The Last Illusion Read online

  “Then we’ll compare the scrapbooks to Mrs. Houdini’s own recollections,” Daniel said. “Maybe something will emerge. Maybe there’s one name that he left out.”

  Bess nodded. “All right. I’ll try and remember everything.”

  Daniel helped her back down the stairs and gave instructions to one of the constables.

  “Are you coming with me, Molly?” she asked.

  I looked at Daniel.

  “I’d like to keep this young woman a little longer,” he said. “I have some more questions for her. Your husband’s mother is with you, is she not? And his brother?”

  “His brother has gone back to Atlantic City. He left early this morning,” I said, and a quick look passed between us.

  “He has another brother who is a doctor, doesn’t he?” Daniel said. “Maybe he can be summoned to attend to you.”

  That’s odd, I thought. When Bess almost died, why did Houdini take her to a private clinic instead of summoning his brother, who was a doctor?

  As she made her way down the theater aisle she turned back to us. “You will let me know the minute you have any news, won’t you?”

  “I will, and the same goes for you, Mrs. Houdini. If your husband tries to contact you, please let us know.”

  With that she pushed open the doors and was for a moment a black silhouette against the fierce sunlight outside.

  “So what do you think?” Daniel asked me as soon as we were alone. “Did he do it?”

  “I don’t know what to think,” I said.

  “But I saw your reaction when you told me that the brother had left for Atlantic City.”

  I nodded. “Yes, it just struck me as being too conve nient that he had to go out of town before the police could talk to him. Maybe this is family business, Daniel. They’re a very close-knit family. Houdini worships his mother. He pampers a neurotic wife, calls her ‘babykins’ and ‘poopsie’ and other such ridiculous nicknames.”

  “I gather you won’t want to be called such things when we’re married,” Daniel said.

  I gave him a withering stare.

  “Go on,” he said. “So what are you suggesting?”

  “The brother who just did a bunk—he was Houdini’s younger brother. He’d been part of the act until Bess came along. Some resentment there at his brother’s success, maybe? He seems a nice enough fellow. They look very similar, although Dash is bigger.”

  “Dash?”

  “That’s his nickname. His real name is Theodore, I believe, but the family calls him Dash and he’s known professionally as Hardeen.”

  Daniel gave me a knowing look. “Somewhat similar to Houdini, wouldn’t you say? Cashing in on big brother.”

  “Or wanting to be like big brother.”

  “And he’s another illusionist. Does the same kind of tricks,” Daniel said thoughtfully.

  “And he’s close enough to his brother in appearance that nobody would look twice if he were prowling around backstage,” I went on.

  “And he was in the theater last night, wasn’t he? In the stage box. It would have been easy enough to slip out and back again without Bess even noticing that he’d gone.”

  “Do you think he planned this to kill or harm his brother, or do you think he planned this whole thing with his brother, to get rid of a person they found to be a nuisance?”

  “I hadn’t considered that before,” I said, “but who would the dead man be? Someone who was somehow disrupting the family?”

  Daniel put a hand on my shoulder, his eyes alight. “What if he was bothering Bess Houdini—an old suitor maybe? Someone Harry didn’t want hanging around her.”

  I shook my head. “She didn’t recognize him immediately.”

  “Maybe she didn’t look at him too closely. Women are squeamish about looking at dead bodies—apart from you, of course, who seem to possess no delicate sensibilities of your sex.”

  “You’re right. I’ve never had the vapors in my life.” I laughed, then grew serious again as I considered his hypothesis. “I’d imagine Houdini could be horribly jealous. You should have seen the way he fussed over her.”

  “Now we’re getting somewhere. So he enlists his brother to do the deed, then somehow they manage to switch trunks, and Houdini is spirited away.” Daniel nodded in satisfaction.

  “But you’ve seen how upset Bess gets at the least little thing. Wouldn’t she have been more upset when she saw it was an old flame?” I asked.

