The Ghost Makers

Best of all was Maude Garwood. Tonight, she would gain her long-cherished desire. From the vast spaces of the universe, a spirit would come to greet her — a spirit whom she would recognize. Rajah Brahman glanced toward Imam Singh. A great assistant, Tony!

The seance began impressively. After the usual discourse, Rajah Brahman signed for the spirit cabinet. It was brought to the center of the floor by Imam Singh.

Rajah Brahman commenced a discussion of the higher planes. While he spoke, his mind was thinking of other matters. All was well in Chicago. Slade had arranged a good job there. Joe Cardona was out of the picture.

All was well here in New York. There must be no trouble, to-night, of all nights. Again Slade had proven useful. He had arranged for Barney Gleason and his chosen mobsmen to be on watch, to-night. That would prevent any interference by The Shadow!

Imam Singh was no longer in the seance room. He had glided into the reception room, and thence, to the outer door.

There, the white-clad man uttered a low signal. Four men appeared and came through the door. One was Barney Gleason. The others were his chosen gunmen.

"In here," whispered Imam Singh.

He stationed two men in the reception room. He led Barney Gleason and the remaining thug through the anteroom, into Rajah Brahman's private sanctum.

"O.K.," said Barney Gleason.

Imam Singh nodded. He went through the empty anteroom and traveled to the outer door of the apartment. There, he peered cautiously into the hall. He closed the door and let it latch behind him. It was only a few steps to the fire tower. There, Imam Singh descended, and reached the fhoor below. He peered from the tower into the hall. No one was in sight. Imam Singh hurried to a door directly beneath the entrance of Rajah Brahman's apartment.

He unlocked the door and entered. He turned on a single light in the hall, and made his way to the door of a storage room. He unlocked this door, and entered.

The storage room was fairly large. It contained various articles of furniture. A large square box was in one corner — beside it the properties of Professor Raoul Jacques, which had been partially unpacked. Imam Singh laughed as he looked at a chair which had come from the Hotel Dalban. He adjusted a stepladder in the center of the room, directly between two beams in the ceiling. The ladder was an unusual one. It was very firm, and had a large platform top. It reached almost to the ceiling. Iman Singh went to a closet. He divested himself of his white robes, and put on a garment of jet black.

This was close-fitting, and, with it, Imam Singh took out a black hood, which he did not don. Instead, he placed it upon a dressing table that stood beside the box in the corner.

Imam Singh turned on a light by the table. He produced make-up materials, and began a transformation of his own face.

A picture was lying on the table as he worked. It was a portrait of Geoffrey Garwood, the dead husband of the Philadelphia woman.

Gradually, Imam Singh's countenance assumed the features of the departed millionaire. Satisfied with his final touches, Imam Singh laughed and leaned back in his chair. His task was done; but there would be long to wait.

To-night, Rajah Brahman was doing preliminary work with the trumpet. The materialization of the wealthy Garwood would be the last number on the spooky program.

As Imam Singh leaned back, with eyes half closed, a pair of hands emerged from the box behind his chair. A man's form followed. The man suddenly hurled himself forward and landed full upon the unexpectant Imam Singh.

The struggle was brief, and all in favor of the attacker. A man of strength, he rolled the fake Hindu to the floor, and rammed his head against the woodwork. Within half a minute, the victor was staring at the inert face that resembled Geoffrey Garwood.

He arose and dragged the unconscious man to the far corner of the room, where he bound and gagged his captive. Then he returned to the dressing table in the corner, and took the chair which Imam Singh had occupied.

While this unusual event was taking place beneath the apartment of Rajah Brahman, a group of detectives at headquarters were extending a welcome to Joe Cardona, returned from his leave of absence.

The detective had just arrived from his trip to parts unknown. He looked worn and weary from his journey.

In the office, his comrades, unimpressed by Cardona's tired appearance, were questioning him about his vacation. Cardona saw a package on his desk. Some one spied the direction of his gaze. The banter changed in tune.

"Came in this afternoon, Joe. Were you expecting it?"

"Looks like more violets, Joe."

"Better see what's in it."

Joe Cardona opened the package. He brought out the inevitable bunch of violets. The banter turned to laughs. Cardona made no comment.

He fingered the stems of the flowers, and calmly thrust the bouquet into a glass of water that chanced to be on the window sill.