The Ghost Makers by Maxwell Grant & Walter Gibson

Author:Maxwell Grant & Walter Gibson [Grant, Maxwell & Gibson, Walter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Espionage, Fiction, Thrillers
ISBN: 9780553532906
Amazon: 0553532901
Publisher: Street & Smith
Published: 1932-10-15T08:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XII. THE RAJAH'S SCHEME

IT was exactly forty-eight hours later that Martin Slade again appeared in Rajah Brahman's luxurious apartment. He came in a spirit of elation.

Although the night was warm, Slade was wearing a light overcoat, and he did not divest himself of the outer garment until he was received in Rajah Brahman's sanctum.

He found the false mystic in the natural guise of Bert Clutten. There had been no visitors to-day. It was a Hindu day of repose, and Rajah Brahman was smooth-faced and clad in dressing gown and slippers. He looked up shrewdly as Slade arrived, and smacked a small portfolio upon a chair.

"I've got the whole works!" exclaimed Martin Slade. "Everything– here."

"I thought you were after it last night," declared Rajah Brahman.

"I laid low instead," explained Slade. "I wanted to make sure the old man was away. I got the lay of the place, and was lucky enough to hear that old housekeeper shouting at the top of her lungs over the telephone. Telling some one that the old man wouldn't be back until Tuesday morning–that's to-morrow."

"What about putting the stuff back?" questioned Rajah Brahman, opening the portfolio.

"I'll do it to-night," declared Slade. "There's plenty of time to go over it all and get it back there.

"I was worried about cracking the safe," he went on, "but the old crib was easy when I got started. Opened like the door of an ice box. Nothing to it!"

Rajah Brahman was sorting out the things that the portfolio contained. The expression in his eyes resembled that of a man who has discovered a gold mine. Here were letters clippings–everything that he desired.

Tony–as much Imam Singh as ever–arrived at his master's call, bringing paper and pencil. Cross-legged on the floor, Rajah Brahman began to take notes, calling Martin Slade to sit beside him.

As the minutes went by, the two men gained a perfect account of the past history of young James Telford, Thomas Telford's son.

Rajah Brahman held a photograph in his hand. He looked at Slade thoughtfully. Then he called Tony.

"Take this downstairs and snap it," he ordered. "Wait a moment, Tony! Here's another!"

Referring to his notations, Rajah Brahman selected a small snapshot that showed James Telford standing in front of a Louisiana bungalow. He gave it to Tony also.

"How much do you know about New Orleans?" he inquired of Martin Slade.

"I know it like a book," declared Slade. "Many's the night I've spent along Canal Street–and in the French quarter. I could give you the dimensions of Jackson Square from memory. The old town isn't what it used to be, though–a few years back, when I was there.

"How many years ago?"

"Five or six. Six, now I come to think of it."

"That's about the time young Jim Telford left there," said Rajah Brahman reflectively.

"I get you," said Slade. "Well, if you want any dope to spring on the old man, I can supply it. When you materialize the spook of the lost boy -"

"I don't need information about New Orleans," interrupted Rajah Brahman suavely.

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