“Sure they are, Royal. I’ll play the game.”
“Turn in half your chips for cash. That’s six hundred. Don’t squander it. Put the others against your account. Play some of them back if you want. But if you lose them all, don’t cry for more tonight.”
“All right, Royal.”
MEDBROOK wrote out an order and handed it to Luke. The young man arose and walked from the office. Tony came in and looked quizzical.
“Anything new, boss?” he asked.
“Nothing,” replied Medbrook. “You can go, Tony.”
“But this fellow Tracy Lence—”
“He’s not the one the New York dick is after.”
“Then if he comes here again—”
“Don’t bother him.”
Tony went out. Shortly afterward, Medbrook arose from his desk. Peering eyes watched from behind the curtain. The Shadow saw a wise smile creep over the gambler’s lips. Medbrook followed the path that Tony had taken.
Ten minutes later, Royal Medbrook returned after a brief tour through the gaming room. Again, his wise lips formed their smile. Methodically, the gambler tried the door to the card room to make sure it was locked. It was.
No eyes were watching the gambler’s return. The space behind the curtain was empty. The Shadow had departed, locking the door to the card room after his exit.
OUTSIDE, Lamont Cranston entered a taxi and told the driver to take him to New Orleans. As the cab headed townward, a soft, almost inaudible laugh came from The Shadow’s disguised lips.
Tonight, The Shadow had learned of a game that was big enough to attract the famous Cyro. He had arranged a visit to the Gaudrin mansion, a trip that would put him in close contact with those concerned in the matter of the Spanish treasure.
But more than that, he had analyzed the circumstances. He had considered the potentialities of coming crime. Keen in his judgment, he had classed Luke Gaudrin as a weakling. More than that, he had sized the part that Royal Medbrook was playing in this game of wealth.
CHAPTER XI
CROOKS AGREE
THE next morning found Raoul Brilliard at his easel. Still working upon the finishing touches of the portrait, the bearded artist was humming a catchy Parisian air as he applied dabs with the brush. Stepping back to survey his work, Brilliard became conscious that someone had entered. Smiling, he turned about to face Tracy Lence.
“Bon matin, monsieur,” greeted Brilliard. “Entrez, s’il vous plait. Fermez la porte.”
Lence understood the order to close the door. He performed that action while Brilliard watched him. The Frenchman nodded wisely as he noted Lence’s anxiety.
“What is the matter?” inquired Brilliard.
“Plenty,” returned Lence. “Did you ever hear of Joe Cardona?”
“No,” replied Brilliard. “Who is he? Some con man? Did you see him out at the Club Caprice?”
“He’s not a con man,” explained Lence. “He’s a dick. A smart one, from New York. But the Club Caprice was where I saw him.”
“You know him then?”
“By sight.”
“Does he know you?”
“No.”
Brilliard shrugged his shoulders and turned back to work at the easel. Apparently, he could not see how Joe Cardona’s arrival in New Orleans concerned the cause for which Cyro’s aids were striving.
Lence caught the significance of the Frenchman’s shrug. He decided to explain matters.
“When I was in New York, Brilliard,” he said, cautiously, “I was on my own. Not working for Cyro. You understand, don’t you?”
Brilliard nodded. It was obvious that he had learned the facts of Lence’s probation.
“I was counting on a tip from Cyro,” resumed Lence. “But I had to live in the meantime. So I teamed up with a smart worker named Roke Rowden. He was the front. I was the blind, ready to strut my stuff under a phony name — so I’d keep under cover.”
“I understand. Go on.”
“Well” — Lence hesitated — “Rowden spotted that message that came in from Cyro. He wanted to be in the know. Threatened to queer the game. So I bumped him.”
“Openly?”
“No. We were alone in his apartment. I made a perfect getaway. Left Roke Rowden dying, with suicide appearances. When I left New York, I ducked around a bit on my way here.”
“So you told me.”
“I didn’t leave a clue. I wouldn’t have come here if I had. Yet here’s Joe Cardona in town. Out at the Club Caprice, talking with a chap named Rafferty, who’s a stooge for the New Orleans police.”
“On your trail, eh?”
“I wouldn’t say that. I think he’s after somebody else. Looking for some lammister, maybe. There’s probably a bunch of them bumming around New Orleans. But here’s the way I figure it, Brilliard. Cardona is smart. He’s a guy with hunches. I don’t like him being in town.”
“Why not suggest that he leave?”
Brilliard’s tone rang with sarcasm. Tracy Lence winced. He laughed in forced fashion. Then he became more serious than before.
“CYRO is a big shot,” he declared. “I know he doesn’t worry about wise dicks. But Cardona is a lucky bird. Runs into the breaks, that fellow does.”
“You mean then” — Brilliard wheeled, impressed by his companion’s tone — “that there is actually a chance that this detective could interfere with our plans?”
“I mean it,” assured Lence.
Brilliard considered. While the Frenchman was still pondering, Lence put in new statements.
“I had Luke Gaudrin lined up,” he asserted. “But when I saw Cardona, I ducked. I headed in town and checked out of my hotel. Checked all my luggage and drove up to Gulfport. Stayed there for the night and drove back this morning.”
“And Luke Gaudrin,” questioned Brilliard, narrowly, “did he suspect anything?”
“Nothing,” assured Lence. “I told him I would get in touch with him after I returned to town. Within a few days, that is to be.”
Brilliard nodded. He reached in his smock, drew out a small card, and wrote an address upon it.
“Move into this place,” he said. “An apartment over near the Cabildo. Close by Jackson Square. I leased the apartment for a friend named Richard Guyas. The name is already on the door. Introduce yourself as Guyas and live there.
“You will then be free to move out of sight any time you choose. For the present, keep out of sight. Except when you come here, which you may do any time during the day or evening up to midnight.
“If you see this door closed, do not enter. That will mean that I have art patrons present. They come seldom, for I do not encourage them. But let me add one point: after tonight, keep a sharp lookout while you are traveling through the Quarter.”
“Why?”
“On account of this man Cardona.”
“You think he will be around here?”
“If he is looking for someone and does not find that person at the Club Caprice, he will most certainly come to the French Quarter. We can allow him one more night; then watch out.”
“I get it. He’ll wait for a report from the Club Caprice. Maybe he’ll go there. If there’s nothing doing, he’ll be down in this section.”
“Exactly. And that is the time when we must be ready for trouble. But I do not suppose there will be any.”
Brilliard’s tone showed annoyance. Lence noted it and began to pace the studio. Suddenly he turned to the artist.
“Say, Brilliard!” exclaimed Lence. “What’s the matter with this fellow Link Ruckert — the one you said was waiting to hear from me at the Douran Hotel? Why don’t I get in touch with him?”
“For what purpose?”
“To get rid of Cardona. Link could bring a squad of gorillas down here and hand that dick the works. It would be a cinch! This French Quarter is loaded with hide-outs—”