The Ghost Makers

His whispered tones were different from the sordid mirth that Rajah Brahman had uttered. The laugh of The Shadow, as it sounded in that little room, was filled with sinister mockery. While the low echoes still resounded, the man in black was gone.

It was an hour afterward that two hands appeared above a lighted spot on a plain table. Upon one glowed the mystic fire of the girasol.

The white hands fingered a sheaf of newspaper clippings. They removed one that told of the death of Stella Dykeman, a Cincinnati debutante, in an automobile accident, a month ago. The hands produced a tiny metal disk. They busied themselves with it for a short while. Then the light went out, and a sardonic laugh rippled through the tomblike room.

When Detective Joe Cardona reached his office in the morning, he found grins awaiting him. The answer was a package on his desk. Unconscious of ridiculing eyes, Cardona opened the cardboard box, and disclosed another bunch of fresh violets.

"Guess these were meant for Fritz," declared Cardona gruffly.

He pushed his way through a throng of viewing detectives. He encountered the janitor standing in the hallway. He thrust the flowers in the man's hands, much to the merriment of those who watched him. The janitor was dumfounded. For this was the real Fritz — not the unknown man who sometimes played his part. Fritz, followed by a group of laughers, went to his locker and placed the violets upon the shelf. Alone at his desk, Cardona was staring at a tiny disk in his right hand. He had drawn it from the violet stems, and had retained it there when he had given the bouquet to Fritz. Upon the disk were inscribed these words:

Accident

Cincinnati

March

The disk clinked in Cardona's pocket. The detective donned his hat and left the office. Half an hour later, he was riding toward the Pennsylvania Station, in a taxicab, his suitcase on the seat beside him.

Chapter X — Spirits Appear

Rajah Brahman, clad in full Oriental regalia, was listening at a secret panel which opened into his reception room. A smile gleamed upon his dark-dyed face. Carefully, he opened a slot in the panel. His keen eye peered through and observed the visitors who had assembled.

There were nearly twenty persons present all of them people of affluence. Shrewdly, the rajah took account of their identities.

The throng was about equally divided into men and women. Among the latter was the wife of a rich Chicago packer — a woman worth more than a million in her own right. She had come with hopes of communicating with a child that had died in infancy. Rajah Brahman smiled. He saw a man from Los Angeles an elderly gentleman who had long since retired from business. He was a regular contributor to the many mediums who thrived in the metropolis of southern California. A good prospect — but one who should be worked slowly, he had been corralled by the leader of the psychic circle in Los Angeles.

Weaned from his many spiritualistic interests, this man from the Pacific coast had made a special trip to New York to attend the seance of the renowned Rajah Brahman, whose fame lived everywhere. In a corner stood two men; both legacies from the now defunct circle once conducted by Professor Raoul Jacques. One of these was Benjamin Castelle — a skeptic, but a wealthy man whose presence was desirable.

The other was Thomas Telford, the prospective dupe whom Jacques had recommended. Rajah Brahman smiled once more. Those notes that Jacques had left were to prove useful even though the Hindu seer pretended that he had no need of them.

A middle-aged woman attracted the rajah's attention. This was Mrs. Garwood, from Philadelphia. One glance told the renowned rajah that here was a true believer. Impressed by the crude demonstrations of Anita Marie, she would be an easy mark.

The mystic's forehead wrinkled as he noted the young man who stood beside her. This was the nephew of whom Anita Marie had spoken. His presence was not pleasing to the seer. One last glance showed Arthur Dykeman, an elderly, gray-haired man who stood moody and alone, his face worn with care and unhappiness. He had come here to seek word from his lost daughter, the only child who had been in line for his millions.

Stricken with grief, the miserable father was willing to pay thousands for one brief glimpse of his departed child. So far, he had received but little solace.

To-night, Rajah Brahman reflected, happiness would come to the tired spirit of that man. Short happiness for Arthur Dykeman; continued profit for Rajah Brahman and his chief.