Free Tales of the Red Panda: The Mind Master by Gregg Taylor Page A

were joined by young Randall Allyn,
who had not heard the news.
    “I say,” Allyn had exclaimed when he was told, “not old
Martin. Surely not.”
    “It is true,” he was told, as others nodded gravely. “Most
of the home was destroyed in the fire as well.”
    Randall Allyn went as white as a sheet. He was barely
twenty-one and had likely never known a serious moment in his life. He looked
as though he might faint.
    “Good heavens,” he exclaimed. “To think, I saw him just the
other night. It was here, too. He introduced me to that Shah fellow.”
    August Fenwick’s ears pricked up. It was an unusual sort of
name to hear in the confines of the very Anglo-Saxon Club Macaw. He waited a
moment for someone else to ask the question, but the general nodding of heads
told him that he was the only one in the dark.
    “Shah?” he said, trying to appear barely interested.
    Winston Holt leaned in quietly. “You’ve been quite scarce
lately, old man,” he said. “Ajay Shah has been quite the sensation.”
    “Ajay Shah?” Fenwick could not prevent the raising of his
eyebrow, but otherwise maintained his composure.
    “A most extraordinary gentleman from the Orient,” Holt said
to a chorus of nods. “A charming young fellow. He has made quite an impression
in a short time.”
    August Fenwick felt an uncomfortable movement that he could
not see. At first he thought it might just be the hairs on his neck standing on
end, but a casual glance revealed a well-dressed man sliding uncomfortably from
the conversation. Without looking too directly, Fenwick could see that it was
Wallace Blake, looking profoundly as if he desired to be anywhere else.
    The discussion of the remarkable Mister Shah did not last
long, but before it was over, Wallace Blake had backed away from the group and
out of the reading room altogether. Only one pair of eyes saw him go.
    A few minutes later, August Fenwick made his apologies and
left the room himself. He retrieved his hat and coat from the steward and
stepped through the door at full stride, not waiting for Ryan to summon his
car.
    He opened the door himself and closed it quickly. From the
front seat he could hear the startled sound of a newspaper folding hurriedly.
    “That was fast,” she said, starting the car. “Nothing to
report?”
    “I wouldn’t say that,” he said seriously.
    “What would you say?” she said with her brows knit.
Sometimes it seemed to take him awhile to drop the mask of the aloof
billionaire.
    “The death of Martin Davies appears to be nothing more than
a tragic accident,” he said with apparent finality. “Except–”
    “Oh yes?”
    “Except I happen to know that there was considerable wealth
in that house. The fire would cover the loss perfectly. It seems too
convenient.”
    “But not impossible?” she asked.
    “No,” he admitted. “But there’s something else going on
here. Martin was playing host the other day to a visitor named Ajay Shah. He
seems to have made quite an impression.”
    “Ajay Shah?” Kit said, her nose wrinkled. “What kind of name
is that?”
    “A very optimistic one,” the Red Panda said, his eyes
burning with intensity. “It means ‘Unconquerable King’ in Nepalese.”
    “Nice,” she said. “What do we do?”
    “We’ve got an appointment at the Don Jail,” he said. “And I
think you’re right. We don’t have time to mess about without the costumes.”
    “I’ll make time,” she said quietly.
    “What’s that?”
    “I said… never mind what I said.” She hoped he could not see
her turning bright crimson. “What do we do about this Shah character?”
    “I couldn’t say for certain. Let’s put an agent on him.”
    “Let’s put two, for luck,” Kit said. “Jack Peters at the Chronicle can check to make sure he’s
legit, and Gregor Sampson can find out if he ain’t. That way you and me can
focus on the anti-social little twerp that tried to blow us sky-high.”
    The Red Panda smiled grimly. “It’s a