You got his name just about right. It's W. Chester Hudson."

On a cheaply printed card which Cardona held, Clyde saw the name, with the first initial W.

"That wasn't the card I saw," declared Clyde. "He was holding an invitation to Bogardus' show."

"I know," nodded Cardona. "He showed me that, too, when I asked why he was hanging around here."

"And then?"

"I told him he belonged inside the hall, so I steered him in there. Look through the door and you'll see him." Cardona pointed and emphasized his words. "He's checking that hat of his."

Clyde looked and caught a glimpse of Hudson's tall figure leaving the cloak room. With a laugh, Clyde said: "I don't see any hat."

"I don't either," put in Jenkins, "because I don't see anybody."

Cardona took it all as a good joke.

"All right," said the inspector. "Have your fun. Now let's get serious. You're after a story, Burke, or you wouldn't be here. All right, stick with Dr. Fontaine. Get his opinions on hypnotism in general and on Professor Bogardus in particular. As for you, Jenkins, I believe the testimony you gave me last night. I brought you here because I want you to meet Bogardus face to face and find out about those eyes of his.

After that, you can go. So come along, we're going inside."

They didn't need any invitations to get in. Cardona crashed in with his official badge, beckoning Clyde and Jenkins to follow him. They entered a small hall, where a sprinkling of people occupied about a quarter of the three hundred chairs that faced the platform on which Professor Eric Bogardus was to perform his hypnotic miracles.

Finding Dr. Gerald Fontaine in the center of a group that included Commissioner Weston, Lamont Cranston and Margo Lane, Clyde sat down to hear what developed. Already, Fontaine was belittling Bogardus though the renowned professor had not yet made his appearance.

"You can tell by the audience that Bogardus is a faker," a.s.serted Fontaine. "Look at the types of people he attracts. Curiosity seekers, Broadway idlers, sidewalk peddlers, all a cheap lot who either believe the claims of a charlatan or who would like to copy his work. The only exception to the rule is that little group over there"- he pointed to a small cl.u.s.ter at the right of the front row-"and I feel really sorry for them."

The group in question consisted of about a dozen men and women who were listening intently to the words of an earnest, middle-aged man whose round face was fronted by a pair of thick-lensed tortoise sh.e.l.l gla.s.ses, which made him look like a cross between a full moon and a wise owl. "Hanneford Lang," identified Fontaine. "He's a student of the occult. He's tried to solve everything from the riddle of the pyramids, ancient, not modern, to the prophecies of Nostradamus. He publishes a magazine called 'The Worlds Between' and he's written books supporting every theory that defies common sense. Naturally, he swallows all Bogardus' fakery, because Lang can always quote it as proving something. Those people with Lang are his students. I wouldn't call them dupes, because Lang is a dupe himself. He never misses one of Bogardus' demonstrations, if he can help it."

As Fontaine finished talking, a door opened at the side of the platform and a flurry of hand-claps came from the audience as Professor Bogardus strode on stage. Fake or real, the hypnotic show was ready to begin, with skeptics and believers free to form their own conclusions.

CHAPTER VI. THE ARTFUL FAKER.

FROM his lobby photographs, Eric Bogardus should have been a tall, imposing man of a commanding appearance. Instead, he was squatty, portly, and very rumpled looking in a baggy dress suit. What the professor lacked in dignity, he supplied by his overbearing manner. a.s.suming a Napoleonic pose, he addressed the audience as though it had been a full house with members up among the rafters.

"You have a.s.sembled tonight to witness a scientific demonstration of hypnosis," boomed the professor.

"You are about to witness the power that one mind holds over another; even more, the force by which one mind can sway many. If there are doubters here"- Bogardus spread his thick lips in a contemptuous smile-"I do not expect them to change their opinions. That would be impossible, since they are already under a hypnosis of their own creation, which makes them unwilling to believe what their eyes see or their ears hear."

Bogardus accompanied this with a roving, challenging gaze that finished by singling out Dr. Fontaine.

Then: "I shall prove the statement that I just made," Bogardus declared. "I shall prove it by making people see things, hear things, that do not exist. What more could I add to prove that certain prejudiced parties are already the victims of their own closed minds?"

