“Don’t pyramid,” warned The Shadow, in the quiet tone of Cranston. “The luck is due for a bad turn. Smaller bets for a while. Play for an even break.”
“Too bad you didn’t meet Lence,” observed Luke, as they took the loss that The Shadow had predicted. “He was coming out to the house tomorrow night. Going to bring a complete mathematical formula for his system. But he told me tonight that he was leaving town for a few days.”
“Too bad. I should like to have made his acquaintance. So you live here in New Orleans, Gaudrin?”
“Born here. The old mansion will be in the fourth generation when the governor passes it along to me.”
“You live with your father?”
“Yes. He’s a gentleman of the old school. How long do you intend to be in town, Mr. Cranston?”
“Quite a while. Unless I should receive some unanticipated message from New York.”
“How about tomorrow night. Couldn’t you drop out and meet the folks?”
“Possibly. This is rather an unexpected invitation—”
“A chap named Dunwood Marr will be there. Millionaire from Florida. Owns Mexican mines—”
“And specializes in seaplane trips?”
“That’s the man. Do you know him?”
“We have mutual acquaintances.”
“Good. You ought to meet Marr. He’s flying down from Florida tomorrow afternoon. Can I count on you, Mr. Cranston?”
“Yes.”
The Shadow placed a new bet as he accepted the invitation. Luke copied the combination. The result was a win. The run of luck had returned. Eagerly, the young man watched the long-fingered hands as they placed new stacks of chips.
He never glanced toward Cranston’s face. He did not see the thin smile that remained fixed upon those knowing lips. He did not realize that this new friend had deliberately usurped Tracy Lence’s place.
Having picked Lence as the swindler from New York; knowing the murderous con man to be an aid of Cyro, The Shadow was planning to learn the details of the game that the crook had temporarily abandoned.
CHAPTER IX
IN THE OFFICE
WHILE The Shadow was amazing Luke Gaudrin with the fine points of roulette play, Joe Cardona was lounging in a little anteroom where Rafferty had left him. Minutes dragged by; then an inner door opened and a big fellow in tuxedo motioned the detective to enter.
When Joe had passed the portal, the bouncer went out. Cardona stood facing a desk behind which sat a man of unusual bearing. This was Royal Medbrook, proprietor of the Club Caprice. Quiet of expression, his face held a sharpness that marked him as a man capable of action.
A poker face. With eyes that were restless, yet always returning to their mark. To Cardona, Medbrook looked like a fellow who could beat the toughest third degree. He had met others of the gambler’s type; but never one who impressed him so effectively.
Royal Medbrook studied his swarthy-faced visitor. Then, without a word, he arose from his chair, stretched across the desk and shook hands. After that, he pulled a box of cigars from a drawer and motioned for Joe to take one.
The detective accepted. Medbrook lighted a cigar of his own.
Not a word had been spoken. Puffing at his cigar, Medbrook glanced about the room. Cardona found himself instinctively following the moves. He saw a door that formed a route into the nearest card room. It was heavily constructed and bore a formidable lock. Joe also observed an opening to an inner office — a door that stood ajar. Finally, he noticed a heavily curtained window at the side of the room.
“I’ve heard of you, Cardona.”
Medbrook broke the silence with this statement. He followed with a puff at his cigar. Then he added:
“That was before Rafferty told me you were coming here tonight.”
Cardona smiled.
“Friends in the profession?” he questioned.
“Yes,” acknowledged Medbrook. “Friends. Straight-shooters. You’d know them if I mentioned their names. They liked you.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Medbrook.”
“One of them took a rap through you. But he had no hard feelings about it. Your job was to pinch him, and you did. That was the way he looked at it.”
A pause. Then Medbrook resumed.
“Detectives don’t come in here often,” he remarked. “That’s not because I don’t like them. It’s because I don’t respect their intelligence. I am speaking chiefly of those from Northern cities. I can’t deal with them, as a rule.”
“Why not?”
“Because of their prejudices. They can’t get rid of the idea that the gambling business is a racket. They take the attitude that all proprietors like myself are out to trim the suckers. Which is true in the cities where those particular detectives come from.
“Illegal gambling is a high-priced proposition for those who run it. They’re always expecting a double cross from the politicians with whom they deal. It’s a racket, all right, but the racketeers are the politicians. You can’t blame the gamblers for grabbing all they can while the game is hot.”
“There’s a lot in what you say, Medbrook.”
“I know there is. But here, it’s different. I pay for my privileges; but I pay a set price and there’s no chiseling. They don’t put the heat on me; so I don’t take it out on my customers. Is that clear?”
Cardona nodded.
“ALL right.” Medbrook leaned across the desk and wagged his cigar. “I understand you’re looking for a bigshot swindler. There’s a chance that he’s been here at the Club Caprice. That tip comes from you. On that account, I owe you a vote of thanks. You would like to grab this fellow Cyro. So would I.
“To you it would mean a pinch. Big credit for you back in New York. To me, it might mean anywhere from fifty grand up. If a con man struts his stuff around this place and gets away with it, I not only lose the customer who was trimmed; I lose all his friends and all their friends. Do you get it?”
Another nod from Cardona.
“I thought you would,” resumed Medbrook. “I’ve been on this case ever since word came to me this afternoon. I have thirty men around this place, Cardona. Any one of them would be a credit to the best detective agency in the country. Here are their reports.”
He paused to pull a sheaf of papers from a desk drawer. He thumbed the pages one by one; then tossed the batch to Cardona.
“Read them for yourself,” declared Medbrook. “They cover the past week. They list every muscler that walked into this club. They have every man labeled. I’d be tickled pink if your man Cyro was among them. But he isn’t.”
Cardona studied the listings. He was astonished at their detail. They included aliases as well as bona fide names. They referred to crooked deals that the marked men had performed. But as Medbrook had said, every rogue was of a tawdry sort.
“You’ve seen my bouncers.” There was a tinge of pride in Medbrook’s tone. “They invited every one of these small-timers out of the place. If they had slugged the whole lot — hung a haymaker on every chin — there wouldn’t have been a come-back from a single one of the rats. But I don’t like skinned knuckles. They don’t go well with evening clothes. Those huskies of mine use politeness until it hurts. But it works.”
“It don’t look like I’m tracing Cyro,” remarked Cardona, passing the papers back to Medbrook. “But I’ve learned something tonight. If I had thirty men as good as yours, I could show some results that would knock the police commissioner off his pins.”
“They cost me three grand a week,” observed Medbrook. “More than that. Pay that price for a squad of detectives and you’ll make out as well as I do. All right, Cardona. There’s the story.”
“And it means no luck.”
“You’ve sized it. But there’s still a chance. Tonight isn’t over. The boys are tipped. Maybe they’ll pick up a lead. How long are you going to be in New Orleans?”