"There's Telford. Take a look at him, Slade."
Martin Slade, peering through the narrow crevice that opened into Rajah Brahman's reception room, spied the tall, gray-haired man upon whose face appeared signs of anxiety.
"Remember. You'll call him dad, pretty soon. I'm going to sell him the idea to-night." Rajah Brahman, turbaned and whiskered, was standing in the darkness beside Slade as he spoke. A low response came from the man who was to play the part of James Telford.
"Where is Dick Terry?" questioned Slade, in a low voice.
"Just coming in," replied Rajah Brahman. "That's Mrs. Garwood, with him. Look him over, Slade. Remember, I'm trying him once more to-night. He'll either believe, or he'll be out for all he can get on me.
"If that's the case, take your cue. You'll have your chance."
Martin Slade grinned sourly in the dark. Dick Terry, husky and glowering, was a type of man he disliked. Treacherous by nature, Slade had no use for any one who detested thieving ways. The hidden observer took a last careful look at Thomas Telford. The elderly man was talking to Benjamin Castelle, who was listening in a sympathetic manner.
Telford, the rajah had told Slade, talked constantly about his son, to any who would show interest. Hence Slade decided that the topic must be that subject which was all-important in the life of Thomas Telford.
Most persons would have felt a sense of pity for the old, careworn man, who had suffered so much remorse during his fruitless search. But Martin Slade was a man who had never known what pity was. His lips curled in a contemptuous smile as he thought of the deception he was to practice upon this gullible individual.
Rajah Brahman drew Slade away.
"Come," he said, in a low voice. "You can stay in the sanctum. This seance won't be long. I am giving consultations to-night."
The low laugh which the faker uttered showed that by "consultations" he meant that the birds were ready for plucking. Slade, familiar with the methods of the medium, laughed in return. They reached the inner shrine. Rajah Brahman, proud as a peacock, strutted about the room. He made an imposing appearance in his Oriental garb, and Slade looked on with admiration. The Rajah was a swindler de luxe.
"Look this over while you're waiting," suggested Rajah Brahman. "It's my bluebook. Information supplied by the dirty dozen themselves."
He handed Slade a heavy, clothbound volume. The man received it with interest, and began to peruse its tabulated, printed pages. The bluebook, a time-honored institution among fraudulent mediums, had become a most powerful instrument in the hands of Rajah Brahman.
In its pages, Slade discovered alphabetical references to all the wealthy persons who were falling for the rajah's crooked game.
The "dirty dozen" were the spirit mediums throughout the country. This volume had been prepared from information which they had supplied to the master faker. Slade noticed, with satisfaction, certain items which were of his doing.
"Daughter, Stella — passed to the spirit plane" — Slade read this reference under the heading of Arthur Dykeman.
He turned to the page that bore Maude Garwood's name, and read aloud.
"Husband, Geoffrey — passed to the spirit plane."
These were but single remarks in pages of useful material. Unclassified numerals appeared upon the borders of certain pages. They were marked in inks of different colors.
Red, Slade decided, meant ordinary fees and contributions. Green must be endowments to the mythical shrine which the rajah claimed to have established in India. Blue were evidently investments in Consolidated Timber; black, sums spent in Coronado Copper.
Slade observed that these final numbers ran well into the thousands. This was the first time that he had ever made a close survey of the notorious bluebook, although he had seen the volume often. He knew that most traveling mediums possessed similar books.
Outside, in the seance room, Rajah Brahman was receiving the faithful. To-night his shining eyes rested upon the countenance of Thomas Telford.
"There is one among us," declared the medium, in his most solemn tones, "who has long been seeking the light. He has failed in a search for one whom he loves. Now he intends to consult the spirits.
"Perhaps he will hear from his son in the spirit plane. Perhaps others, there, will respond. Let us endeavor in his behalf."
He paused and turned his head until he was staring straight at Dick Terry.
"If there are those here who are skeptical," the rajah added in an impersonal tone, "let them refrain from disturbing the manifestations."
There was a challenging sternness in his voice. It was obvious to whom he was speaking. Various believers stared antagonistically toward Dick.
Staring with trancelike gaze, Rajah Brahman began a low incantation. He recited words in Hindustani. Finally, he spoke in English.
"There are four elements: Earth, fire, water, air. It is in water that I see the answer. Let us have water." Imam Singh approached with a huge brass bowl. He placed it at the rajah's feet. As though performing a ceremony, he went away and returned with a Hindu lota, which was filled with water. He emptied the contents of the small bowl into the large, and went to obtain a new supply of the desired element. The process of filling the large bowl required several minutes.
Rajah Brahman turned to the right, as though facing his invisible spirit guide. He waited solemnly, then declared that manifestations would be difficult to-night. A voice from the beyond was calling; but its whisper was too low for human ears to detect.
He clapped his hands three times. Imam Singh came forward with a long metal trumpet. It had a white band at the larger end, where it tapered like a megaphone.
Two members of the circle were instructed to take their stand close before the rajah's throne, that they might know he did not leave that sacred spot. The lights were extinguished by Imam Singh. The end of the trumpet glowed with phosphorescent light.
While Rajah Brahman spoke from his throne, the luminous band began to rise in the air. It floated above the heads of the spectators in a weird, bewildering fashion.
At last the voice of the enthroned medium was hushed. Sounds came from the floating trumpet. Words were heard, but they were low and incoherent.
