Professor Jacques, she was impressed by the importance of Rajah Brahman. She did not even attempt to speak until she had received his nod.

"The woman is acomin' here," Anita Marie began. "She visited me to-night, and she wants to see you very much."

"Have her eyes been opened to the light?" questioned Rajah Brahman.

"Yes," replied Anita Marie. "She has had a great trouble lately. Her husband died last Saturday. He was the one who was atryin' to keep her away from me. Now that he is gone, she's anxious to do as I have been atellin' her."

"You say her husband is now on the astral plane?" inquired Rajah Brahman. "If so, I shall commune with my spirit guide. Perhaps I can bring the spirit of her husband to my sanctum."

"That's just what she wants!" exclaimed Anita Marie. "She wants him back. If you can let her see him, she will listen. I was atellin' her about that copper stock, through Little Flower. She liked it, but she was afraid on account of her husband. But now he's gone."

Anita Marie rolled her eyes upward as a gesture to show that the departed spirit of Geoffrey Garwood had reached a spot in a higher world. Rajah Brahman ignored the woman's grimace.

"Bid her," he said, "to come to New York to await my call as a true believer should. She will be summoned by the master when her time has arrived."

"There is a couple of things I want to tell you about her," began Anita Marie glibly. Rajah Brahman shook his head reprovingly.

"The master understands all," he declared, slowly and impressively. "I listened when you spoke to me before, because I desired to know if this woman was one who might see the light now. I wish to know no more. You may go!"

Anita Marie turned and walked through the curtains. Her challenging air had been completely lost during her interview with Rajah Brahman.

She reached a little anteroom, and looked about her suspiciously, as though she feared that hidden eyes were watching. The room was illuminated by a single light that shone dimly in one corner. The woman gave a start as the white-clad form of Imam Singh glided noiselessly into the room from another entrance. Then she followed Rajah Brahman's servant.

Hardly had the two departed before a slight motion occurred beside a thick curtain that covered the entrance to Rajah Brahman's shrine.

An invisible form came into being from the darkness. A moment later a tall black-clad man stood in the center of the dull anteroom.

It was The Shadow.

Unseen, unheard, the mysterious man of the night had entered the Hindu's sanctuary. There, veiled behind the curtain, he had listened to every word that had passed between Rajah Brahman and his visitors. The Shadow did not laugh. Noiselessly he moved back toward the blackened curtain, and seemed merged with the darkness itself.

When the Hindu's servant returned a moment later to reenter the master's sanctum, no sign of the living shadow remained.