"I shall give you a name," the voice declared, while the eyes reveled in their accompanying leer. "Your name will be Lamont Cranston!"

A chuckle followed that p.r.o.nouncement. It literally told how insidious the choice could be. Unlike the man who answered to the false name of Hudson, Cranston could stay in circulation, to all appearances his actual self, yet otherwise a virtual zombie. Just as Hudson was controlled, Cranston would be, according to the dictates of the Whispering Eyes.

"I planned this well," declared the hooded man. "My work has brought results. The plan has succeeded."

The glowing eyes awaited Cranston's response. His own eyes fixed, dilated, Cranston repeated the words: "The plan has succeeded."

Moments were short, but they seemed prolonged, before two pairs of staring eyes unlocked. Then, sweeping backward, the hooded man opened the door with a mock bow. Cranston came forward, but still in Hudson's clutch; then, as the eyes from the hood renewed their gaze, Hudson relaxed.

Right then was the dangerous moment. The man with the hood had cleared the little room and could readily have boxed Cranston, if he offered fight. Hudson, his grip once eased, would have opportunity fora more powerful clutch. Now Cranston was in the center of the entry. His hooded enemy was backing into the doorway from which wild music came. Hudson was starting up the steps to the street, but his footfalls could not be heard. This was still a danger zone for Cranston, under the threat of a two-way attack.

But that would have applied to Cranston as his normal self. His whole att.i.tude now was different. His eyes were still fixed, his freed arms holding their position as though clutched in place. He seemed oblivious to all about him. Then, suddenly, Cranston was standing there alone.

Cranston gave a quick shake of his head, as if clearing away a stupor. He looked to the steps; Hudson was gone. He turned to the doorway of the jam parlor. Musicians were gone wild with trumpets and drums, a piano was practically banging itself apart. Dancers in fanciful costumes were jitterbugging everywhere. Grotesque costumes these; so grotesque that a stranger in the hooded costume of an executioner would be lost amid the masquerade, should anyone be looking for him.

Cranston's eyes took in the scene. Then, as if he were tearing himself from some strange dreams, Cranston turned, went up the steps and started toward Washington Square. He was crossing the street when a cab shrieked up beside him and its driver hailed: "Hey, boss."

The words were familiar to Cranston, even in his present state of mind. He entered Shrevvy's cab and it pulled away, taking the direction of the one-way traffic. "The tall guy," informed Shrevvy, referring to Hudson. "He went the wrong way. I lost him by the time I'd gotten around the block. I don't think I could find him now."

"It does not matter," said Cranston, calmly. "I have somewhere else to go."

"Sure you have, boss," reminded Shrevvy. "You're due up at that Broadway hall, where the prof is giving the hyp show again tonight. Want to go there now?"

For a long moment, Cranston seemed to ponder. Then, from his slow-moving lips came the one word: "Yes."

CHAPTER XVI. THE HINDU TEST.

THERE was quite a crowd outside the hall. The news of Fontaine's challenge to Bogardus had caught the late edition of the Cla.s.sic and it was helping the professor's box office. Commissioner Weston was commenting on that fact to Dr. Fontaine, as they waited in the lobby.

"Too bad that Bogardus should profit through your challenge," declared Weston. "If you could start a lecture tour and get turn-outs like this, it would help your inst.i.tute."

"That's exactly what I intend to do," returned Fontaine, with a smug smile. "The publicity from tonight will be my springboard. When Bogardus fails in his Hindu test, I shall be credited with the exposure of a fraud."

"Are you sure he will fail?"

"If he doesn't, I shall concede that he is a genuine hypnotist. I am fair-minded, commissioner."

At that moment, Lamont Cranston arrived with Margo Lane. Weston promptly involved Margo in a conversation with Fontaine and took the opportunity to draw Cranston aside.

"We're working on the mailing lists, Cranston," said Weston. "It's amazing how they get around. Why, there are special services that handle what they call cla.s.s lists -" Weston paused. Cranston's eyes were staring off across the lobby. Weston asked sharply: "Do you hear me, Cranston?"

