The Ghost Makers

"You see," he said, "I'm a private investigator for certain concerns. Checking up on men that they thought were pulling something crooked. That's how I happened to run into this fellow they call Reds — his last name slips my mind.

"I just knew him by sight, that was about all, until one time I spotted him up at my apartment house.

"I thought he was playing some phony game, and might be on my trail. So I put it up to him when I saw him down here. He told me he was up at the Callao Hotel seeing Rajah Brahman.

"He used to work for the rajah, and wanted to get back with him, but the rajah wouldn't have anything to do with him. Reds was so sore that he began to spill a lot he knew.

"He said the rajah's real name was Clutten — and a lot of other facts that I don't exactly remember.

"Since then, I've thought about crimping that crook's racket. I've seen so many people coming in and out — going away from there, telling how wonderful Rajah Brahman is.

"You're the first sensible person I've seen come out of there, but of course your story explains it. I'm willing to work with you. But we've got to do it wisely."

"Your idea's a good one," commended Dick. He was being completely misled by Slade's easy manner.

"Of course, I'm handcuffed while I'm with my aunt. She believes this faker is wonderful.

I can't leave her. If I do, she will hand everything she's got to Rajah Brahman."

"Not if you're watching, she won't," commented Slade. "If she's falling for the rajah's game, the best stunt you can do is try to crimp him before it is too late!"

"You're right," agreed Dick.

"WHY not let your aunt think you have gone back to Texas?" questioned Slade suavely. "She'll tell the rajah that you've left town. He will become bolder then — and you will be watching without his knowing it!"

"Good idea!" said Dick. "I'll leave a note in her hotel. We can go by there to-night." He fumbled in his pocket and produced a folded sheet of writing paper. Slade was ready with a fountain pen. Dick scrawled these lines:

Dear Aunt Maude:

I have gone back to Texas. I am tired of this foolish waiting to hear what this fake rajah has to say. Take my advice and forget about him. If you don't hear from me again, you can send my trunk to San Antonio when you leave New York.

Signing his name, Dick sought an envelope. He had none, but Martin Slade provided one.

It happened to bear the name of a Washington hotel in its upper corner, but Dick paid no attention to that, as he wrote the name of his aunt and her hotel. He sealed the envelope and dropped it on the table. Slade tapped the fake watch which Dick had handed to him.

"You say that you found this in the seance room?"

"I found it in my pocket," said Dick. "You know, I was just about ready to believe that faker was real. He had been doing some pretty clever stuff. Writing on a slate — these spooks coming out — and all that. But when I found this watch, and made out what it was for, then I knew I had the goods on him."

"I wonder how it came in your pocket," said Slade reflectively. "Maybe he dropped it there in the dark — without realizing it. The other night, you say?"

"Yes. To-night, he was working with a trumpet. Say — that was weird, all right. It had a lighted end, and you could see it floating all around through the air, with a voice coming out of it!"

"That trumpet gag is old stuff," said Slade, with a knowing air. "The end comes off the trumpet — nothing but a luminous band — and he must have had it hooked on to an extension rod like this one on the watch. That would let him keep the people looking up, thinking they were seeing the trumpet floating.

"Then you figure he had the trumpet with him?" Dick quizzed.

"Sure. So he could make the voices himself. A whisper sounds uncanny through one of those trumpets."

"But I heard a noise like a man drowning. It sounded real—"

"Did he have a bucket of water there?" interposed Slade.

"Yes. Not a bucket" — Dick corrected — "it was a big Hindu bowl."

"That gives it away," laughed Slade. "I know how he did it. He put the end of the trumpet into the water — the big end — and then blew through the small end. It makes a gurgling sound, like a man choking.

"I'm nobody's fool on this sort of stuff, you know," he went on. "I've run into some of these fakers before. But from all I hear, Rajah Brahman must be the ace of them."

Slade was picking up the envelope to give it back to Dick, along with the watch, when suddenly he stopped and stepped to the door, which was slightly ajar. He peered through the crack, and turned to nod to Dick.

"There's Reds now," he said. "Over at the other side of the big room. Sit tight a few minutes. I'll go over to get him."