The Ghost Makers

Half an hour before, he had called the desk and ordered a safety razor and a tube of shaving cream. He had been waiting for the articles ever since.

The hotel guest emitted an angry growl when he saw the contents of the box. He drew out a bunch of violets!

What was the idea of these? He threw the flowers on the writing desk and went to the telephone. He tried to get the operator, but failed.

The bell boy had returned to the lobby. He saw no sign of the man who had given him the package. The hotel attendant was sure that he had delivered it where it was intended.

Ten minutes later, Joe Cardona left Room 414 and went downstairs. Out on the street, he walked through the Loop, and mounted the steps to an elevated station. He was bound for the suburban home where Madame Plunket was conducting her seance to-night.

Joe Cardona was satisfied that he was getting somewhere. He had spent some seemingly useless days in Cincinnati. He had looked through some back files of the newspapers, and had discovered that a girl named Stella Dykeman had been killed in a serious automobile accident during the month of March. The brakes of her car had given way on a steep hill leading to her father's estate, and she had crashed into a stone gateway at the bottom of the incline.

Inquiry into the affairs of Arthur Dykeman, her father, had proved that the man was away from Cincinnati at present. But, by a lucky chance, Cardona had learned that the man was a spiritualist, and that he had been receiving messages from a woman named Madame Plunket.

Cardona discovered that she had left town some time ago, and there was no way of tracing her new address.

While the detective was working on this, he had received a bunch of violets at his hotel.

They carried the usual disk. Cardona had it in his pocket now. He brought the disk from his vest.

Madame

Plunket

Chicago

Those were the words inscribed upon the disk. They had brought Cardona to Chicago. He had located the medium.

At the first seance, Little Flower had spoken to the sitters!

Chicago was a long way from New York, but Cardona felt positive that there was a connection here. Anita Marie, of Philadelphia and Madame Plunket, of Chicago! Two birds of the same plumage!

There had been no disturbing element at the seances which Cardona had attended in Chicago. But he was getting a line on Madame Plunket, and he was convinced that the medium was the lowest of grafters.

The advice that she was passing out indicated that she must have a fund of information somewhere in her house. Cardona knew the law on fortune telling. It would be no trick at all to get the local police to make a raid, when the proper time came.

The train was nearing the station where Cardona must leave. He arose and waited for the stop. Descending the steps from the elevated platform, he turned westward along a narrow street. He walked beneath the glaring light of an electric lamp.

Cardona had no idea whatever that his presence in Chicago was known; nor did he suppose that it might be of interest to anyone other than the spirit medium. Hence, he did not notice the lurking forms that were behind a signboard near the sidewalk.

Cardona, however, did see a darkened car parked on the other side of the street. Professionally, he eyed it with suspicion.

Gangsters were rampant in Chicago. This might be one of their machines. Cardona started his right hand toward his pocket, then stopped abruptly.

Some one had planted the muzzle of a revolver against the center of his back! There was no command to raise his hands. Just a low growl to "keep moving." Cardona, recognizing the threat, obeyed. Simultaneously, the car on the other side of the street approached. Cardona felt himself being urged toward the curb. A minute later, he was between two men in the back seat of the sedan, and the car was heading for parts unknown!

Well did Joe Cardona realize his predicament. He fancied that he had been mistaken for someone whom these gunmen intended to put on the spot.

It was the tightest place in which the sleuth had ever found himself. He could only hope that he might find some way to bluff it out with these intended killers.

He knew well enough that silence was the game for the present. Any attempt at conversation might mean immediate death. No killer would permit the beginning of an outcry. The question lay in what would follow.

When the gunmen found that they had the wrong man, they might let him go. Cardona speculated upon what they would do if he revealed himself as a detective. Gangsters did not go out of their way to war with the police. In that, he might find salvation.

The car traveled a long way. Cardona had lost all sense of direction. They were away from the city now. The detective could hear the waters of Lake Michigan. It was a windy night, and the sound indicated that the waves were high.