"If that's the case, take your cue. You'll have your chance."
Martin Slade grinned sourly in the dark. Dick Terry, husky and glowering, was a type of man he disliked. Treacherous by nature, Slade had no use for any one who detested thieving ways. The hidden observer took a last careful look at Thomas Telford. The elderly man was talking to Benjamin Castelle, who was listening in a sympathetic manner.
Telford, the rajah had told Slade, talked constantly about his son, to any who would show interest. Hence Slade decided that the topic must be that subject which was all-important in the life of Thomas Telford.
Most persons would have felt a sense of pity for the old, careworn man, who had suffered so much remorse during his fruitless search. But Martin Slade was a man who had never known what pity was. His lips curled in a contemptuous smile as he thought of the deception he was to practice upon this gullible individual.
Rajah Brahman drew Slade away.
"Come," he said, in a low voice. "You can stay in the sanctum. This seance won't be long. I am giving consultations to-night."
The low laugh which the faker uttered showed that by "consultations" he meant that the birds were ready for plucking. Slade, familiar with the methods of the medium, laughed in return. They reached the inner shrine. Rajah Brahman, proud as a peacock, strutted about the room. He made an imposing appearance in his Oriental garb, and Slade looked on with admiration. The Rajah was a swindler de luxe.
"Look this over while you're waiting," suggested Rajah Brahman. "It's my bluebook. Information supplied by the dirty dozen themselves."
He handed Slade a heavy, clothbound volume. The man received it with interest, and began to peruse its tabulated, printed pages. The bluebook, a time-honored institution among fraudulent mediums, had become a most powerful instrument in the hands of Rajah Brahman.
In its pages, Slade discovered alphabetical references to all the wealthy persons who were falling for the rajah's crooked game.