"Yes," replied Cranston, mechanically. "I hear you."

"One company," said Weston, "the All-Way Mailing Corporation, sent us a list that they had used several times, but they did not say for whom. Its names were checked with different colors and we found James Kelthorn and Maresca Lepavnu on it, in the same color."

Cranston nodded as though the names meant nothing.

"But that isn't all we found," declared Weston, triumphantly. "We found the name of Artemus Drade."

"Artemus Drade."

Cranston repeated the name as if he intended immediately to forget it.

"Come, Cranston," insisted Weston, "you've heard of Drade. He was indicted for smuggling stolen paintings into America. He got off with a fine, but according to the FBI, he's still under some suspicion.

So we played a hunch, phoned Drade, and told him his life was in danger."

Cranston didn't even appear interested.

"It broke Drade down, when we gave the details of how Kelthorn and Maresca were murdered,"

continued Weston. "He swore that he hasn't any smuggled goods, but says that people won't believe him.

Particularly one person, a man who thinks that Drade has four famous portraits of the Hanover Electors that disappeared during the war."

The crowd was moving into the hall now. Keeping along with Cranston, Weston rapidly undertoned the rest.

"Drade doesn't know the name of the man who called him," said Weston. "Drade thought it was a trick but was afraid to call the FBI, particularly because he doesn't have the portraits; hasn't an idea where they could be. The man offered Drade a hundred thousand dollars and said he'd bring the money tonight at midnight. Drade had intended to play along to see what he could learn. Now Drade is scared stiff. He thinks the man must be the murderer we're after, and so do we. So Inspector Cardona has thrown a secret cordon around Drade's house and tonight we catch the killer!"

By then, they were overtaking Margo and Fontaine, so Weston didn't expect Cranston to reply. Finding seats halfway down the aisle, they sat down to watch Bogardus' show.

Because of the large house, the professor put on his customary show. Inspector Cardona being absent, Bogardus invited Commissioner Weston on the stage instead. Hanneford Lang, of course, was willing to serve on the committee, but Dr. Fontaine refused, shaking his head with a bland smile.

"Later, professor," called back Fontaine. He gave a dry laugh. "Perhaps much later." Then, to Margo and Cranston, Fontaine added: "I don't think that Bogardus intends to do the Hindu test at all."

In fact, as the show proceeded, Fontaine's opinion seemed justified. The professor was studying his committee, annoyed by someone's absence. The answer suddenly struck Margo.

"Bogardus is looking for Hudson," said Margo, "and, of course, Hudson wouldn't be here tonight. But wait"- Margo frowned-"maybe he's only pretending to look for Hudson. Would someone else do forthat rock test?"

Cranston's reply came mechanically: "Someone else would do."

Margo darted an odd look at Fontaine, wondering why he had been so sure that the Hindu hypnotism would not be forthcoming. She knew the reply Fontaine would give if she asked him. He would lay it to the fact that Bogardus was a fraud. But Margo couldn't suppress the thought that Hudson's absence might be of Fontaine's own design. It could be that some of Bogardus' successful tests were due to subjects already hypnotized, like Hudson, and provided by Fontaine to pin suspicion on the professor.

The show dragged on and on, with rather indifferent results, until cat-calls came from the audience.

Purpling, Bogardus kept scanning the crowd, looking for someone he couldn't find there, until at last he spread his arms in acceptance.

"Very well," decided Bogardus. "I shall attempt the masterpiece of Hindu hypnotism."

"This is where I go up," said Fontaine. "Are you coming along, Cranston? It's your idea, you know."

Slowly, Cranston arose and accompanied Fontaine up to the platform. Meeting Fontaine with a glare, Bogardus declared: "My test is dependent upon a willing subject, you understand. By that, I mean a person who will a.s.sume all risk."

"And I suppose," returned Fontaine, "that very conveniently, you will find no such person present."

"I have done cataleptic tests before."

"But never on a scale such as this test demands."

