CHAPTER IX
WORD TO THE SHADOW
ANOTHER prosperous evening had ended on the circus lot. The remnants of the crowd were strolling from the midway. The front of the Ten-in-One was closed. Freaks and performers had left their platform, with the exception of the new mind reader. He was arranging his books while Cap Guffy was closing up.
The flaps at the entrance were pushed aside. Guffy, about to bark a challenge at the intruders, stopped as he saw Tex Larch coming in. With the proprietor of the circus was Lucille Lavan. Following them was a thick-faced man: Eric Wernoff, the Animal King.
“Hello, Cap,” greeted Lucille. “We just came up from the office. I wanted to see this new mind reader that everybody is talking about.”
“He’s finished his act,” informed Cap, gruffly. “There he is, though, over on the platform. Come on over if you want to meet him.”
Cap took the visitors to the platform. Zoda gave a profound bow as he was introduced to Lucille Lavan. The girl stated the purpose of her visit.
“We’ve heard a lot about your act,” she said. “They say that you work it single. How in the world — well, how do you manage it without someone in the crowd to have people ask them questions?”
“I let persons write their questions,” came Zoda’s steady response. “For instance” — he reached to a table on the platform and stepped down to the rail — “take this pad and pencil. Write any question that you wish. Then tear off the paper.”
“And give it to you?”
“No. Keep the paper in your own hand. That’s right. Look at the words that you have written. Raise your hand toward your eyes.”
The girl followed the directions, keeping the writing toward herself. Zoda shook his head. His lips formed a thin smile.
“A bit higher.” He reached forward and grasped the girl’s right wrist lightly. “On a level with your eyes so that you can read and concentrate. That’s right.”
A mirror glimmered from the palm of Zoda’s left hand. The mind reader was the only one who saw it; for the back of his hand was toward the others. His keen eyes saw the reflection of the words that Lucille had written. They were in reverse; yet Zoda read them with a glimpse. He stepped back to the platform.
“Fold the paper,” he ordered. “Press it lightly against your forehead — thus.”
Lucille nodded and copied Zoda’s action. While she held the paper slip, Zoda stared steadily toward her eyes; then spoke in a solemn tone.
“Your question,” he stated, “is a simple one. You wish to know if the future holds luck for you. I can answer it. Your fortune is already made. Others know what you have not yet learned. That is all.”
“Wonderful!” exclaimed Lucille. “This slip of paper was never out of my hand! What do you think of it Tex — and you, Eric?”
“Very goot,” responded Eric Wernoff. “I haff seen nothing so clever before this time. Very goot.”
IT was plain that the animal trainer had not detected Zoda’s smooth trickery. The action of touching Lucille’s wrist had been well accomplished, in a most natural fashion.
Tex Larch was baffled also; but it was plain that he was thinking of something that Zoda had said. His weatherbeaten face was stern as his shrewd eyes studied the masklike visage of the mind reader.
“Let’s go back to the office, Lucille,” suggested Tex, gruffly. “I’ve got some business there. Come along. We’ll see you later, Cap.”
“I’ll walk along with you,” responded Guffy. “I’m going down to scoff. I’ll keep on to the cook tent.”
He started to follow the others; then paused and waved them ahead. He turned back to speak to Zoda.
“Those boxes of yours are in town,” he told the mind reader. “They came into the station tonight. I’ll send down for them in the morning. What’re you going to do? Rig up this platform different?”
“Yes. I intend to place pillars by the rail; with steps leading down to them. My act will be different then. I shall be closer to the spectators.”
“That sounds like a good flash. Your act is a knock-out, Zoda; it was a break for me when The Solvas jumped the show.”
“Have you heard from them?”
“Yeah. They wrote in saying they were going to join up with another outfit. Said I’d hear from them later, so I could ship their stuff.”
“Mr. Larch has left,” reminded Zoda, in his even-toned voice. “Weren’t you going with him, Cap?”
“No,” responded Guffy. “I was going along down the midway; that’s all. I changed my mind, though. I’m not talking much with Tex Larch right now. He’s a good scout — a trooper like myself — but he’s got his business and I’ve got mine. Going to scoff with me down at the cook tent, Zoda?”
“Sorry,” replied the mind reader. “I am very seldom hungry after the show. I shall see you later, Captain.”
Guffy left the tent by himself. Zoda remained on the platform for a short while; then followed and made his way toward the tent that had formerly been the living quarters of The Solvas.
WHILE The Shadow — as Zoda — had been demonstrating his act to Lucille Lavan, other events had been moving on the circus lot. Cliff Marsland, down by the circus tent, had run into Hank, the first man who had shown him a red circle.
“See that tent?” Hank pointed out an isolated spot where a faint glow showed through brownish canvas. “We’re covering it. Sneak over to the side of that first truck. Don’t go any closer to the tent — and see that nobody else does.”
“Right,” agreed Cliff.
Reaching the truck, The Shadow’s agent posted himself as a member of the guarding group. He knew that others who carried the red circle must be in the vicinity. Most of the lights had been turned off along the midway; pitch blackness reigned in this portion of the lot, except for the dull light from the secluded tent.
Until tonight, Cliff’s only inkling of crime had been the presence of the mobsters who formed part of the circus crew. He knew that some of the Malligan-Zinn gang were established as ticket sellers and concessionaires. Cliff knew nothing about the counterfeiting end of the game, for the roughnecks were not used as passers of the queer currency.
Cliff had decided that Croaker Zinn was with the outfit. Yet Cliff had not seen the mobleader. The only two persons who might have contact with Croaker were Luke and Princess Marxia, for they had steered Cliff into the red circle.
Mobsters — all pretended roughnecks — were covering the lighted tent. To Cliff, that meant that a meeting must be under way. Hank’s order not to approach too close to the tent was indication that even the mobsmen were to remain in ignorance of the persons at the meeting. Cliff knew that the mobsmen would obey the order to keep their distance.
That was the very reason why Cliff decided to approach. He was one of a cordon stretched around the tent. The darkness was thick. It offered opportunity. Easing away from the truck, Cliff dropped to his hands and knees and groped his way toward the dull light.
He reached the tent without encountering any obstacles. Crawling with hand against the canvas, Cliff found the flap as he listened to the mumble of voices from within the tent. Lying flat on the ground, Cliff raised a tiny peephole and peered into the lighted interior.
Facing him was Luke, the tattooed man. At Luke’s side was the woman called Princess Marxia. Cliff was not surprised to see them here. But the sight of a third figure brought a silent gasp to his lips. Seated cross-legged on the ground was Cleed, the Cigarette Fiend!
The man began to speak as Cliff watched. The harsh tone of his voice — it was giving the first words that Cliff had ever heard Cleed utter — was enough to reveal the man’s identity. Cleed, the pretended dope, was Croaker Zinn!