The Ghost Makers

"I know it like a book," declared Slade. "Many's the night I've spent along Canal Street — and in the French quarter. I could give you the dimensions of Jackson Square from memory. The old town isn't what it used to be, though — a few years back, when I was there.

"How many years ago?"

"Five or six. Six, now I come to think of it."

"That's about the time young Jim Telford left there," said Rajah Brahman reflectively.

"I get you," said Slade. "Well, if you want any dope to spring on the old man, I can supply it. When you materialize the spook of the lost boy—"

"I don't need information about New Orleans," interrupted Rajah Brahman suavely. "I wanted to know what you knew about the town. It won't be necessary for me to go into details with Thomas Telford. I expect you to do that."

"You expect me—"

"Yes. In other words, there will be no materialization of James Telford."

"But" — Slade could not seem to understand — "but that's why I cracked the safe. You've got the dope, and you're not going to use it?"

"Look at this picture," said Rajah Brahman, thrusting a photograph of the missing man into Slade's hands.

"Did you ever see anyone who looked like that?"

"The face is familiar," said Slade doubtfully.

"Look at this, then." Rajah Brahman dug among the cushions of his lesser throne, and produced his mirror. "Look right into it, Slade. Then look at the picture."

The meaning dawned on Martin Slade. The man in the photograph bore a marked resemblance to himself, although the face was nearly ten years younger.

"I'm to play the spook?" he asked. "Is that the idea?"

"I said there would be no materialization," replied the seer, in an impatient tone.

"Then what's the gag?" asked Slade, still puzzled.

"The gag," said Rajah Brahman, "is that Martin Slade, after he accomplishes the bit of work he has to do with Dick Terry, will conveniently cease to exist as an identity. In his place, James Telford will suddenly reappear, to be restored to his father!"

Slade slapped his thigh.

"Great!" he exclaimed. "I get it now. You figure the real James Telford went down with the ship Castris, as the newspaper clippings indicate. But — so far as the world will know — he was saved, and will be restored to his father—"

"To his dad," corrected Rajah Brahman. "Don't forget that point. Remember, too, that your dad will call you Jim. Spend a while practicing that handwriting. That reminds me: when Tony comes up, I'll have him take some photographs of these letters, too."

"How will you figure in it?"

"How will I figure? I'm going to be the one who discovers where the missing son is! I'll be the instrument that effects the restoration!

"Then, when the soft-hearted old man wants to put cash into the endowment of my Hindu shrine, you, through gratitude, will urge him to do so."

"I'll be the only heir," said Slade thoughtfully.

"Right," declared the rajah. "If the game looks good enough, you can play the part of a loving son for a few years, if necessary. But if it begins to go sour, you can act in the meantime." Martin Slade nodded. Unsurpassed as a calculating devil who could put people out of the world by subtle methods, he saw an easy task in front of him.

"Tony is taking two pictures," declared Rajah Brahman. "One is for our reference. The other — the snapshot — will be in your possession when you find the old man. It tells all about it on the back of the original. There's every reason why you should have one.

"You can play the part, Slade. This is a better job than your old game of working as a butler or a secretary."

"It's the money!" exclaimed Slade, with enthusiasm. "It leaves you high and dry on those other jobs you have, though—"

"For a time," said Rajah Brahman, "but they can wait. I told the chief we were going to hit above a million on this present crop of suckers. I was way too low. We'll be able to retire after this goes through, along with the others. We'll keep on going, though. This will be just the beginning." The glint in Rajah Brahman's shrewd eyes showed the thoughts toward which his cruel mind was turning. Martin Slade was as gleeful as his comrade.

Tony arrived on the scene, and was given the letters and other documents to photograph. Rajah Brahman began to map out a campaign.

He made notations, and finally reached the point where he decided that further reference to the articles on hand was unnecessary.

"It all depends on you, Slade," he said. "Get going right away. The first job is to put all this stuff back in the safe. After that, lay low and spring the works on Dick Terry.

"When old Telford gets back, I'll give him a seance that will be the turning point of his life. Another soul will be made happy— thanks to Rajah Brahman."

The sarcasm in the man's tone made no impression upon Martin Slade. He was lost in enthusiasm over the clever scheme which was in the making.

Slade gathered the articles into the portfolio, and added the photographs and papers which Tony brought along. Then he left the presence of Rajah Brahman.