The Ghost Makers

"Listen — yes, that's the buzzer. Slide out to the door and see who it is. I'll switch the light off, here." The servant was gone, and the room was plunged in darkness a moment later. Only the glowing end of Rajah Brahman's cigarette was visible. It poised in mid-air, while its owner awaited Imam Singh's return. Soon, the curtains parted, and the slight glow from the outer room showed a face which Rajah Brahman recognized, even in that dim light.

"Ah!" he exclaimed. "I thought you were the one who rang. Wait until I switch on the light—"

"Never mind," interrupted the quiet voice of the visitor. "The darkness will suit me. I don't want to be disillusioned, Bert. Wait until I find a chair."

The speaker bumped into one a moment later and sat down, to stare toward the lighted end of the cigarette.

"Well," came the voice of the false rajah, "I chased out the suckers, and then met the saps. Professor Jacques and Anita Marie."

"What did they have to say?"

"Jacques was all worried about the mess he landed into. Told me how surprised he was when everybody stuck with him on that crazy notion about a spirit hand throwing the knife. Said if it hadn't been for one intelligent person in the mob, he would never have been able to swing the detectives after the fellow who made his getaway."

"Did he name the intelligent person?"

"Yes," laughed Rajah Brahman. "He said that a man named Benjamin Castelle had the bright idea, and it pulled him out of a mighty tough spot."

The visitor made no response, so Rajah Brahman resumed his conversation. Now, his tone was questioning.

"Who was the fellow who started the trouble?" he asked.

"I don't know," replied the visitor.

"I don't like it, chief," declared the rajah. "Jacques certainly lost his head when he swung the dirk. That's bad stuff.

"If the police knew he was hooked up with me, they would be watching this place. A fine mess — just when I've arranged to fleece the lambs after they have been herded into the barnyard."

"It might be best to take them slowly, Bert."

"Of course, chief. That's the way I always work. Anita Marie has hooked that dame from Philly — and I've got to play carefully, there."

"I thought she would be soft, with the husband out of the way."

"So did I, worse luck. But Anita Marie tells me that a nephew has blown in from the sticks to mess up the game. That won't mean anything when I begin to work; but it would be just as well if friend nephew wasn't around."

"Because—"

"Because of what Slade pulled. This nephew may be a wise boy. Slade said it was O.K. after he spotted the lay. He did the job so clean that even Anita Marie doesn't suspect. But a nephew, right there in the house—"

"He could never trace Slade."

"Right! But he could suspect that something was wrong. I'll he watching him like a hawk, chief. If his only trouble is not being able to see the light, I'll fix that. Skeptics are my meat — with gravy in addition."

"You say Anita Marie has no idea about—"

"That dumb dollar-grabber?" The voice of Rajah Brahman was contemptuous. "Say, chief, she's the dumbest spook queen along the whole route. Thinks because she brings a lot of people into her camp that she's good.

"Fifty a night at a dollar a head! I could have them hanging out of the galleries of the Hippodrome at that price."

"I know you could, Bert."

A match flickered to reveal the cunning face of the unbearded mystic. Rajah Brahman was lighting another cigarette. The man in the chair laughed slightly as he glimpsed the ex-Hindu on the throne.

"I would have said to ditch her long ago," declared the self-styled rajah, "if I hadn't figured that some day she would bring in a good one like this Mrs. Garwood.

"You know, chief, this racket has its troubles. I've found that out on the road. I can learn plenty when I crash the circles without my whiskers."

"What's the difficulty?"

"If you get a smart fellow like Jacques," answered Rajah Brahman, "he's too anxious to grab the big money for himself. If you get a small-timer like Anita Marie, she can't deliver the real goods."

"Which do you prefer?"

"The small-timers are best — if they manage to deliver. They know when they're over their depth. They know they can't compete with a big shot.

"They're only too glad to play into favor and send along a real customer. They're satisfied with a small cut, too, because they don't know what big money is."

"You're right on that, Bert."

"Do you remember that big clean-up we made a year ago" — the rajah's cigarette light was swaying back and forth as he spoke — "I mean, the third time I came back from India—"

"Half a million gross," came the voice of the hidden chief.

"Well," declared Rajah Brahman quietly, "this sheep-clipping job is going to double that. Maybe more. My mystic shrine in India is still in need of endowments. Copper is going up. Spirits still like to take back valuable souvenirs when they depart for the astral plane.