"The perfect charlatan," observed Fontaine, to those seated about him. "Sometimes I rather admire Bogardus for his bombast. He starts by claiming scientific knowledge, then repudiates it by unscientific statements."

"Who are these doubters?" Bogardus was demanding. "What do they know about the secrets of the ages, the mysteries of the Orient, or the riddle of life itself? Nothing, or they could not doubt. They believe that if they deny, they disprove. Whatever they can not understand, they disclaim. But there are others here"- Bogardus let his hand sweep toward Lang and his little group-"who recognize that the real facts of life are its mysteries. They know that whatever can be demonstrated, must be real."

"Always the same spiel," said Fontaine, with a smile. "Now comes his appeal to ignorance. Listen while he plays through weakness into strength."

"If you want the truth regarding hypnotism," boomed Bogardus, "I do not ask you to take my word.

Consult your own physician; ask him if he believes in hypnotism. The chances are ten to one that he will say 'yes.' Should he express doubt, ask him if he is familiar with such mental states as trance, catalepsy, amnesia and somnambulism. When he admits that such exist, ask him how they can be induced. He can give but one answer, through hypnotism."

Having driven home those arguments, Professor Bogardus became mild of manner, almost honeyed in his appeal. "To see is to believe," the professor went on, "but to experience is to know. That is why I am inviting you to this platform, all who wish to come. I do not want you to go away saying, 'I saw the professor do experiments with others that he would not try with me.' I shall make my tests with anyone who is in a receptive mood. If I should fail with you or you"- Bogardus stabbed a thick forefinger toward his audience-"or you, it will only be because you refuse to adopt a willing att.i.tude. In that case, I shall at least rely upon your honesty. You yourself will realize that you were the cause of the unsuccessful test and your own conscience would not let you place the blame upon me."

Clyde Burke took a look around him. Professor Bogardus was really selling the stuff. Commissioner Weston was leaning forward, quite agog. Joe Cardona was maintaining a stolid air, but Clyde could tell that the inspector was much impressed. Joe would have to be, since he was one of the professor's princ.i.p.al exhibits. Margo Lane, too, was tense with interest. Of the group, only Dr. Fontaine remained the complete scoffer.

For when Clyde Burke looked at Lamont Cranston, deciding that he could be defined as the acid test, Clyde was unable to guess at Cranston's reaction. Steady of gaze, Cranston was taking all that Bogardus said with an expression of imperturbable calm that seemed an absolute balance between a "yes" and "no."

There was no doubt, however, that Bogardus was impressing his audience. As the professor spread his arms and drew his pudgy hands toward him in beckoning gestures, as many as a dozen people arose and came up to the platform. There, Bogardus bowed them to chairs and became particularly grateful when Hanneford Lang arrived on the platform. Giving Lang a chair at one end of the row, Bogardus addressed his audience: "We are particularly fortunate in having with us a student of occult science, Mr. Hanneford Lang. He believes in hypnosis from the mystical standpoint. Perhaps we should have a critic who takes the att.i.tude of a strict materialist." Turning abruptly, Bogardus asked, "Will you join us, Dr. Fontaine?"

Fontaine's only answer was a head shake which he delivered with an indulgent smile.

"Then for our other technical witness," declared Bogardus, indicating a chair at the far end of the row, "I shall ask Inspector Cardona to come to the platform. I feel sure that Inspector Cardona will willingly agree that there is something in the science of hypnotism."

As he looked toward Cardona, Bogardus gave a bland smile which seemed to say, "Come along and I won't tell," which left Cardona with practically no other choice. So Joe went up onto the platform, took a chair at one end and stared bluntly at the audience, while Lang, at the other end, removed his gla.s.ses and also eyed the throng, giving a solemn nod to his own little group of people.

Noting that there were three empty chairs in the row, Bogardus turned to the audience and declared: "I can use three more."

Clyde Burke decided to go up for one. As he did, a slight, pale man with a dopey expression arose and followed. Right behind them came the tall man who called himself W. Chester Hudson. Cardona wasn't watching any of those three; looking into the audience, Joe singled out Jenkins and nodded. The watchman started up.

