"No. On the contrary, I fooled him completely. But I've sized him up, Slade, and he's going to be a tough customer. It would be best to have him out of the picture."
"That's easy, here in New York. You know how I stand with Barney Gleason's mob. They don't know my racket. They'll do what I tell them — cheap."
"All right. Keep that in mind. But remember — it's got to be done so the old lady won't suspect anything is wrong. Fix it so the nephew disappears, and is in wrong with his aunt. Think it over, Slade. See me about it later."
"I'll do that, Bert. What's the other job?"
"An easy one for you, Slade. I've added a new sucker to the list— an easy play if I can get the story. Jacques left a complete report on him. He was here to-night. Tony!"
The last word was in a louder tone. The white clad form of Imam Singh entered the sanctum.
"Get me the dope on Telford," ordered Rajah Brahman.
The assistant went away, and returned with a sheet of paper. Rajah Brahman smiled as he consulted the document, holding it close to the light so he could read it more readily.
"Here's the dope, Slade," he said. "Telford is a wealthy man from New Orleans. We don't have a psychic circle there, yet, or we probably would have landed him direct.
"However, Telford had a row with his only son, several years ago. The son ran away. The old man heard from him in New York. He learned that the son— James — had gone to sea. He thinks that the boy drowned in a ship that sunk off the coast of Virginia.