Even Old Dan was beginning to lose his enthusiasm. “If I’m going to spend good money...” Then a shrewd look came into his eyes. “How’d you get my name?”
The princess shrugged. “How should I know? I was sitting here, doing nothing, when all of a sudden your name popped into my mind...”
“But how’d it pop into your mind — if you didn’t know my name?”
“Let’s not go back over that,” the princess said, tartly. “I told you I don’t know how I know things. I just know, that’s all. Some people think it’s a gift. I, frankly, don’t know.” She made an impatient gesture. “Go ahead — ask your questions and see if the answers suit you.”
“All right.” Tompkins hesitated, then shot out: “What’s the Silver Tombstone?”
“Don’t you know yourself?” the princess shot back.
“Of course I know. I’m asking you, though.”
“Testing me, eh? Well — the Silver Tombstone is a mine. A silver mine in Arizona.”
Tompkins grunted. “Who owns it?”
“You’d like to own it. But the real owner is a... a woman. Her name doesn’t register clearly in my mind. It’s something like Ellen... no, Helen.”
Dan Tompkins was all interest now. “That’s right.” He shot a triumphant glance at the still skeptical Laura Henderson.
“Let me ask you a question,” Laura Henderson said, suddenly.
“Go right ahead, dearie.”
“What’s my name?”
The princess almost choked. “Why, don’t you know, dearie?”
“I know, all right, but I’d like to have you tell me.”
Princess Astra gazed into her crystal ball. Johnny had coached her, given her the names of several people, but there had been two women’s names. And the princess had neglected to ask the name of Dan Tompkins’ consort upon arrival. So she had to guess now — and the wrong guess would end the seance right then and there. Her brain worked rapidly; Helen Walker had been described as the owner of the Silver Tombstone, a self-possessed, independent type of girl. Laura Henderson, she had been told, was gay, a bit on the forward side.
This girl was certainly self-possessed... and suspicious. You could call her independent. That would be Helen Walker. Yet... would Dan Tompkins, who was trying to get the Silver Tombstone from Helen Walker, bring her here?
The princess didn’t know. Silently, she cursed Johnny Fletcher. All this for a measly twenty-five...
“Walker,” she said, suddenly to Dan Tompkins. “That’s the girl’s name — the one who owns the Silver Tombstone...” There was a slight narrowing of the old desert rat’s eyes — a touch of doubt and suspicion and Astra whirled toward Laura Henderson.
“And you, of course,” she said smoothly, “are Laura Henderson.”
She had won.
“All right,” conceded Laura. “Now, just one more question... where is Johnny Fletcher?”
Behind the drapes, Sam Cragg winced. Johnny poked him in the ribs with his elbow.
At the seance table, the Princess Astra smiled blandly. “Who?”
“Johnny Fletcher.”
“Oh, him,” said the princess. She looked into her ball. “I see a small room — a hotel room. Johnny Fletcher is stretched out on the bed. He is sleeping.”
“Where’s the hotel room?” Laura persisted.
“The Fremont Hotel...”
“No,” said Laura. “He isn’t there — not now.”
“Oh, but he is.”
“Not any more. He ran out — with the police after him.”
“The police?” A sharp note came into Astra’s tone.
“Didn’t you know?”
“Of course I knew.” But there was a scowl on the princess’ face.
“That’s one of the things I want to ask you about,” said Dan Tompkins. “As a matter of fact, I sized up this Fletcher as a pretty shrewd bird. A hard customer to get the best of. So when I heard about this, uh, trouble, I got to figuring. Somebody put the finger on him... Who was it?”
Again the princess had to guess. Tompkins was asking the question. He seemed anxious for an answer. So that eliminated him. Which left Joe Cotter, Charles Ralston — and Mike Henderson, to take in all of the men’s names Johnny had given her. Since Tompkins couldn’t immediately prove her wrong, she could guess fairly safe.
“Charles Ralston.”
Dan Tompkins exclaimed. “The dirty rat! So he’s afraid of me.”
“Yes,” said the princess, taking it up from there. “He is in deathly fear of you. At this very moment he is cringing... lest you learn his secret...”
“What secret?” asked Tompkins eagerly.
“...The secret of the Silver Tombstone.”
Chapter Ten
Dan Tompkins shoved back his chair. His eyes went quickly to Laura’s face. Then he moistened his lips with his tongue. “Uh, yeah, what I was going to ask you was, do you think Helen Walker is likely to, ah...”
“What’s the secret of the Silver Tombstone?” Laura Henderson suddenly cut in.
Astra passed a hand over her crystal ball, as if wiping away a mist. She peered into its murky depths, peered long and painfully, then she pressed a hand to her forehead.
“I can’t tell you,” she said and Dan Tompkins could not stifle an audible sigh of relief. “I can’t tell you, because it would not be right... yet.” She brushed the ball again. “The crystal is clouded... I see trouble... police...” She let out a low moan. “This man, Fletcher...”
“Never mind Fletcher!” exclaimed Tompkins. “Tell me about myself...”
“You’re mixed up with Fletcher. The police...”
“All right,” snapped Laura Henderson. “What about the police? Are they going to nab Fletcher? Did he commit the murder...?”
“Murder?” the princess gasped. “What’s this about murder?”
Behind the velvet screen Johnny Fletcher cursed under his breath.
“What’s the matter?” Laura asked witheringly. “Didn’t your ball tell you about the murder?”
“I don’t mix in murder.” Princess Astra grabbed the edge of the table, pressed a button.
The black-haired secretary popped into the seance room. “Yes, Princess?”
“Call the police,” said the princess. “Tell them—”
Johnny Fletcher jerked aside the velvet drapes. “Never mind,” he snarled.
“Fletcher!” cried Dan Tompkins. “What are you doing here?”
“Being taken by a double-crosser...”
“Nadine!” said the princess sharply.
The secretary started to turn back, but Johnny Fletcher took two quick strides and cut her off. “Uh-uh,” he said. Then, to the princess, “Give me back my twenty-five bucks.”
“Go to hell,” said her highness. “You didn’t tell me anything about a murder. You just wanted some questions...”
“Say,” cut in Tompkins, “I don’t like this. I don’t like it at all. What’s the gag, Fletcher? Did you rig this up...?”
“Of course he did,” said Laura Henderson. “That’s how she knew our names and that business about the Silver Tombstone.”
“Fortune tellers,” sneered Sam Cragg. “Anybody who’d believe in fortune tellers...”
Dan Tompkins blushed. “Fellas, I played fair with you. I paid you the dough you asked...”
“You got gypped,” said Laura.
“Look, beautiful,” Johnny Fletcher said, through bared teeth, “I like you a lot, but you keep on sticking that knife into me and you’re going to spoil what might have become a beautiful friendship.”
“I’m sorry about that,” Laura retorted coolly. “And if there was any chance of that friendship materializing I’d be with you... but you can’t expect me to wait thirty-five years for you, now can you? And that’s how long you’re going to be in San Quentin... if you’re lucky enough to escape...” She pantomimed an execution, by running a finger across her tanned throat.