Receiving the first three and bowing them to chairs, Bogardus turned, saw Jenkins and waved him back with a sweeping hand.

"I said three," declared Bogardus. "Not four." "That's right, three," returned Jenkins. He nudged at Clyde and the dopey man. "I'm the third. I'll take the empty chair."

There wasn't any empty chair, because Hudson was sitting in it. That chair, however, was the one that Jenkins meant, because he was walking straight toward it. Annoyed, Bogardus blocked Jenkins.

"This is no time for comedy," snapped Bogardus. "The audience will see plenty of funny things after I hypnotize my subjects. I'll thank you to go right back where you came from."

They were glaring at each other, Bogardus and Jenkins. From his place in the audience, Dr. Fontaine delivered a pleased chuckle.

"The professor is having trouble already," said Fontaine. "A bad start like this would ruin a real hypnotic act. Fortunately for Bogardus, he is enough of a faker to pull through."

Hearing what Fontaine said, Weston turned helplessly to Cranston, seeking an interpretation of Fontaine's statement. It was promptly forthcoming.

"Dr. Fontaine means that Bogardus is losing the confidence of his audience," explained Cranston. "He will get back by resorting to trick methods. A real hypnotist wouldn't."

By then, Bogardus had won his argument with Jenkins, but in a curious way. Meeting the professor's angry glare, Jenkins gave a slight laugh and turned away.

"All right, professor," said Jenkins. "I'll go. If you don't want me, why should I stay around?"

Glancing at Cardona, Jenkins gave a head-shake and received a nod in reply. To Clyde, who had taken the chair beside him, Cardona undertoned: "Get what Jenkins meant? He was looking right into the professor's eyes and he doesn't remember them from last night. That's what I wanted him here for. His job is done."

Apparently, Jenkins knew it, for he was not only leaving the platform, he was leaving the hall. Meanwhile, Cardona was speaking to Clyde again: "Notice the fellow who came up with you, Burke?"

"You must mean Hudson," replied Clyde. "Yes, I noticed him. He doesn't have a hat."

"That's because he just checked it," Cardona retorted, "but I don't mean Hudson. I mean the little guy with the dopey face."

Clyde looked along the line and nodded.

"They call him Larry the Horse," whispered Cardona. "A hustler if ever there was one. He has a trick knee he can throw out of joint, he can fake a nervous fit, and a lot of other things. I'll bet he's working for Professor Bogardus. Keep tabs on him. Maybe Bogardus did give me the hyp, but I still think he's mostly fake."

By that time, Professor Bogardus was beginning to establish his status, through actual demonstration.

Promenading in front of the seated group, Bogardus announced in commanding tone: "Close your eyes, all of you! Good. Eyes closed, now look upward, keeping your eyes still closed.

Upward, upward, as high as you can look! Now try to open your eyes. You can't-you can't-you can't! Try harder-harder-You can't! Following the professor's order, Clyde found himself half-frantic. Bogardus' voice was goading and Clyde wanted to defy the professor's argument, but couldn't. The harder he tried to open his eyes, the more his eyelids seemed to glue themselves together. From the audience, the thing looked as funny as it was uncanny. All along the line, from Cardona to Lang, men were grimacing, wrenching their faces, trying to get their eyes open without success.

"And now," shouted Bogardus, "relax! Stop trying to defy my command. Rest back-ease your eyes-lower them. Look down and open your eyelids, slowly."

The line of men obeyed. Slowly, their eyes came open and they looked at each other, wonderingly. In the audience, Margo Lane touched Cranston's arm.

"Why, Lamont, it was amazing. But how -"

"Listen to Dr. Fontaine," whispered Cranston. "He's explaining it to Commissioner Weston."

"Sheer trickery," Fontaine was saying. "You can't open your eyelids, commissioner, while your eyes themselves are straining upward. Bogardus talked them right into it and out again. Watch now, he'll be faking another test."

Professor Bogardus was bringing four men to the center of the platform, Clyde Burke among them.

There the professor placed a table; told two men to flank it from each side. Next the professor ordered each man to press an arm against the table, maintaining a hard, steady, upward pressure. Clyde was facing the audience, pressing the table with his left arm. He could hear Professor Bogardus droning from behind the table: "Keep pressing, gentlemen, hard-hard-hard! Now when I give the word, step two paces sideward from the table. Two paces, mind you, and relax your arms. You will then obey my unspoken command.

