Guised as Lamont Cranston, millionaire and traveler, the man of mystery was planning another visit to the gambling den, where he had surreptitiously entered and departed only the night before.
In the lobby of the Hotel Pavilion, Lamont Cranston passed two men who were talking near the door.
One was Herbert Carpenter, polished and well-groomed. The other was a portly, middle-aged man who seemed the personification of prosperity. These two were going somewhere together.
IN his office above the Club Catalina, Big Tom Bagshawe sat with folded hands before the massive desk in the center of the room. His face wore its accustomed smile. The ring of the telephone brought action. Big Tom lifted the receiver.
The voice of Wheels Bryant came over the wire.
“All set for tonight, Tom?”
“You bet,” responded the gambling king, with a chuckle. “Going full blast. More than a hundred people here already. If Yates stays away—”
“He will,” came the voice of Wheels. “He thinks that he has gotten the low-down on the dope racket. Went up to see Mayor Cruikshank, tonight. He’s off on a bum steer, raiding some cheap hang-outs. Shifter has planted some phony leads to keep him busy. There’s no limit tonight, Tom.”
The gambling king hung up the receiver, and his broad smile increased. He pulled a cigar from the box, and chewed away the end while he leisurely ambled from the office, locking the door behind him.
In the gambling rooms, Big Tom’s heart was gladdened by the sight of the reckless players. Every roulette wheel in the place was working. Slot machines were clicking. Faro dealers were busy. A dice table was an additional attraction.