The Shadow, however, remained. He watched while Cap Guffy approached Princess Marxia and pointed to the platform where The Solvas should have appeared. The snake charmer shrugged her shoulders. Luke, the tattooed man, came from his platform to join the discussion.
The Shadow drew closer. He could hear Cap Guffy’s growl. The owner of the Ten-in-One was angry. Marxia and Luke were nodding in agreement as he spoke.
“I thought they were ready to blow,” asserted Cap, “Well — that’s the end of ‘em. Nobody ever jumps a show of mine and gets back on it.”
Cap turned about. He stopped, face to face with The Shadow. He eyed the countenance before him. He stared at the firm, masklike visage of the waiting stranger. He caught the steady burn of eyes that peered from either side of an aquiline nose.
“Well?” queried Cap. “You here to see me?”
“Yes,” replied The Shadow, quietly. “You are Captain Guffy, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. What about it?”
“My name is Zoda. I came here to see about joining your outfit.”
“Yeah? What’s your act?”
“Mind reading.”
“Huh?” Cap seemed surprised. “Say — you’re just the guy I want to talk to. Where’s your partner?”
“I work single.”
“Single? How do you get away with that?”
“I have my own methods. I require no partner.”
CAP stared. This was a new one on him. He was used to double acts on the mind reading platform. He was impressed, however, by Zoda’s confident gaze. Cap nodded.
“You’re in,” he announced. “You can use the tent The Solvas lived in. I’ll shove their stuff in one of the trunks. Got your trunk with you?”
“No. I am traveling light. I have a car outside the lot, with some suitcases.”
“I’ll send a punk to get the kiesters. What about books? You’ll need ‘em won’t you?”
“Yes. Do you have any?”
“Over here” — Cap led the way to the curtained platform and opened a box at the rear edge. “Here’s some horoscope books The Solvas were using. I bought the books myself, along with a lot of slum. The Solvas were paying me while they used ‘em. You can have what’s left.
“You’ll work on salary. Twenty a week and cakes. I was paying The Solvas thirty; but there was two of them. What you get from the books is yours. How does that suit you?”
“Satisfactory.”
“All right, Zoda. Any time you want to scoff, go down to the cook tent and charge it up to me. The grub’s good. We all scoff there. That’s where I’m going now. Want to come along?”
“No, thanks. I had dinner in the town. Show me the tent and I’ll move my stuff in.”
Cap led the way to the tent that The Solvas had occupied. He shouted for a couple of roughnecks. A thin smile appeared upon Zoda’s lips as Cliff Marsland appeared with another man. Cap Guffy pointed the trunk that stood in the tent. It was closed; a detail to which the secret-service men had attended before leaving with their prisoners.
“Shove this on one of the trucks,” ordered Cap. “Send some punk in here. I want him to bring some kiesters from a car.”
TEN minutes later, Zoda, the mind reader, stood alone in the tent. His suitcases were lying in a corner. His eyes turned in that direction. His lips formed a thin smile. His hand turned out the light that hung fastened to the tent pole.
Then came the click of an opening bag. After that, the swish of cloth. Two minutes later, a ghostly figure emerged from the tent and moved in spectral fashion away from the closing midway.
The gliding form reached a parked coupe. It entered. The motor buzzed. The coupe rolled away. As it struck the road leading into Burnsville, a soft laugh came from the darkness of the car.
Zoda had become The Shadow. Unseen, unnoticed, he was leaving the circus lot upon a secret errand.
CHAPTER VIII
AT THE HOTEL
A TOWN clock was chiming midnight when The Shadow’s coupe rolled to a stop on a side street in the town of Burnsville. Few people were abroad. All the night owls of this nine-o’clock town had gone to the circus and had returned directly to their homes following the closing of the midway.
The only buildings that still showed lights were a small lunch room and a decrepit hotel which bore a battered sign proclaiming it as the “Depot House.” Railroad tracks, half a block away, showed the reason for the hotel’s name.
Shrouded in the darkness of a side street, The Shadow moved alongside the old hotel Looking upward, he spied a pair of lighted windows on the third floor. A long arm swished upward and caught the swinging bottom of a fire escape. The Shadow began a silent ascent.
Reaching the third floor, the invisible prowler entered by a fire exit and moved softly along a dim corridor. He passed two doors; then stopped at a third. Cautiously, he applied a keylike instrument to the lock. The door opened with a slight click.
A tiny flashlight beamed. It showed that the room was empty. The Shadow edged toward a door in the corner. Again, his key did its work. The door opened by inches. The Shadow spied the blocking back of a huge wardrobe that was set caticornered in a lighted room.
People were talking as The Shadow slipped into the hiding place that so neatly suited his convenience. He closed the door under cover of the wardrobe. He moved to the edge of the big object and found a wide space between the wardrobe and the wall. From this vantage point, he commanded a good view of the room.
There were four occupants. Two were Dunham and Slade, the secret-service operatives. The others were The Solvas. The mind readers were sitting sullenly in chairs while they faced their inquisitors. Slade was growling.
“So that’s all you’ve got to say, eh?” he demanded. “Well — we’ll see. You’ll have a chance to tell your story again. We’ve got a friend coming. He’d like to hear it, too.”
Brief minutes passed. Then came a cautious knock at the door. Dunham opened it to admit a stocky, heavy-set visitor. This was the man whom the operatives had expected. His stern features; his square jaw and cold, steely eyes marked him as a personage of keenness and ability.
THE SHADOW knew the identity of the arrival. This man was Vic Marquette, one of the most capable operatives in the secret service. His path had crossed The Shadow’s in the past. The Shadow had expected Vic to appear tonight. He knew that operatives such as Dunham and Slade would be waiting for a chief.
“Hello, Vic,” greeted Slade. “Here’s a pair we pinched up at the circus. Grabbed them in a tent, along with a drawerful of queer. Want to hear their story?”
“Yes,” responded Vic, in a steady tone. “Let’s have it.”
He eyed The Solvas as they spoke. The woman began to squawk a denial. Her husband growled for her to be silent. He faced Marquette and spoke in a sullen tone.
“You got us with the goods, all right,” admitted the man who styled himself Professor Solva. “But we don’t know where the stuff come from. We got horsed into the racket, that’s all. It came out of a clear sky and it looked too soft to pass up.”
“Go ahead.”
“We was working in the Ten-in-One show. Had a platform there, along with a box-load of books. The Madame, here, went to get some books one night and found a note, along with a one-dollar bill. She showed me the note and the one spot. I tore up the note.”
“What did it say?”
“It told me the dollar bill was phony. It said that for every ten bucks of real mazuma I could get fifty of the queer. Told me to put the good money in the book box and leave it there after the show. Said that I’d find the other stuff in its place.”