Ready now, press-press-press. To the right, two paces, step! Relax-and- obey!"

Front man on his side of the table, Clyde stepped two paces to the side. So did the man behind him; likewise the two on the other side of the table. As Clyde relaxed, he realized that something was happening to his left arm. Glancing toward it, he saw that the arm was literally floating upward. Then, over his shoulder, Clyde observed the professor behind the table, both arms lifted.

The audience was buzzing with excitement. Bogardus had lifted his arms as the four men stepped sideward from the table. In copy of the professor's action, each man had subconsciously raised an arm, though not one could see Bogardus at the time!

Again, Dr. Fontaine was undertoning an explanation.

"Constant muscular pressure produced that reaction," Fontaine stated. "Once away from the table, the arms responded automatically. If you want to try it for yourself, just stand in a doorway and press your arms hard against it while you count thirty. When you step forward, your arms will rise like wings.

Bogardus has turned a parlor stunt into a pretended hypnotic experiment."

Bogardus was doing all right with his parlor tricks. He had placed two men in chairs and was telling them to fold their arms, extend their legs and put their heads well back. They were reclining there, as if in barber chairs, when Bogardus stood between them, extended his hands, and pressed a forefinger straight downward on each man's forehead.

"Now!" boomed Bogardus. "At my command, you are powerless. Try to rise, try to rise. You can't-you can't-you can't! You are helpless under my mere touch. Your strength isgone-gone-gone!"

The men were struggling, writhing, completely unable to lift themselves from the chairs. Their gyrations brought the audience to a high pitch of excitement. It couldn't be faked, this test, for people could tell that the two men were fighting to break the professor's control, yet without avail. Then, suddenly, the professor removed the spell that held his victims.

"Now! Your strength is back. You can rise, because I now am willing to release you!"

Up came Bogardus' hands in a dramatic gesture and the two men popped from their chairs with the alacrity of a jack-in-the-box. On their feet, they stared in sheepish bewilderment at each other, then at the professor; who returned a bland smile.

In the audience, Commissioner Weston was more than ever agog.

"How can you explain that, Dr. Fontaine?"

"The men were lying so far back," stated Fontaine, "that they were completely off balance. They had to raise their heads and shoulders before they could get up. Fingertip pressure was all that Bogardus needed to keep those foreheads back. Until he released it, the men were helpless, but merely through a physical law, not hypnotism."

Margo Lane was looking to Lamont Cranston for corroboration of these statements. She received a nod, as an indication that Fontaine was right. But when Margo looked to the platform, saw the expressions of the people there, she realized that all were puzzled, including Clyde Burke. From his end of the line, Inspector Cardona was staring stolidly, but that was his way of covering the fact that he was mystified. In contrast, Hanneford Lang was openly enthusiastic, willing and anxious to give Professor Bogardus due acclaim for a successful exhibition of genuine hypnotic prowess. Accepting Lang's congratulating hand-shake, Bogardus bowed the moon-faced gentleman back to his chair. Then, to the audience, Bogardus said: "Ladies and gentlemen, you have witnessed what I term preliminary tests. You have observed how I have influenced persons who were total strangers to myself, rendering them either powerless or subject to my mental control. Now, for the benefit of those upon the platform, I shall hypnotize you, the members of the audience, all at once. I shall prove that ma.s.s hypnotism, disclaimed by some who call themselves men of science"-Bogardus was looking straight at Fontaine-"is not only possible, but a demonstrable fact!"

There was conviction in Bogardus' tone, an enthusiastic gleam in his bulging eyes. Clapping his hands together flatly he ordered: "Place your hands together. Now interlock your fingers, clasping them tightly. That's the way"-he nodded approvingly at the audience - "fold your hands and press your fingers tight. Tight-tighter- tighter! Keep pressing with those fingers-tighter-tighter-just as I am doing. Palms flat together, press hard with those fingers, and now your hands are locked to stay!

