The Last Illusion Page 3

  I smiled. “I’d rather live here than one of those fancy new buildings. And of course Daniel couldn’t live so far uptown. He has to be within reach of police headquarters.”

  “Then this spot seems ideal to me,” Gus said.

  “Me too,” I said.

  “You haven’t yet revealed the secret of your latest cases.” Sid pulled her chair up closer to me. “What dastardly crime or sordid divorce are you working on? Come on, spill all. We won’t let you go until you confess.”

  “I wish I had something to confess,” I said. “In truth I’m currently unemployed. Not a case on the horizon. I suppose people go out of town in the summer months.”

  “The sort of people who want divorces do,” Gus said. “I know among my family and their set it is the done thing to divorce these days. It used to be such a scandal. Now, it’s fashionable.”

  “I hate divorce cases,” I said. “I find them so underhanded and unpleasant—lurking outside bedroom windows is not my cup of tea.”

  “So will you give up your career when you marry?” Sid asked.

  “Obviously Daniel wants me to, and I have to confess that it is sometimes a little too dangerous, but I do so enjoy being my own woman and having my own money. Let’s just say it’s a small detail we still need to work out before we marry.”

  I finished my coffee and got up. “I shouldn’t detain you any longer. I’m sure you have a busy day ahead.”

  “I suppose we do,” Gus said. “Sid has to plan the agenda for the next suffragist meeting that we are going to host at our house and I have promised to paint something with a Mongolian theme for our yurt.”

  I chuckled as I left them. Such a delightful existence, I thought. Then I reminded myself that their lifestyle was frowned upon by most respectable households. They had essentially cut themselves off from the majority of polite society where they belonged.

  Three

  I walked to the post office to see if any requests had come into P. Riley and Associates, which was the name of the small detective agency I had inherited when my mentor, Paddy Riley, was murdered. There were none. And no prospects of a job on the horizon. I had never been good at soliciting business. Now I might have to swallow my pride and visit my friends like the playwright Ryan O’Hare who was up on all the theater gossip, to see who might be in need of my services—and could afford to pay me.

  I returned home and immediately went through my file of people who had hired me previously. I composed a letter suggesting I’d be delighted to assist any friends they might refer to me, then I tore it up again. Somehow it sounded like groveling and I’ve never been good at that. So I got up, swept the kitchen, picked some flowers from my tiny square of back garden, then paced with annoyance. Idleness did not sit easily with me. I couldn’t picture myself as a lady of leisure. What on earth did they do all day? There was no way I’d be happy discussing my dressmaker or the best place to buy feathers.

  Around lunchtime I was about to go in search of Ryan at his rooms at the Hotel Lafayette on Washington Square when there was a fierce rap on my front door and Daniel stormed in without waiting for me to answer it.

  “That damned woman,” he blustered.

  “Such language, Daniel. Really your speech has deteriorated since you became betrothed to me,” I said with mock severity. “I hope you aren’t already starting to disregard my delicate sensibilities.”

  “I apologize,” he said, then seemed to realize what I had said to him. “Since when did you have delicate sensibilities?”

  “I may yet learn to acquire them,” I said. “I understand they are deemed a useful attribute. So which woman has annoyed you so much that you resort to swearing in a lady’s presence?”

  He pulled up a chair and stretched out his long legs. “Why—the girl who was cut in half last night.”

  “She didn’t seem to be in a state to offend anyone,” I said. “Don’t tell me that she survived after all.”

  “I couldn’t tell you that. It’s hardly likely but this morning she’s nowhere to be found. My men tried all the hospitals and none of them seems to have admitted her or even treated her.”

  “She was probably dead before she could be admitted,” I pointed out. “She’d lost so much blood and was on the verge of death when I saw her.”

  “I also tried the morgue,” he snapped. “And what’s more that Scarpelli fellow himself has vanished.”

  “Vanished? A good illusionist indeed.”

  “Well, he did leave a note for the theater proprietor saying that he couldn’t face anyone after what he had done and needed time to be alone with his grief.”

  “There you are then,” I said. “That explains it all. I remember his saying that he wanted to break the news to Lily’s parents in person. What’s the betting he’s taken her body home to them so that she can be buried in the family plot.”

  “A possibility, I suppose,” he said grudgingly because obviously he hadn’t thought of it. “But now we have no idea where her home is and no chance of finding him. My personal opinion is that he’s just pulled off a nice little murder and has skipped town before we have a chance to find out whether he had a motive.”

  “What motive could he have?” I asked.

  “Several I can think of. She was becoming a burden to him. She was blackmailing him. Maybe he was living with her and had left a respectable wife at home somewhere. Or maybe she was in the family way and was insisting that he marry her.”

  “Do you always think the worst of people and come up with dark motives?” I asked.

  He smiled. “Experience has taught me to expect the worst and take nothing for granted.”

  “I expect you’ll manage to track him down and find a perfectly simple explanation for all this,” I said.

  “If I had the manpower to spare I’d send men out hunting for him,” he grunted. “As it is, we have bigger fish to fry. We have the Secret Service breathing down our necks over a huge influx of forged money. Such large amounts that it could even bring down the U.S. currency if it’s not stopped.”

