None of the three men in the sanctum were cognizant of what had taken place. The curtain which Rajah Brahman had dropped now obscured their view. The rajah lifted the curtain again and gave his last word to Martin Slade.
"Wait about a half a minute," he said. "Then cut into the seance room. I'm going around the other way. We'll meet there."
As the seer left on his search, Martin Slade nervously drew a revolver from his pocket. He did not like this job. He was too worried about the possible identity of that invisible presence. Could The Shadow be here?
Slade did not voice his thought, because of the chief. Steadying himself, he started toward the seance room and cautiously opened the door from the sanctum. He waited, revolver in hand, then slipped through the door.
The seance room was empty. Its indirect light showed every spot, and there was no sign of a hidden person.
A man appeared from another door. It was Rajah Brahman. He shook his head as he saw Martin Slade. Together, they searched the room.
"Guess I'm the goat," declared Rajah Brahman. "Not a chance of any one being here. I looked all around."
"How about there?"
Slade made a significant gesture toward the center of the room. Rajah Brahman laughed.
"Not a chance," he declared. "Not a chance. You're the only person outside of the chief who knows how Tony and I work. That's as safe as a solid wall. Come along — let's find Tony." They went to the entrance of the apartment and found the turbaned man awaiting them. Tony shook his head in the characteristic fashion of Imam Singh. He had seen no one.
Rajah Brahman and his companion returned to the inner sanctum. The smooth-faced seer was laughing at his own suspicions.
"Guess I'm seeing spooks myself," he declared. "I thought that curtain moved — but it must have been that something distracted my attention at the time. There's no one here. What's more, there's not going to be."
He called Tony, and the assistant received orders to keep a careful watch.
"I always get a bit keyed up when the big time is here," declared the rajah apologetically. "It's hard for you to understand my end of the game.
"You have to sell yourself when you're doing these spook stunts. Make yourself pretty near believe it. That's what makes it look sincere.
"You know what I've told you about these small-fry mediums, who think that the big shots may have genuine psychic powers. There's nothing strange about that. These dollar grafters go into fake trances so often that they begin to get woozy.
"Some of them really imagine they see real spirits. When they get that way, they're impossible. Claim they only do the fake stuff to help the spirits along. They really think they're genuine."
"And now you're getting that way?" asked Slade.
"Not quite," laughed Rajah Brahman, "but this consulting work has put me in a funny mental state. I wouldn't be surprised if I did see a real spook, some night!
"Let's drop that, now," he changed the subject. "You've got a job to do, Slade. Are you sure you can reach this gunman out in Chicago?"
"Snooks Milligan? Easy. He hangs out at the Napoli Hotel. He's in with Gallanta's crowd. They'll do anything, particularly after I feed Milligan some soft soap.
"They've been worrying about some sort of a hook-up between the police in New York and Chicago. They'll be more anxious than we are to grab Cardona, if I give them the right kind of a tip."
"Do they know anything about our racket?" Rajah Brahman's voice was apprehensive.
"Not a thing!" declared Slade. "They think I'm out for blackmail. If they find out what Cardona's there for — and they know how to do it — they'll send me all the dope. If they bump him off, so much the better."
All three men seemed in accord on this last point. Martin Slade left, and Rajah Brahman accompanied him to the door of the apartment.
This time, Slade felt no apprehension. He had no feeling that hidden eyes were watching from the dark as he passed through the anteroom.
Leaving the Callao Hotel, he went to the Grand Central Station and put in a telephone call for Chicago. He was quickly connected with "Snooks" Milligan, at the Napoli Hotel. In well-couched words, Slade explained his purpose. He phrased the conversation so that it might bring alarm to Snooks Milligan.
Leaving the phone booth, Slade started for Long Island, completely satisfied. He chuckled as he drove along. There would be trouble for Detective Joe Cardona to-night!
While Slade was riding leisurely eastward, a giant monoplane was zooming west at a speed of more than two hundred and fifty miles an hour. Its mighty wings cast a strange, moving shadow across the moonlit countryside.
At the wheel of the roaring plane was a man who laughed!
Chapter XVII — In Chicago
A quiet, well-dressed young man entered the lobby of an old hotel in Chicago. He noticed a bell boy standing by the wall. The young man approached him and gave him two objects — a small pasteboard box and a fifty-cent piece.
"Will you deliver this package to Room 414?" he questioned. "Do it right away."
"Sure thing!" exclaimed the bell boy. "On my way now, sir!" He entered the elevator and rode upstairs, juggling the half dollar — an unusually large tip in that decadent hotel. The bell boy was bound on an important mission, although he did not know it. The man who had given him the package was Harry Vincent, an agent of The Shadow. He had prepared a warning message in response to a special telephone call from New York.
The speaker at the other end had been Burbank, a quiet-voiced man who worked at The Shadow's right hand.
The message which Harry had arranged was in the package that was going to Room 414. The occupant of that room was Detective Joe Cardona.
On the fourth floor, the bell boy hesitated. He had forgotten the number of the room. He seemed to remember it as 418.
He was not sure. He knocked at the door that bore that number. A man opened it.
"Were you expecting a package, sir?" inquired the bell boy.
"Yes," growled the man. "Is that it? Let me have it."
He slammed the door, and the bell boy went away. The man opened the package in a hurry. It was time it had arrived.
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.