"Try to spread those palms apart! You can't! I say you can't-you can't- and my power holds you under full control. Your hands are locked-locked- locked-you cannot open them no matter how hard you try!"

The place had become a bedlam and with good cause. Everybody's hands were locked and people were fairly shrieking with amazement. Madly, Margo Lane was trying to spread her hands apart; she couldn't.

Almost horrified, she saw that Lamont Cranston, right beside her, was in the same predicament. So was Commissioner Weston and even the skeptical Dr. Fontaine was struggling to break his own hand claspwithout avail. The mania had spread to the platform, where the men in the chain were tugging with their folded hands, unable to make them budge apart.

And in the center of the scene, Professor Bogardus, his own hands clenched high as an example, stood, master of the show. He was baiting the crowd, dominating it, turning the ma.s.s demonstration into a frenzy as he shouted: "You are helpless, all of you, under my complete control! Your hands are locked and will stay so until I release them. Only when I say that time is up, will you be free. And time is up-now! Watch me and relax-now! Spread your hands apart-now!"

Slowly, emphatically, Professor Bogardus spread his pudgy fingers, letting them unclasp. In the same deliberate motion, he drew his hands apart. The people in the audience saw those upon the platform do the same. Those on the platform watched raised hands draw apart below. The gasp that Margo Lane gave as she sat back in her chair seemed but a tiny echo of the huge sigh that the audience emitted.

"And now," announced Professor Bogardus, triumphantly, "we shall proceed with our more important tests. Having confounded scientists along with skeptics, I am ready to delve into the deeper mysteries of hypnotic art, known only to the privileged few, such as myself!"

CHAPTER VII. DIVIDED TRAILS.

FROM then on, Professor Bogardus moved rapidly with his hypnotic show. He didn't give his critics time to catch up with their explanations. Dr. Fontaine was trying to a.n.a.lyze the hand-clasp business for Commissioner Weston, but the latter only waved him aside.

"Let's watch Bogardus," urged Weston. "Look at the way he's going through that line of subjects! Why, he has one man barking like a dog, another crying like a baby. And that one evidently thinks he's an automobile. He's dashing around in circles giving honks!"

Margo Lane was watching the silly business on the platform and in her excitement she had clasped her hands. Now she looked at those hands in sudden horror, wondering if she might be under some post-hypnotic influence. From amid the hubbub, Margo heard Cranston's rea.s.suring undertone: "You weren't hypnotized, Margo; none of us were. That handclasp business is just a trick. I pretended to fall for it like the rest rather than attract the professor's attention. I'll show you how it works. Keep your palms flat, press your fingers hard against the backs of your hands-" Cranston paused while Margo did as he told her. Then he went on: "See what you're doing. Margo? You're clamping your hands with your own fingers. You can't spread your palms while you're giving yourself that clutch. First, you must relax your fingers, but you don't need Bogardus to tell you that."

Margo relaxed her hands, drew them apart. She could realize at last what a faker Bogardus was. The antics of the people on the stage became laughable. In particular, Margo smiled when she noticed Hanneford Lang at his end of the line. Lang, moon-faced and owlish of gaze, was sitting with his hands still tightly clenched, pondering as though engrossed with some momentous problem.

"Look at Lang," laughed Margo. "He's been left behind in the rush. It's all so ridiculous, isn't it, Lamont?"

"Not quite," replied Cranston. "Here's something that may prove more on the serious side."

Professor Bogardus was singling out the dopey-faced man whom Cardona had styled Larry the Horse.The undersized fellow was facing Bogardus and wearing a sickly grin as though defying the professor to put him through a course of antics. Larry's smirk faded as Bogardus made a few pa.s.ses in front of his face and finished with a sudden finger snap. Stiffening, Larry swayed and would have toppled forward if Bogardus had not caught him.

Then Bogardus was putting the stiffened man through a series of slightly gruesome tests. He first struck a match and ran it back and forth in front of Larry's eyes. The pupils did not budge; their gaze remained gla.s.sy. Then, lifting Larry's arm, Bogardus began drawing pins from his coat lapel and thrusting them into the puny man's flesh. For a finale, the professor brought a thin meat skewer from his pocket and deliberately pushed it through his subject's cheek.