  “Goodness,” I said.

  “So as you can imagine I’ve got the commissioner and my boss wanting to make sure we look good to the Secret Service and they’ve put every available man onto it.”

  “I could help, if you like,” I said breezily.

  “You?” He looked up sharply.

  “Why not? You’ve said yourself that I’m a good detective. I could go back to the theater, ask a few questions, find out where Scarpelli was lodging . . . all that kind of stuff. People are more willing to gossip to a woman, you know.”

  “Molly, you know very well that I can’t possibly involve you in police work,” he said testily.

  “Nobody needs to know.”

  “Oh, and how would it look if it was discovered that I’d used my future wife to help me solve a case. I’d be the laughingstock of the force.”

  “Oh, I see,” I said. “So it’s not that it wouldn’t be allowed, it’s that you don’t want to look like a fool, is it? May I remind you that if I hadn’t taken on one very serious case myself, you’d still be in jail?”

  He got to his feet again. “I do realize that, and I’m forever grateful. Of course, if you hadn’t proved my innocence, you’d not be looking forward to an upcoming marriage.”

  “Oh, I’m supposed to be looking forward to that, am I?” I teased.

  He came around the table and took me in his arms, holding me so tightly that I was almost crushed. “Are you telling me that you’re not looking forward to the day we can be together?”

  “I suppose I might be,” I said, holding him at a distance from me so that I was looking into his eyes. “I can’t wait to be a lady of leisure and take up embroidery and breeding Pekinese.”

  He laughed and brushed my hair with a kiss. “I am looking forward to a time when I can start kissing you like this”—he kissed me full and hard on the mouth this time—“and not be rebuffed for fear that we get carried away.”

/>   I didn’t admit that I was also looking forward to that part of it. Daniel’s lovemaking always left me breathless, so I had to put a stop to it while I was still in control. “So did you just come round to vent your frustration to somebody?” I asked, turning my face from his kiss.

  “No, I came to tell you that I wouldn’t be free tonight to take you back to the theater, and to apologize for depriving you of your chance to see Houdini. I don’t see myself having any free time before he sails back to Europe.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m sure there will be plenty more chances,” I said. “Everybody’s talking about him. His star is definitely rising in the firmament and I’m sure he’ll be invited back to New York before long. And having seen one act go horribly wrong, I don’t know if I’m all that keen to watch someone risking his life in a death-defying stunt.”

  “Ah, but this man’s different,” he said. “It’s not so much illusion as skill and physical strength. There isn’t a handcuff that can hold him or a lock he can’t undo,” he said. “I saw with my own eyes when he came to Mulberry Street. He challenged us to produce a handcuff from which he couldn’t escape. We locked his arms behind his back with four or five of our best cuffs and he was out in no time at all. Simply amazing.”

  “Then I will come with you next time we have a chance, I promise,” I said, “and in the meantime my offer still stands to pay a visit to the theater and look around for you.”

  “And my decision is still absolutely no. Under no circumstances are you to get involved in a criminal case or are you to give any impression that you help me in my job.”

  “Very good, sir,” I said. “I hear and obey.”

  “That’s my girl,” he said, giving me a peck on the cheek and not detecting the sarcasm in my reply. “Now if you really wanted to do something to help me—”

  “Yes?” I looked up expectantly.

  “You could make me a nice sandwich to take with me. I’ll have no time to stop for a bite to eat today.”

  “Oh, I see.” My good humor had now definitely faded. “All I’m good for is cold beef sandwiches.”

  “I can think of other things,” he said, trying to flirt with his eyes and being met with my cold stare. Then he reached out and stroked my cheek. “Molly, all criminal cases involve danger and it is my job to protect you at all costs. Surely you understand that. I want to take care of you. I don’t want to have to worry about you.”

  I was about to say that I could take care of myself pretty well, then I remembered certain times when my life actually had been in danger and it hadn’t been very pleasant.

  “I suppose so,” I admitted grudgingly. “I’d better make those sandwiches then.”

  Four

  Sid and Gus finally persuaded me to go to the theater with them that night. I protested that Daniel would probably rather that I waited until I could see Houdini with him, but they thought this was bosh. “You don’t have to tell him everything you do,” Sid said. “A good wife learns when to speak up and when to keep wisely silent.”

  “A lot you know about being a good wife.” I laughed.

  “I’m a good observer of humanity,” she pointed out.

  So I went along with them, only to find a huge crowd milling around outside the front doors of the theater and the manager himself standing just inside the doors and trying to drive them away.

  “It’s no use standing there, we’re completely sold out, I tell you. There’s not a seat to be had in the house. Go home like good folks.”

  “But you promised us last night that we could come back,” an angry male voice said.

  “How was I to know the news in today’s paper would sell out the entire engagement in New York? And it’s not as if Scarpelli will be on the bill tonight.”

  There were more angry murmurs, plus some expressions of sympathy.

  “Of course he is in no state to go on with his act at this point,” the manager said.

  “We came to see Houdini,” someone yelled from the crowd. “He’s the one we want.”