  “She was upset, remember. She was quite hysterical. The brother had to take her home.”

  “So she was. You know what, Daniel? I think I might take a little trip to Atlantic City.”

  “Oh, no.” Daniel shook his head. “I’m not letting you go chatting to a potential murderer.”

  “But don’t you see, I’m the ideal person. He thinks of me as Bess’s dear friend from childhood. I could find out more easily than the police could. I could even say that she sent me up there because she had some things she wanted to ask him.”

  “What things?”

  “I’d think those out on the train,” I said confidently.

  When he didn’t answer I said, “Well, I’m going whether you approve or not. I’ve been hired by Bess and I have to do all I can for her. At the very least Dash can give me a hint where his brother might be hiding out, and I can let Bess know he’s alive and safe.”

  “And if he actually killed his older brother? What then?”

  “I’m no threat to him, I told you. He would have no idea I’m working with the police. I’ll tread very carefully, Daniel. If I get any hint of danger, I’ll back off, I promise.”

  “This is criminal business, Molly. It is absolutely out of the question for you to go to see this man. If I’m to go along with your intuition, then I’ll contact my colleagues in the police department at Atlantic City. If you want to be of help to us, then your place is at Bess’s side. It’s just possible she may be in on this and Houdini will send her a message.” He gave me an appeasing smile. “So you see, you will be providing valuable assistance.”

  “Oh, yes,” I said. “ ‘Valuable assistance.’ ”

  We stood in the darkness of the backstage area while I fought to contain my temper. I suppose part of me didn’t want to travel to confront Houdini’s brother, but I was still driven by that stupid desire to prove myself as a detective. I didn’t want to be the one who provided “valuable assistance.”

  Strange, cold drafts wafted up from below us. Daniel shivered. “At least this is a good place to come on a hot day,” he said. He looked around. “This theater is more extensive than I thought. Plenty of opportunities to hide a body. Look at those walkways up there.”

  “They’re called the flies, Daniel. They use them when they’re rigging backdrops. But you’d have to be a mighty strong person to carry a body up and down those ladders. I’ve been up one, so I know.”

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me.” Daniel rolled his eyes. “But look. That ladder carries on down, below the stage.”

  And indeed there was a hole cut in the floor with the ladder descending on down into darkness.

  “I didn’t notice that last night,” he added.

  “It must lead to a storage area under the stage.” I went over and peered down. The cold draft came up to meet me. Below was complete darkness.

  “I wonder if there are any electric lights down below,” Daniel said. “There is little point in going down to no light. I wonder if my men actually discovered this last night. I’d better take a look.”

  “I’ll come with you,” I said.

  “I’ll go down first and see if I can find a light switch.” He started down the ladder. I watched his head disappear into darkness, feeling a knot in the pit of my stomach. Surely everyone at the theater knew about this basement area? Surely it had been searched last night? I heard Daniel give a muttered curse.

  “What?” I called.

  “Hit my shin on some kind of box,” he said. “And I can feel no kind of light switc
h on the wall.”

  “They are bound to have a lamp or at least candles in the props room,” I said. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

  Sure enough I found an impressive candelabra among the props, rooted out some candles and then matches to light them.

  “Holy Mother of God, you look like the Ghost of Christmas Past, standing there like that!” Daniel exclaimed as he spotted me standing above him. I handed down the candelabra, then climbed down myself. It was indeed pitch-black down there and smelled damp and musty, as if it flooded during rainstorms. We picked our way forward, searching the various piles of wood, boxes, and old scenery that had been dumped there. At least, I let Daniel do the searching. I had no wish to touch a spider, or worse. But we found nothing.

  “They must have searched this last night,” Daniel said. “See all these footprints in the dust on the floor?”

  Suddenly there came a strong draft. The candles flickered, danced, and went out.

  “Damn it,” Daniel muttered.