Now, a choking, gurgling sound manifested itself. It was a hideous noise— the gasping cry of a drowning person! An agonized exclamation came from Thomas Telford. It was quickly subdued, and the gurgling noise continued.
Finally, the choking was replaced by a gasping voice. A spirit declared itself in ghostly, whispered tones.
"My body lies in the deep. Far in the deep. I am one who was lost— lost— lost when the ship Castris settled to the bottom of the sea."
An awe-inspiring pause; then the weird words continued. "There is one here who wishes to know of that solemn tragedy. One here whom I cannot see. Let that person speak. I shall answer."
"Are you my son?" quavered Thomas Telford. "Are you my son — James Telford?"
"No," came the spirit response. "I can see your son. He is clinging to a small boat. The waves are beating against his body. He lives. Men are drawing him into the boat. He is safe. He is safe. I can see no more. My time has come!"
The voice ended in a spluttering gurgle that told its dreadful significance. The spirit was enacting the event that had ended its mortal career. The choking increased; then faded.
After a short silence, Rajah Brahman called through the dark.
"Are there any who can see farther?"
A whispered voice sighed from the trumpet as it wavered to and fro. It sounded like a wind passing through the treetops. It spoke in tones that were barely distinguishable.
"Have no fear. Your son is waiting. You will find him. Seek him in a spot where there are many people. You will find him there. Be of good heart. It is foretold—"
The voice broke off. The trumpet floated to the floor. Imam Singh pressed the light switch. Darkness ended, and Rajah Brahman was revealed, staring steadily from his throne. Two men stood close by him, and the trumpet was resting on the floor beside the large bowl.
The seer blinked his eyes, and became cognizant of those about him. He looked toward Thomas Telford.
"You have heard the messages of the spirits," he said. "Your son will be restored to you."
Thomas Telford was stepping forward to pour out his thanks, but Rajah Brahman announced that the brief seance was at an end. He was ready to confer with those who waited in the reception room. FIRST on the list was Maude Garwood. When she was ushered, with Dick Terry, into the presence of the rajah, they found the man from India seated on his throne, alone in the room.
Maude Garwood began an immediate plea. She had come to New York, she said, to seek spirit communication with her dead husband. So far, her wish had not been granted. Rajah Brahman turned to Dick Terry, who was looking on with a disdainful air.
"This," said the rajah firmly, "is your doing. Your aunt has seen the light. She seeks as a believer. She has already received a message from her beloved husband. It is you who, by your disbelief, make it impossible for her to see his spirit."
Dick curbed a hot retort.
"So long as you persist," declared Rajah Brahman, "there can be no success. Unless you can believe, it would be wise for you not to visit the seance room."
"Do you hear that?" demanded Dick, ignoring the seer and speaking directly to his aunt.
"Rajah Brahman speaks the truth," declared Mrs. Garwood.
"Then I'm not wanted here?" quizzed Dick.
"You have heard the reply," remarked Rajah Brahman serenely. "You are welcome if you choose to believe. You are not welcome if you do not believe."
For a moment, Dick gazed threateningly at the man on the throne. Then he spoke to Mrs. Garwood.
"Do you agree with that?" he asked.
The woman nodded solemnly. Without another word, Dick turned on his heel and left the sanctum. He reached the reception room. There, he cooled his heels while Imam Singh was ushering out some others, among them Thomas Telford.
Dick saw the elderly man shake hands with Benjamin Castelle, and he heard Telford mention that he had an appointment with the rajah for the next evening. Then, Imam Singh spied Dick, and brought him his hat.
Going through the hallway, Dick felt his anger subsiding. After all, he owed a duty to his aunt, no matter how foolish she might be. He decided to wait in the downstairs lobby until she arrived. When he reached the elevator, he encountered a wise-faced man who was waiting there alone. The man grinned knowingly. Dick responded with a grunt.
He did not know that the waiting man was there by design. It was Martin Slade, but Dick Terry had never seen him before.
While they were waiting, Slade made a joking remark that aroused Dick's immediate interest.
"Been up to look over the spook camp?" questioned Slade pleasantly.
"Yes," replied Dick.
"I haven't been there yet," said Slade. "I hear it's a great racket."
"It is," responded Dick, glad to discover some one who felt the way he did. "It's a fraud, clear through. I'll never go back to the place again."
"I'm glad to see somebody that's wise," declared Slade, in a careless tone. "I know plenty about the man that's running it. I could get a lot on him, if I had a mind to."
The suggestion was all that Dick needed. He tried to pump his companion, as they rode down in the elevator together. In the lobby, Slade drew Dick aside.
"Say," he said. "Maybe you know somethings I don't know. But there's one fellow — I know him well — who has the real goods on this crooked rajah. If we could get hold of him, he'd tell us plenty. He used to work in the racket."
"Where is he?" questioned Dick.
"He hangs out in a rowdy joint," said Slade. "He took me there once, and spilled some stuff about the medium upstairs. I'd like to see him again. Want to go along with me, and look him up?" Dick expressed his willingness.
"My car's out on the street," declared Slade. "Come along — I'll take you to meet this fellow." Dick and his new-found friend left the lobby together. Dick Terry was entering the trap.
Martin Slade was drawing the net about him.
Both men were intent upon their different purposes. They did not glance about the empty lobby as they passed through the revolving door.
Hence Martin Slade, despite his watchfulness, failed to see a tall form in black emerge from the corner of the lobby and follow them into the street.
The Shadow was on the trail!