"Coronado Copper!" the woman exclaimed.
"That is what the man spirit say," resumed the falsetto voice. "He say tell good lady Maude. He say tell good people—"
The babble ended suddenly. Another sound had entered the room. From somewhere in the circle came the rising tone of a shuddering, mystic laugh!
Its wild, heart-rending echoes swept through the room and seemed to thrum with a loud, pulsating beat. Then, like a departing wind, it whispered away into an unfathomable distance. Startled gasps were coming from the sitters. White faces were peering at one another. Even Joe Cardona was dumfounded.
Silence followed that dreadful laugh. Then, at length, the medium spoke, in her own voice.
"Turn on those lights," she ordered.
With the room illuminated, Anita Marie sought to regain her composure. She succeeded. Sitting up in her chair, she glared about, seeking the author of the weird disturbance.
"Someone here is atryin' to make trouble," she rasped. "I'm awarnin' them. I won't stand for nothing like that!"
Cardona was looking toward the corner. He saw the firm-faced man with the hawkish countenance. That visage was inscrutable.
Looking toward the medium, Cardona saw her meet the gaze of the man's unyielding eyes. Anita Marie seemed to tremble. With an effort, she resumed her challenging attitude.
"I'm agoin' on with this," she declared, "and I'm agoin' to call an officer of the law if there's any more trouble. You people are here in my home. I've got my rights, I have!" The side lights were extinguished. The medium gurgled. Again she spoke in the voice of Little Flower.
"Man spirit, he say lady name Maude do as he tell," came the falsetto. "He say she be glad. He say lady must come see man from India. Man from India is medium. He tell lady—" In cut the mocking laughter. It sounded high above the blabbing voice of Little Flower. It was short — bursting forth with uncanny suddenness; consternation reigned.
Cardona, rising from his chair, edged toward the door of the gloomy room. He saw other people standing up. He heard a call for lights. The switch was turned.
The medium, pale and thoroughly frightened, was clutching the arms of her chair, staring wildly about the seance room.
Men and women were clustered near the door, where they had sprung spontaneously to escape that terrible sound which had seemed to come from all about them.
Cardona knew that the seance was ended for the night. This terrified group could stand no more. The medium was completely bewildered. She could not imagine whom to blame for the disturbance. Cardona, too, was bewildered; but for a different reason.
He knew who was responsible for the startling outburst. He was looking toward the corner of the room, and from that point he was scanning every spot. It was this search that astounded him. The hawk-faced man was no longer in the seance room! Swiftly, silently, he had departed. The Shadow had gone — laughing!
Chapter V — Through the Window
While the seance was in progress at Anita Marie's home in Philadelphia, a train from the West was nearing that city. Two men were seated in the drawing-room of the club car. They were conversing in low tones.
"The old lady is getting the bunkum to-night," said one. "I talked with Anita Marie over long distance, last night. I didn't tell her where I was. Maybe she thought I was calling from Bombay."
"That doesn't matter," said the other. "All I want to know is whether or not the lay is sure."
"Positively!" emphasized the first speaker. "You've got the plan of the place, and the old lady is out. Garwood never goes upstairs until it's medicine time. The best of it is, there's nothing to be planted, Slade."
"I know that, Bert. The only difficulty is if the servant that told Anita Marie so much about the private life of the Garwoods had her signals mixed. I always feel safer when I look over a proposition myself."
"Well, there's nothing to be lost," said Bert. "If it doesn't look like the right time, let it slide. But if you pull it, the books will all be closed for this haul of fish. Just drop a deceased note on the Garwood page of the ledger."
The sentence ended with a chuckle. The men rode along in silence.
"You know," said Bert, "I've got a reputation to maintain. This is a tough life at times, traveling incognito. Back in harness when I hit the big burg!"
"And on a slow train, too. This old roller coaster has been traveling like a snail since I picked it up at Harrisburg."
"That's the trouble, Slade. I like to keep by myself. There are fewer people on a slow train. I let Tony go out of the drawing-room if he wants; but I stay out of sight. When a man's supposed to be in India — and there's millions in the gag—"
"You're right, Bert. I took a good train in to Harrisburg from Cincinnati. I was just noting the difference — that was all. You came all the way from Chicago."
The train began to live up to its slow reputation. Its speed decreased, and the man called Slade arose.
"We're pretty near in," he said. "I'll make that suburban connection, and then—" Some one was opening the door of the compartment. A slender young man entered. Slade stood aside to let him pass.
"See you later, Bert," he said. "You, too, Tony. So long." When the train came to a stop at the suburban station platform, Slade walked briskly away, unnoticed. He was carrying no suitcase or luggage of any description. His dark suit rendered him inconspicuous. He went to another platform, and took an electric train that arrived a few minutes later. He rode a few stations, then left the train.
As he walked along through the dark, Slade acted in a curious manner. He appeared to know where he was going; yet he seemed to be making a careful study of the locality.
His stride was rapid; at the same time, he kept to the edge of the sidewalk, as though his motions required stealth.
He arrived at a corner, crossed it cautiously, and approached a house that stood alone in a large lot. Here, with a peculiar, hesitating gait, the man strode lightly up a bank and disappeared in the shadow of a tall hedge.
The house was deserted. There was no danger of observation from that direction. There were lights from the adjoining lot, where a large house stood close to the hedge, but Slade was completely concealed by the hedge itself.
He found a slight opening in the hedge. He stopped, carefully squeezed through, and stood almost beneath the house itself. Looking upward, he spied a window that was dark. A small projecting row of eaves extended beneath the window.
The eaves were the continuation of a back porch. Boldly and swiftly, Slade went toward the porch, clambered softly to the rail, and hoisted himself to the roof.
He found a slight gutter underneath the eaves. In another moment, he was clinging just outside the window.
He could see light as he peered within. That seemed to please the man rather than annoy him. The light came from a hallway, beyond this room. Slade extended his head and shoulders into the room. He saw the tiling of a bath room.
Although it was obvious from his actions that the man had never been in the house before, he performed in a manner that showed an acquaintance with the place. He reached up to the right, and his hand opened a small, swinging door.
The hand emerged, holding a bottle. He pushed the door shut. Reaching on the other side, he fumbled gently in the dark, and produced another bottle. Both looked alike as he saw them in the faint glow. Slade put the first bottle where the second had been. Holding the second bottle, he suddenly flattened himself along the eaves.
A man entered the bathroom and turned on the light. Slade could not see him, but he could tell that the man was portly, because of his heavy stride, which sounded cumbersome.
There was a rattling of glassware.
In the light, this man who knew the house, was clumsy in searching for the object he wished. Slade had worked much more smoothly in the dark, although handicapped by unfamiliarity. The light went out. Hearing footsteps leaving, Slade boldly edged himself to the window and peered in to see a stout man going into the hall.