  I wanted to grab on to Daniel’s arm but forced myself not to. I had my reputation of being a fearless detective to live up to. But instead of being in total darkness we found the floor painted with thin stripes of light from above. Light was shining through the cracks in the floorboards and ahead of us was a larger square of light.

  “We must be under the stage,” Daniel said, looking up. And indeed this part of the basement was cleaner and tidier, as if more frequently used.

  “That square of light would be where the prompter stands,” I said. “You can get down here from the front of the stage—at least you could in the last theater I worked in.”

  “Ah, yes. Steps up to your left,” Daniel said. “And what have we here?”

  He paused by a square wood-and-metal platform, raised just above floor level, then he looked up, looked around, and nodded. “I’ve an idea,” he said. “Hawkins!” he yelled.

  “Yes, Captain? Where are you?” came the voice from above.

  “Under the stage. I want you to listen carefully. Draw a chalk line on the floor around the trunk and then move it carefully to one side.”

  “Right you are, Captain.”

  “What is it, Daniel?”

  “Just a hunch.”

  We waited, then heard the trunk being dragged aside. Once the trunk was gone, a thin rectangle of light shone down.

  “Stand back, Hawkins!” Daniel shouted. He went over to the wall and pulled a lever. A trapdoor opened up on the stage, sending light flooding down to us.

  “Aha, so that was how it was done.” Daniel sounded jubilant. “Now watch this.” He raised a second lever and the platform beside us ascended at great speed.

  “You see that!” He was almost like a small boy who has found a new toy that works as well as he hoped. “That’s how they did it, Molly. The trapdoor opened—this platform was waiting below to whisk the first trunk down. The trunk was hauled off and the second trunk substituted. Then up it went, shoved into place, trapdoor closed again.”

  “How did you work that out?” I was rather jealous of his detective skills.

  He grinned. “I saw a production of Faust not too long ago. The devil appeared miraculously from a trapdoor in the middle of the stage.”

  “So someone had to make sure that the trunk was placed in the right position to fall through the hole when it was opened,” I said.

  He nodded. “Who helped you carry the trunk onto the stage?”

  “I really didn’t notice. You’re told never to turn your back to the audience and the lights are quite blinding. I was just conscious that somebody helped me. I thought it was a stagehand, but it could have been anyone.”

  “Someone who knew exactly what he was doing,” Daniel said. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I’ll have my boys come back and dust that platform for fingerprints.”

  “Do you think this fingerprinting idea actually works?” I asked as Daniel made his way to the steps on our left.

  “I think it’s a brilliant idea,” Daniel said. “No two fingerprints are alike, you know. A fingerprint can provide absolute proof. The hard part is trying to persuade judges to make them admissible evidence in a court of law. No one’s ever succeeded yet.”

  He opened the little door at the top of the steps, pushed aside a curtain, and we were up in the wings again.

  Twenty-three

  It was close to lunch hour by the time I arrived home. Washington Square was deserted in the midday heat. Even the customary little boys who made the constable’s life a misery by trying to climb into the fountain had given up and gone home. I felt my dress sticking to my back as I hurried up Patchin Place. It was no weather for hurrying, but on the train ride home I had come to a decision. I was going to go to Atlantic City today. So what if Daniel had forbidden me to go? He didn’t yet have authority over me, and I suppose part of my decision was simply to prove this fact to myself. And the more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that Houdini’s brother Dash had to have participated in switching the trunks. I also had reluctantly come to think that Houdini himself had to have been involved. Would he not have noticed and done something if the trunk had been placed differently from usual? I sighed. Poor Bess. Either her husband was a wanted criminal or a kidnap victim.

  This last thought made me reconsider my rash decision. I was leaving Bess alone when she needed me and I was going to visit someone who may have just killed a man most brutally—who may have even killed two men. Then I told myself I had been hired to find out the truth not be a nursemaid. I was just doing the job for which she had hired me.