They glared at each other, Bogardus and Fontaine, like a pair of bantams. Being almost as tall as Fontaine, Bogardus seemed to gain stature, despite his squatty build. Otherwise, Dr. Fontaine, his sly smile forming a mischievous contrast to the dignity of his beard, had the audience in his favor. The applause that followed Fontaine's statements proved this fact.

Bogardus had a couple of attendants move a screen at the back of the platform. It revealed a huge, rough rock. When the two men tried to lift it, they couldn't hoist it from the floor. Bogardus asked Weston and Lang to examine it. They did, even rapping off a few chips with a small hammer that Bogardus provided, raising dust that bothered their eyes. Weston was mopping his face with a handkerchief, while Lang removed his gla.s.ses and was wiping them, as they returned to the front of the platform, where Bogardus stood with Fontaine.

"And now," asked Bogardus, "who is to be my subject?"

Everybody looked around and particularly they looked toward Cranston, who might have something to say in the matter. Turning his head, Cranston smiled, more blankly than blandly, Weston noticed. Then, his eyes fixing in a steady stare, Cranston announced slowly: "I shall be the subject."

Cranston's thoughts were on the Whispering Eyes. Those eyes had become very real; so had the strange voice that went with them, a voice which if it had spoken now, could only have been heard by ears askeenly tuned as Cranston's.

"You mean this, Cranston?" demanded Weston. "Why, you haven't the weight even to attempt to support that rock!"

"I have been in India," spoke Cranston, as though imbued with the spirit of some mystic yogi. "I have seen these things accomplished. I shall be the subject of this test."

Professor Bogardus wasn't taking chances on Cranston changing his mind. He stepped up, waved his flabby hands in front of Cranston's eyes. Cranston stiffened so suddenly that he seemed hypnotized before Bogardus completed his mesmeric pa.s.ses. Planting his stiffened hands against the sides of his thighs, Cranston toppled backward, rigid. Fortunately, there were men behind him. They caught him.

Instead of chairs, Bogardus had his men bring in stout trestles, like sawhorses, but with round metal rungs at the top. A towel was hung over each rung, the trestles were set apart. Cranston, his back arched high, was placed face up from trestle to trestle, his shoulders upon one, the other under his knees. Perspiring from what seemed sheer worry, Bogardus began making more pa.s.ses at Cranston with one hand, while gesturing for the rock with the other.

The rock was a problem. It took four men to lift it. Staggering with their burden, they were blocked by Lang, who warned them to rest it very carefully on Cranston's body. Looking through his gla.s.ses, Lang seemed very wise, but his owlish gaze was directed toward Fontaine, as though asking final approval.

Fontaine, making sure that there were no supports beneath Cranston, came up with a slow nod.

Setting the rock on Cranston's diaphragm, the four men withdrew their hands. Margo gave a happy gasp.

There was scarcely a quiver of Cranston's frame. Now, Bogardus was waving for something else, the sledge hammer. They brought it and Margo would have turned her gaze away, but she was too petrified.

The sledge hammer was delegated to Lang, as he was the tallest man present. Bravely, Lang reared to his full height; lifting the hammer, he drove it down with a powerful blow upon the rock, which by estimate must have approached a quarter ton in weight.

Crack-crack-crack- The rock was yielding under Lang's blows, raising a real cloud of dust. Those first strokes only chipped it, but now the hammer was pounding deep, finding flaws in the great stone. The sounds sharpened until there came an emphatic crash and the stone showed a split, It widened, spread, under the next three blows and with the fourth, there was a final, crashing sound.

Breaking in three parts, Cranston's, stony burden went smashing to the floor, actually snapping the planks of the platform where the pieces struck. Dust rose and cleared and there lay Cranston, his shoulders and knees still comfortably cradled, his unsupported body not a whit disturbed.

Beckoning for men to lift Cranston from the rungs, Bogardus had them stand him upright. The professor worked swiftly, hoping to awaken Cranston without delay. He succeeded, for Cranston, opening his eyes, promptly caught his balance, looked about a bit surprised and finally saw the broken stone.

