"That's just what she wants!" exclaimed Anita Marie. "She wants him back. If you can let her see him, she will listen. I was atellin' her about that copper stock, through Little Flower. She liked it, but she was afraid on account of her husband. But now he's gone."
Anita Marie rolled her eyes upward as a gesture to show that the departed spirit of Geoffrey Garwood had reached a spot in a higher world. Rajah Brahman ignored the woman's grimace.
"Bid her," he said, "to come to New York to await my call as a true believer should. She will be summoned by the master when her time has arrived."
"There is a couple of things I want to tell you about her," began Anita Marie glibly. Rajah Brahman shook his head reprovingly.
"The master understands all," he declared, slowly and impressively. "I listened when you spoke to me before, because I desired to know if this woman was one who might see the light now. I wish to know no more. You may go!"
Anita Marie turned and walked through the curtains. Her challenging air had been completely lost during her interview with Rajah Brahman.
She reached a little anteroom, and looked about her suspiciously, as though she feared that hidden eyes were watching. The room was illuminated by a single light that shone dimly in one corner. The woman gave a start as the white-clad form of Imam Singh glided noiselessly into the room from another entrance. Then she followed Rajah Brahman's servant.
Hardly had the two departed before a slight motion occurred beside a thick curtain that covered the entrance to Rajah Brahman's shrine.
An invisible form came into being from the darkness. A moment later a tall black-clad man stood in the center of the dull anteroom.
It was The Shadow.
Unseen, unheard, the mysterious man of the night had entered the Hindu's sanctuary. There, veiled behind the curtain, he had listened to every word that had passed between Rajah Brahman and his visitors. The Shadow did not laugh. Noiselessly he moved back toward the blackened curtain, and seemed merged with the darkness itself.
When the Hindu's servant returned a moment later to reenter the master's sanctum, no sign of the living shadow remained.
Chapter IX — The Shadow Tells
When Imam Singh arrived in the sanctum, he found Rajah Brahman still enthroned. The boyish-faced servant spoke in English.
"She's gone," he said. "I showed her out."
"Good!" exclaimed the rajah, clambering from his cushioned throne. "That lets me out, too, Tony. Give me a hand with this rig."
The Hindu seer cast his turban on the floor, and with the servant's help began to divest himself of the cobra-headed jacket. The pointed shoes shot across the room, impelled by their owner's kick. A few moments later, Rajah Brahman stood clad in American trousers and shirt sleeves. Imam Singh — who still looked his Hindu part — left the room and returned with towel and washbasin. He produced a jar of cold cream, and the rajah set to work.
"Sorry you've got to wear that get up of yours, Tony," he grinned, as he smeared the cold cream over his face. "But it isn't so bad. Lighter than my outfit. You've got to answer the buzzer, you know." Imam Singh smiled in response.
Rajah Brahman's well-formed beard was yielding to the cold-cream treatment. The man stood smooth-shaven, and surveyed his countenance in a small mirror that he dug up from among the cushions of the throne.
"Remember the time I grew one, Tony?" he asked, rubbing the spots where the beard had been. "It looked all right, but it was a nuisance. The fake one means more work for you, but it's the best idea." The man pulled a cigarette pack from his trousers pocket. He lighted a cigarette and puffed it. He seemed to enjoy its flavor as a welcome change from the odor of incense.
The transformed face of Rajah Brahman bore little of the dignity which it had formerly possessed. It was sallow, but not nearly so dark as it had been.
It was the face of a schemer — not that of a master. The eyes which had seemed languorous and penetrating were now crafty and shifting.
"This is better than an hour of deliberation, Tony," declared the new-visaged rajah, buttoning his collar.
"Listen — yes, that's the buzzer. Slide out to the door and see who it is. I'll switch the light off, here." The servant was gone, and the room was plunged in darkness a moment later. Only the glowing end of Rajah Brahman's cigarette was visible. It poised in mid-air, while its owner awaited Imam Singh's return. Soon, the curtains parted, and the slight glow from the outer room showed a face which Rajah Brahman recognized, even in that dim light.
"Ah!" he exclaimed. "I thought you were the one who rang. Wait until I switch on the light—"
"Never mind," interrupted the quiet voice of the visitor. "The darkness will suit me. I don't want to be disillusioned, Bert. Wait until I find a chair."
The speaker bumped into one a moment later and sat down, to stare toward the lighted end of the cigarette.
"Well," came the voice of the false rajah, "I chased out the suckers, and then met the saps. Professor Jacques and Anita Marie."
"What did they have to say?"
"Jacques was all worried about the mess he landed into. Told me how surprised he was when everybody stuck with him on that crazy notion about a spirit hand throwing the knife. Said if it hadn't been for one intelligent person in the mob, he would never have been able to swing the detectives after the fellow who made his getaway."
"Did he name the intelligent person?"
"Yes," laughed Rajah Brahman. "He said that a man named Benjamin Castelle had the bright idea, and it pulled him out of a mighty tough spot."
The visitor made no response, so Rajah Brahman resumed his conversation. Now, his tone was questioning.
"Who was the fellow who started the trouble?" he asked.
"I don't know," replied the visitor.
"I don't like it, chief," declared the rajah. "Jacques certainly lost his head when he swung the dirk. That's bad stuff.
"If the police knew he was hooked up with me, they would be watching this place. A fine mess — just when I've arranged to fleece the lambs after they have been herded into the barnyard."
"It might be best to take them slowly, Bert."
"Of course, chief. That's the way I always work. Anita Marie has hooked that dame from Philly — and I've got to play carefully, there."
"I thought she would be soft, with the husband out of the way."
"So did I, worse luck. But Anita Marie tells me that a nephew has blown in from the sticks to mess up the game. That won't mean anything when I begin to work; but it would be just as well if friend nephew wasn't around."
"Because—"
"Because of what Slade pulled. This nephew may be a wise boy. Slade said it was O.K. after he spotted the lay. He did the job so clean that even Anita Marie doesn't suspect. But a nephew, right there in the house—"
"He could never trace Slade."
"Right! But he could suspect that something was wrong. I'll he watching him like a hawk, chief. If his only trouble is not being able to see the light, I'll fix that. Skeptics are my meat — with gravy in addition."
"You say Anita Marie has no idea about—"
"That dumb dollar-grabber?" The voice of Rajah Brahman was contemptuous. "Say, chief, she's the dumbest spook queen along the whole route. Thinks because she brings a lot of people into her camp that she's good.
"Fifty a night at a dollar a head! I could have them hanging out of the galleries of the Hippodrome at that price."
"I know you could, Bert."
A match flickered to reveal the cunning face of the unbearded mystic. Rajah Brahman was lighting another cigarette. The man in the chair laughed slightly as he glimpsed the ex-Hindu on the throne.