  I was approaching my house when I saw Gus waving from her front window. She opened the window and beckoned me over. “Ah, there you are,” she said. “There was a man at your door not too long ago.”

  “What kind of man?”

  “Ordinary looking. Respectable. Young.”

  “Do you know what he wanted?”

  She shrugged. “I was painting up in my studio. I heard the knocking, looked down, and spotted him, but by the time I had come down two flights of stairs, he was gone.”

  “I wonder if he left a note,” I said. I opened the front door. The letter box was empty.

  “No note,” I said. “Ah, well, if it’s important no doubt he’ll call back. If you see him again would you tell him that I’ve had to go to Atlantic City, but should be back tomorrow.”

  “Atlantic City, how delightful,” she said with great enthusiasm. “A breath of sea air is what we all need in heat like this. Maybe Sid and I should come with you. I’ve a great desire to dip my toes into the Atlantic again, haven’t you?”

  “I’m afraid I’m going there on business,” I said. “I’ll have no time to dip my toes into the Atlantic.”

  “Nonsense. Anyone can make time for a lovely dip in the ocean. So refreshing,” she said. “And come to think of it, I have a cousin who spends her summers there. Why don’t we come and keep you company, then we can all stay with my cousin.”

  “I think I’d better go alone,” I said. “I have to interview a suspect there. I’d rather be as unobtrusive as possible.”

  “Interview a suspect. My, doesn’t that sound impressive.” Her eyes lit up. “If you wait a minute, I’ll write a letter of introduction to my cousin. At least you’ll have good company for dinner and a comfortable bed for the night.”

  “Thank you, but I’ll probably just stay the night at a boarding house near the station,” I said.

  “But Molly, it’s Atlantic City. You have to stay near the boardwalk and enjoy the ocean breezes and take a stroll down the pier,” she said. “And my cousin is utterly charming. One of the few members of my family who would still welcome me into her home, in fact.”

  I was anxious to be off but trying not to offend Gus in the process. Lord knows, she and Sid had been good enough to me.

  “You’re very kind, but no thank you. I make it my policy not to mix business with pleasure. And I may be out and about until late evenin
g, which would be very rude to any hostess.”

  “As you wish,” she said. “You do have our new telephone number, don’t you? I’m sure there is a line all the way from Atlantic City these days and you could put through a call to us if you find yourself in any kind of jam.”

  “Thank you again. I must be off.”

  “You never seem to have time for civilized chats these days. You are working yourself too hard,” she said.

  “I know, but just think, soon I’ll be married and have all the time in the world for civilized chats,” I said.

  “I can’t see that happening.” Gus laughed. “Besides, your lord and master will forbid you to mix with people like us, just you see.”

  “I will never have a lord and master. I can tell you that right now. And I’ll mix with whom I please.” I pushed open my front door and went inside. It felt delightfully cool and I had visions of soaking in a cool tub, then eating lunch. But I had no time. I rushed around, packing essentials into an overnight bag, made myself a cheese sandwich and grabbed a couple of plums for the train journey, and I was out again, heading for the ferry across the Hudson to Exchange Place on the Jersey shore, the terminus where the trains left for Atlantic City—there being no way to bring a railway line across the mighty Hudson. On the way I wondered who the mystery man at my front door had been. Another client, maybe? That would be useful, as this case might not be continuing if my suspicions proved to be true. I’d probably not be paid, either.

  I enjoyed the hint of cool breeze as the ferry chugged across the Hudson. Then as I entered the train station, I felt the excitement one always senses at a place where great journeys begin and end. I bought my ticket and was on my way to the platform when a man came up beside me.

  “Here, miss. Let me help you with your bag,” he said, tipping his hat to me before he tried to take the bag from me.

  “You’re most kind, but I don’t need any kind of help,” I said. I gave him a long look. He seemed respectable enough—young, clean shaven, straw boater, light-flannel trousers. I wondered if he made a habit of making advances to young women on railway stations.