“You mean their policy of running a gaming room?”
“Yes. Gambling does not belong in a private club.”
Durflee rubbed his chin. Like Hayd, he was looking across the social room, toward curtains from which the click of chips was audible.
“We can’t help it, Hayd,” declared the banker. “We have influential members who like to gamble. New Orleans is wide open, with plenty of so-called clubs which are very pretentious. We must manage somehow to keep our members here.”
“There should be no compromise with an evil situation,” objected Hayd. “Two wrongs do not make a right. The only benefit of the gaming room is that it enables us to note which of our members are undesirable.”
“By those you mean the ones who enter the gaming room?”
“Yes. To me, those curtains are the dividing line. My opinion of a man is lessened — sometimes utterly destroyed — when I see him go through that further door. It stands as a dividing line between respectability and disrepute.”
“There is merit in what you say, Hayd. My chief objection to the gaming room is of a different nature, however. It has attracted persons who do not belong in the Delta Club. Doubtful characters who have managed to acquire guest cards. If I were a member of an important committee, I would—” Durflee broke off his statement to turn toward an attendant who had approached him. The man was holding out a calling card.
“A gentleman who asked for you, Mr. Durflee,” explained the attendant. “He sent his card in to you—”
“Lamont Cranston!” exclaimed Durflee. “My friend from New York! I must see him at once—”
Looking beyond the attendant, Durflee spied a tall personage who had strolled in without waiting. It was The Shadow, in the guise of Cranston. Durflee recognized him. Hurrying to meet his friend, Durflee shook hands with The Shadow.
“WELL, well, Cranston!” exclaimed the banker. “You did right not to wait outside. I’m mighty glad to see you. How long will you be in New Orleans?”
“A few weeks, perhaps,” replied The Shadow, quietly.
“You shall have a guest card at this club,” announced Durflee. “I shall speak to Gilling about it. He is the treasurer of the club. Cranston, I want you to meet Lester Hayd, president of the Wide World Loan Co.”
The Shadow shook hands with Hayd. The bulky man was pleased to meet so important a friend of Durflee’s. In his guise of Cranston, The Shadow presented an impressive appearance. He was immaculately attired in evening clothes. His quiet manner, his easy carriage, marked him as a person of distinction.
Conversation began between the trio. From Durflee’s remarks, Hayd gathered that Cranston was a millionaire and a traveler; also a collector of many rarities. Hayd became enthusiastic.
“We must get together, Cranston,” insisted Hayd. “I own a most unusual collection of Louisiana literature. Everything from magazines and pamphlets to steamship schedules and tickets used in the old Louisiana Lottery.”
“The last item is interesting,” chuckled Durflee. “It shows that you have at least a historic interest in gambling, Hayd.”
“That collection,” remarked Hayd, seriously, “is one reason why I am so opposed to gambling. Those lottery tickets tell their tragedy, Durflee. They show how thousands of poor, miserable persons were swindled of their earnings in hope of impossible gain.”
“The lottery did deteriorate in its later days,” nodded Durflee. “Many dupes bought counterfeit tickets without knowing it.”
“Many did,” assured Hayd. “Very many. The abolition of the Louisiana Lottery was a most admirable piece of legislation.”
“Yet men still gamble,” remarked Durflee, indicating the door of the gaming room. “There go some new customers, Hayd. Humph! There is young Blouchet among them.”
Hayd stared. His eyebrows furrowed and his lips became grim in disapproval.
“Too bad,” clucked Durflee. “I did not know that Blouchet was a gambler.”
“Nor did I think so,” returned Hayd. “It changes my opinion of him. I am afraid, Durflee, that Blouchet will have reason to regret his action.”
The Shadow had picked out the man whom the two speakers indicated. He, however, was concerned with another who had also entered the gambling room; a tall man whom The Shadow had trailed here tonight. Starting from the Bontezan Hotel, The Shadow had traced Banjo Lobot to the Delta Club.
He had seen the fellow stop in an Exchange Street grogshop and receive a headshake from a bartender.
He had followed him to a hotel, where a bellhop had given the same signal. The Shadow was right; Banjo had a route. The course had led to the Delta Club; Banjo had gained admittance with a guest card. It was then that The Shadow had sent in his name to Theodore Durflee.
CONVERSATION ended abruptly between The Shadow, Durflee and Hayd. Durflee saw Gilling going to the office, and decided to go and speak to him there. Hayd was summoned to the telephone by a call from his loan office, which stayed open evenings. The Shadow found himself alone. With a quiet smile, he strolled into the gaming room.
He saw Andrew Blouchet at a roulette table, a huge stack of chips in front of him. A turn of the wheel; Andrew lost. He laughed and put new heaps of chips upon the board. Next, The Shadow spotted Banjo Lobot. The tall crook was lounging about, watching the play.
A hunchy, droop-faced attendant was near the table. The Shadow watched Banjo catch the fellow’s eye.
He saw the droop-faced man form a word with his lips. The word was: “Wait.” Banjo bought a few chips. The attendant walked about, and finally left the gaming room. In leisurely fashion, The Shadow, followed.
The attendant’s course was toward the treasurer’s office. On the way, The Shadow spied Durflee; but the banker did see him, in turn. When the attendant reached the office, he entered. The Shadow calmly strolled in behind him.
Gilling was at the desk. Looking up, the treasurer saw two persons; an attendant, and a gentleman in evening clothes. He gave the latter precedence.
“What is it, sir?” inquired Gilling.
“My name is Lamont Cranston,” began The Shadow. “Mr. Durflee said that he would speak to you.”
“About the membership card? Certainly! Here it is, Mr. Cranston. A guest card, for one month. Renewable later.”
The Shadow received the card and began to read it. Gilling spoke to the attendant.
“I was just going to send for you, Royan,” he said. “I have just come from the gaming room and there is some money that I would like you to look over.” Noting that The Shadow was still present, Gilling smiled and added a statement to the new guest:
“This man — Royan — is an expert at detecting counterfeits. I hired him because of his ability, and he has been very useful during the month that he has been with us.”
Royan was studying different bills. He came to a crisp one of fifty-dollar denomination. He checked it carefully, then handed it to Gilling.
“Who turned in this one?” queried Royan, in a doubtful tone. “I’m not sure of it, Mr. Gilling.” The treasurer looked at a penciled memo.
“It came from one of our regular members,” he stated. “A young chap named Andrew Blouchet.”
“Has he left yet?” questioned Royan.
“I don’t think so,” replied the treasurer. “Of course, we have his address. Here it is, right with his application for reinstatement. He paid up his back dues tonight. And that reminds me” — Gilling paused to dig into a drawer — “here are two other fifties that he gave me.” Royan examined the other bills. The Shadow caught a glimpse of their numbers and saw that they were in a series. He watched Gilling fold the reinstatement form and place it in the desk drawer. Royan suddenly gave the bank notes back to Gilling.