  “He’s only here for a week.”

  The manager held up his hand to quell the rising mutters. “I tell you what—I’ll try and see if we can arrange a performance on Sunday, even though the theater is normally dark then. And those who missed seeing Houdini perform last night will be given first pick of seats. I can’t do fairer than that, can I?”

  We came away with the rest of the crowd.

  “It’s amazing how great horror will draw more people than great sweetness,” Gus said. “They came to see if another girl might be sawn in half tonight.”

  “They’d be out of luck,” I said. “Signor Scarpelli has done a bunk, much to the annoyance of Daniel and the police department.”

  “Well, wouldn’t you want to get away if you’d been responsible for someone’s death?” Gus asked. “Come on, the night is still young. Have you seen The Wizard of Oz yet, Molly?”

  “The Wizard of Oz. Isn’t that a children’s show?”

  “They’ve made it into a delightful musical extravaganza. We’ve seen it twice but I’m game to see it again. How about you, Sid?”

  “Game for any form of entertainment at any time, as you very well know,” Sid replied. “Come on, Molly. Our treat. Let’s find a cab, Gus.”

  So I was whisked off to the Majestic, in a rather more salubrious part of town. It was a children’s story about good and wicked witches and a useless wizard, but I have to say that I enjoyed it. Of course the spectacle in itself was breathtaking. Characters flew around the stage and the wizard had all kinds of machinery to make himself seem terrifying. As I watched, I realized that to a certain extent everything on the stage is a matter of illusion. A good performer can make the audience believe anything he wishes.

  . . .

  The next morning, when I was going through my closet, preparing to do a load of clothes washing, I realized something I had overlooked until now. I had covered that poor girl with my wrap. And of course I realized I now had a good excuse to go back to the theater if ever there was one. And I wouldn’t be going against Daniel’s orders if I just happened to look around a little and ask some questions while I was there, would I?

  I wasted no time and went back to Miner’s Bowery Theatre. In daylight it looked rather seedy. The front doors were shut this early in the day. I picked my way down a side alley that was piled with garbage and smelled of cats, and worse, and found the stage door. I had learned from my brief experience in the theater that the stage doorkeeper is the one who knows exactly what is going on. I pushed open the door and stepped into complete darkness.

  “And where do you think you’re going?” came a gruff voice from one side.

  My eyes accustomed themselves to the gloom and I saw his bald head floating eerily white over the bottom half of a donkey door. It was amazing how all stage doorkeepers looked the same. I smiled at him in what I hoped was charming innocence.

  “Hello,” I said brightly. “I was here two nights ago when the accident happened to poor Lily.”

  “If you’re one of those reporters you can turn right around and get out before I call some of our stagehands and have you thrown out,” he said in surly fashion. I should add that most stage doorkeepers are surly too, at least until they know you.

  “Nothing of the sort,” I said. “You see I went up onstage with my young man when he tried to help, and the doctor was asking for blankets to cover the poor dying girl. So I covered her with my wrap until they could come up with something warmer. I came back just on the off chance that it had been discarded here in the theater. I know it’s probably covered in blood and beyond using again, but I was particularly fond of it.”

  He stared at me for a while, trying to size me up.

  “I didn’t see it personally,” he said.

  “I don’t know if the girl was carried out of the front door or she came through this way.”

  “Out the front. I certainly didn’t see her leave. They’d have never got a stretche
r out through here. Too many steps and the alley’s too darned narrow.”

  I put my head prettily on one side, in the way that children always think is endearing. “Would you mind if I took a look for my lost wrap? I know it’s probably been thrown out by now, but I’d kick myself if it was still lying in a rubbish bin. I was rather fond of it, you know.”

  Another long pause, then he said, “You’re probably going to cost me my job, but go on with you. There’s nobody around at this hour anyway, so you can’t do no harm. But don’t go doing any snooping into dressing rooms or the like. Not that you can get at the illusionists’ props. Always locked up good and proper, they are.”

  “Really? So does each illusionist lock his props away separately or are they all in one locked room?”

  This made him laugh. “Listen, girlie, that lot wouldn’t trust their own grandmothers. They live in constant mortal fear that a rival illusionist is going to steal their tricks. You hear of the brotherhood of magicians. Don’t you believe it. Rivals, that’s what they are. They’d cut each other’s throats if they had a chance.” Then he realized what he had said. “Didn’t really mean that,” he stammered.

  “I’m sure you didn’t,” I said soothingly. “But from what they are saying, I understand there was little love lost between the one who calls himself Scarpelli and Houdini.”

  “They all hate Houdini’s guts,” the old man said confidentially. “Just because he can get himself publicity like nobody else—and he gets paid for it too. But none of them can do what he does—challenging police departments all over the country, defying anyone to come up with a lock or a jail cell that can hold him. And I’ve watched him, young lady. If they’re illusions I’ll eat my hat. If you ask me, I reckon the man’s not quite natural. One of the stagehands said he had to be in league with the devil and I’m half inclined to believe him.”

  “How about Scarpelli. Did he get along just fine with the others?”