Shaking his head, he made the remark that really climaxed the show.

"Three little stones won't do," stated Cranston. "You need one big one for this test, professor, a stone as large as those three put together."

Amid the applause, Weston clapped Cranston on the back, telling him the test had been a great success.

Bogardus stood triumphant, while Fontaine looked glum, then shrugged his shoulders in polite acceptance of defeat. Hanneford Lang held a short parley with Professor Bogardus, congratulating him on proving his worth as a genuine hypnotist. Then, Lang came over to give warm credit to Dr. Fontaine, whose challenge had at least been responsible for this genuine demonstration. But this didn't soothe the feud between Bogardus and Fontaine. As Lang was leaving with the others, the two rivals hurled some fast repartee.

"You'll have to take my word from now on," Bogardus told Fontaine, "so I'm going to cla.s.s you as a fake, the way you did me."

"I called you a fraud," retorted Fontaine, "and the term still stands, regarding some of your claims."

"You'll bear watching," argued Bogardus. "I'm going to check on those animal tests of yours. There are societies, you know, that don't approve of cruelty."

"The same goes for taking money under false pretenses," snapped Fontaine, "which seems to be your chief business, Bogardus. Even calling yourself professor is a swindle."

"Go ahead with your bungling tests," taunted Bogardus. "But you'd better show results quickly. I'll be watching you."

"Disguised in a fake beard, I suppose," sneered Fontaine. "Maybe I'll surprise you by shaving mine off and popping up in the middle of your next cla.s.s, to denounce you."

The rest of their argument was lost in the babble of the departing audience. Only their gestures showed that Bogardus and Fontaine were becoming more vindictive in their wrangle. By then, Lamont Cranston and Margo Lane had reached the street, where Shrevvy's cab was waiting for them.

Hanneford Lang had already started for his penthouse, so it was time for Margo to be going there. As she reminded Cranston of the fact, he seemed to snap out of his daze. Then, with a nod, Cranston spoke to Shrevvy in a far-away tone: "Hanneford Lang's."

CHAPTER XVII. WITHIN THE CORDON.

DURING the ride to Lang's, Cranston became somewhat himself again, but in a reflective way. Perhaps it was the darkness of the cab that changed his mood; possibly it was because he was picking up past themes.

"Keep your mind clear of worry, Margo," Cranston said, "before you begin your crystal gazing."

"That will be easy," returned Margo, "now that I know you aren't going to crack up along with a rock.

Besides, I've been feeling quite serene, now that I have Washington Mews for company."

"Use the large crystal," stated Cranston, "along with the group. Then you can take notes between seances."

"Won't people mind?"

"You have a bag, Margo. In it, there is a pad with a short pencil. You can write things under cover."

"A good idea," nodded Margo. "I'm particularly anxious to remember what I see, if anything. But what about the other people? Why are they important?"

"Largely in case of crossed thoughts," replied Cranston, "or instances of true clairvoyance. I'm beginningto believe that almost anything is possible through hypnotism. Therefore, crystal visions may be more valuable than I supposed."

The cab took a corner and Margo made a grab for a hand strap. Missing, she landed in Cranston's lap.

Laughing as she righted herself, Margo said: "I'd better hang onto the strap before we make the next turn." Then, puzzled, she added: "Why the strap is gone on this side." Looking across the cab, Margo saw the other strap was missing. "And the strap on your side is gone, too, Lamont."

Cranston took a look, gave a slow nod and spoke through the front window: "What happened to the hand straps, Shrevvy?"

"Those gone?" asked the cabby. "Well, that beats all. I've had everything stolen from this cab one time or another, except a pair of hand straps. I ought to have known that some time it would happen. I'll get another pair tomorrow."

They reached Lang's apartment house, were bowed inside by the doorman and went up to the penthouse. Lang received them, introduced Margo to the other guests and announced that the first seance would soon begin as it was nearly eleven thirty. As usual, there would be two sessions, with a recess between.