“Report.”
“Marsland is watching Muggsy Wagram. At Red Mike’s. Muggsy has been talking, with gorillas. Apparently forming a new mob. No mention of Marty Lunk as yet.”
“Report received.”
Another pause; then came the final announcement:
“Report from Burke.”
“Report.”
“Information received at the Classic office. Society event tonight at the home of Rupert Murnick, Long Island. Madame Lorenna to be there.”
“Report received.”
The earphones slid across the table. The light clicked out. A soft laugh sounded in the darkness. Weird echoes followed; then silence. The sanctum was empty. The Shadow had departed.
Despite his new campaign, The Shadow had not forgotten Marty Lunk. When he dealt with men of crime, The Shadow fought them to the finish. Marty Lunk had been fortunate in his escape from The Shadow’s coils. The mobleader was in hiding. The Shadow, through Cliff Marsland, was on the watch for Marty’s return.
Tonight, The Shadow had chosen a mild task. Three agents had reported. The third had been Clyde Burke, the Classic reporter. His statement that Madame Lorenna was to appear at a home on Long Island was one which interested The Shadow for the present. It afforded first hand opportunity to learn how the gypsy fortune teller was progressing.
RUPERT MURNICK’S Long Island mansion was ablaze with light when a limousine pulled up before the house. A tall figure stepped from the car. A visitor in evening clothes ascended the steps. He gave his name to a servant at the door; before the servant had time to announce the guest, a fat-faced, middle-aged man came hastening forward. It was Rupert Murnick.
“Good evening, Mr. Cranston!” exclaimed the host. “It is a pleasure to have you with us. I did not know that you were in town.”
“I arrived this afternoon,” responded Cranston, quietly. “I found your invitation at my home.”
A dance was in progress in a room on the right. Murnick led Cranston past that entrance. On the left the visitor noted two ladies talking in front of a closed door. Murnick kept straight on; he and Cranston reached a smoking room where a dozen men were chatting.
Introductions followed. Murnick was highly pleased at the arrival of Cranston. He announced the visitor as a famous globetrotter. Cranston, a thin smile on his lips, became the center of a group. Quietly, he began to answer questions concerning his extensive travels.
All the while, Cranston’s tall form cast a long, blackened shadow on the floor. The listeners did not notice that streak of darkness, which ended in a perfect silhouette. They did not know that it proclaimed the true identity of the visitor.
THIS personage who appeared in the guise of Lamont Cranston was actually The Shadow. When the real Lamont Cranston was absent from New York, The Shadow frequently adopted his personality.
Lamont Cranston, globetrotting millionaire, was welcome everywhere. He had many friends; but none knew him well. Hence The Shadow, as Lamont Cranston, found opportunity to visit the homes of the Four Hundred. He had chosen the millionaire’s personality for this trip to Rupert Murnick’s.
“Strange lands,” Cranston was remarking. “Strange people. I have seen many. Yet there is one race that is most singular of all. Their tribes appear in every land. They are Rom — the men par excellence; and they call all others gajo — gentiles. I am speaking of those whom we term gypsies.”
“You mean,” questioned some one, “that all gypsies are one race?”
“Basically,” affirmed Cranston. “They are called by different names in certain countries. They have adopted phrases from the languages used in the parts of the world where they happen to roam. In fact, there are fourteen distinct dialects of Romany in Europe. Nevertheless, all these nomadic tribes are of the same origin. All are Rom. Never will they lose their strange identity.”
“Very interesting, Mr. Cranston.” The comment came from Rupert Murnick. “Particularly so, because we have a gypsy here tonight. Madame Lorenna — she is supposed to be a gypsy queen — is giving palm readings.”
“Indeed!” remarked Cranston. “In the room that we passed on the left?”
“Yes. Would you like to speak to her? Perhaps you might recognize her dialect. She is leaving very soon—”
“Never mind,” interposed Cranston. Then, with a smile: “I would be more interested in hearing the comments of those who have had their fortunes told. It is amazing, gentlemen, how capably these gypsy palmists can grasp facts. Their statements — sometimes their predictions — are often remarkable for their accuracy.”
“Come along,” suggested Murnick. “We’ll find out what the ladies have to say about Madame Lorenna.”
Cranston followed Murnick from the smoking room. He led his guest to a front room, where a group of women were engaged in discussion. Murnick introduced Cranston. The visitor listened to the chatter.
Among the group was a girl of twenty. She was an attractive blonde. Cranston noted the interest which the girl evidenced in the conversation. It was apparent that she had not yet visited Madame Lorenna.
The girl was wearing a gold pendant. From its setting gleamed a stone of a rich orange-yellow hue. It was a topaz of unusual lustre. The mountings gave it the appearance of an heirloom.
While Cranston’s keen eyes studied the gem, Claude Jerwyn appeared. He approached the group with clasped hands and bowed to the ladies in formal fashion.
“Madame Lorenna can give time for one more reading,” he announced. Then, bowing to the girl whom The Shadow was watching, he added: “I believe the appointment is yours, Miss Laustin.”
The girl followed Jerwyn. Lamont Cranston strolled away. At the hall door, he saw Jerwyn usher the girl into the room where Lorenna was located. Jerwyn closed the door and walked along the hall.
Cranston waited. Then, with leisurely stride he stepped into the hallway. He reached the door that Jerwyn had left. Softly, he opened it. A smile showed on his thin lips.
To create a gypsy atmosphere, turkey-red curtains had been hung across the center of the room. These formed a partition. Lorenna and the girl were beyond the curtains. Cranston’s tall form glided through the doorway. The door closed. The secret visitor reached the curtains.
Lorenna was wearing a gypsy costume. She was speaking in quaint English as she read the lines of the girl’s palm. Minutes passed. The reading was coming to a conclusion.
“Danger will come to you,” declared the gypsy. “But you need not fear. Good fortune will protect you. Eet is well, my lady, that you wear the amulet — always—”
“The amulet?” questioned the girl.
“Thees.” Lorenna reached forward and grasped the topaz pendant. It glittered as it lay in the gypsy’s dusky palm. “To those who wear the topaz, sadness will not come. Eet will bring good courage. Evil will go — no enchantment can overcome thees amulet.”
A pause. Lorenna’s voice became a whisper:
“Thees was a gift to you. I, Lorenna, can tell the past as I can see the future. Thees amulet — eet is not of your country. Eet has come from far away. Thees is from the country that they call Spain.”
“How did you know that?” asked the girl, in surprise.
“Am I not right?” returned Lorenna.
“Yes.” The girl nodded. “My father gave me this pendant last week. He told me that it was from Spain. He did not tell me that it was an amulet.”
“But did he tell you how he obtained it?” asked Lorenna.
“He bought it from a friend,” was the reply. “I do not know the man’s name. He is a collector of rare gems. I must ask my father—”
“Ah, yes,” interposed Lorenna. “You must ask him about thees amulet. But you must see me again, my lady. To those who have the strange fortune, Lorenna can tell much. The future — eet will be plain when I, Lorenna, am not so tired with many readings.”