The Last Illusion Page 9

  At this Wilkie threw back his head and laughed again. “You are a rum one, Miss Murphy. I can see what Sullivan finds attractive in you. Never a dull moment, huh, Sullivan?”

  “No, sir,” Daniel replied as he came back into the room with a cup of coffee.

  “Pity you’re about to be married, Miss Murphy,” Mr. Wilkie said. “I rather think my service could use someone like you.” He took the coffee cup from Daniel and drank with relish.

  “Oh, no, sir,” Daniel said hastily. “I have enough trouble protecting my own back without worrying about hers.”

  Again a quick glance from Daniel told me I had outstayed my welcome. I rose to my feet. “You gentlemen must excuse me. I only came to leave the food for Captain Sullivan. I shouldn’t have interrupted your discussion.”

  Wilkie stood up too. “No, no, it is I who should be taking my leave. I think I’ve made the position clear, Sullivan. As a matter of fact this meeting was fortuitous. I only came to New York in person to meet with a man about something entirely different. But having set up the meeting, he’s nowhere to be found. Gone without a trace, you might say. And I have no time to stick around and hunt for him. President Roosevelt made it very clear that he wants me back in Washington later today. So I must be on my way back to the railway station if I’m to catch the ten-forty-five train.” He held out his hand to Daniel. “I can’t thank you enough for your assistance, Sullivan.”

  “As yet we’ve nothing to show for it, sir, but we’ll keep trying,” Daniel said.

  “And as for you, lovely lady”—Wilkie took my hand and clasped it between his—“should this bounder not come through with his offer of marriage, then you tell him I’d hire you like a shot.”

  “You’re very kind, sir.” I laughed uneasily. “I’ll keep your offer in mind.” I gave Daniel a cheeky smile. “But I think that Captain Sullivan can be trusted to make good on his offer to me.”

  “In which case I expect to be on the guest list at one of your dinner parties,” Wilkie said. “Until we meet again, Sullivan.”

  He gave a polite nod to both of us. “I can find my own way out,” he said and we heard his footsteps going down the stairs.

  “I’m sorry, Daniel,” I said, because he was still looking a trifle annoyed. “I had no idea I was going to be barging in on a meeting. I hope I haven’t spoiled anything for you.”

  He smiled then and came over to me, slipping one arm around my shoulder. “You’ve nothing to blame yourself for, Molly. How could either of us have known that Mr. Wilkie would pay a surprise visit at this hour?”

  “Who is this Mr. Wilkie exactly?” I asked.

  “You don’t recognize him from his pictures in the newspapers?”

  I shook my head.

  “Well, then remember his face for future reference. He’s the head of the United States Secret Service. A very powerful man.”

  “Secret Service? He’s in charge of spies?”

  “Daniel laughed uneasily. “I don’t know about spies, but his jurisdiction is anything that affects our national security.”

  “He mentioned the counterfeit money that you’d told me about. Is that a matter of national security then?”

  “It may well turn out to be,” Daniel said. “Enough counterfeit money flooding certain key cities at the same time might be enough to send a financial system crashing and bring a country to its knees.”

  “But who would do that?”

  Daniel shrugged. “There are still plenty of powerful anarchist groups in Europe. Japan and Russia have recently showed their aggressive tendencies, as has Spain.”

  “But the United States, Daniel. Who would have the might to take on such a powerful country?”

  “Nobody has the might, that is clear,” he said. “Whoever is doing this is working through subterfuge—agents infiltrating false dollar bills into the system faster than we can detect them. And who knows what other little tricks they may have up their sleeves.”

  “Speaking of tricks,” I said, “I wondered if you’d had any news about Scarpelli and his assistant.”

  Daniel frowned. “None. I had men looking into it, but so far they’ve come up empty-handed. The man has gone to ground—or at the very least moved well away from our jurisdiction. He could be in Canada by now, for all I know.”

  “It’s strange that Lily’s body has not appeared in a morgue somewhere, isn’t it? Surely he can’t have gone far with a body. How would he transport it, for one thing?”

  “It’s my belief that he’s buried her somewhere she won’t be found—maybe out in the marshes, so that we’ve no body and thus no chance to charge him with murder.”

  “You still think he killed her deliberately?”

  “I think it’s a strong possibility. My men did investigate the rest of the performers and crew at that theater and could find no link or possible motive for wanting the girl dead.”

  “Or to put Scarpelli out of business?”

  He looked at me, then nodded. “As you suggest, to ruin Scarpelli.”

  “So you’re not inclined to believe it was mere equipment failure?”

  He shook his head. “I was willing to consider that option until Scarpelli disappeared and the body with him. Why hide a body when her death would almost certainly be ruled accidental? And now we’ve had to drop the whole thing. With no body and no equipment to prove tampering we’ve hardly got a case, even if we find him again.”

  I leaned closer to him. “So how did the illusion work? Did you get him to divulge his secret to you?”

  “You can’t ask me that. I’m sworn to secrecy,” he said, smiling.

  “Oh, Daniel, come on. I’m dying to know and I’m not likely to go blabbing it all over New York, am I?” I wrapped my arms around his neck. “Besides, I’m going to be your wife. I’ll be able to wheedle these things out of you in your sleep.”

  “I sincerely hope not,” he said. “But if you really must know the whole thing was perfectly simple. It was all a question of levers. The supposed table on which the box rested was hollow. The girl lay flat in the box, and when the lid closed, she depressed a lever and the middle of the box sank down into what appeared to be a flat tabletop. She was also very skinny, of course, and able to suck in her stomach to an amazing degree, so the saw should appear to go almost all the way through the box, but just missed cutting her. Then the saw was removed, the bottom of the box sprang back into place, and out she stepped, unharmed.”

  “Only this time the lever did not lower the girl where the saw wouldn’t reach her.”

  “Exactly. Scarpelli claimed it must have jammed.”

  I shuddered. “Horrible. Just horrible. And I’d take it for an accident too, except that I was at the theater again last night and the lock on Houdini’s trunk jammed. His wife was nearly suffocated inside. They had to get an ax and—”

  “Hold on,” Daniel said, moving away from me. “You went to the theater last night? On your own?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “I thought you and I had planned to see Houdini together,” he said. “And now you slip away without me?”

  “Daniel, don’t be sore,” I said. “It wasn’t like that at all. If you remember I was asked to look after Bess Houdini when she started having hysterics. I took her up to her room and stayed with her until she calmed down. We struck up a nice little friendship and she was so grateful that she invited me to come back and watch the show as her guest.” I looked up at him. “Did you want me to refuse a chance to see Houdini perform from the wings?”

  “No, of course not,” he said quickly. “So how was it?”

  “Fascinating, until something went wrong. They were doing their famous Metamorphosis trick, in which Harry is handcuffed and put into a bag, and locked into a trunk and two seconds later he appears, free from all the restraints, and when they open the trunk, Bess is inside the bag. At least that’s how it should have gone. But the trunk wouldn’t open. They had to send someone upstairs to find the key and in the mean
time she ran out of air and they had to break it open with an ax.”

  “Was she all right?” Daniel aked.

  “She regained consciousness, but she was very upset. They were calling for a doctor when I left.”

  “So two accidents at one theater within the space of a few days,” Daniel said thoughtfully. “A little too much coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I would,” I agreed.

  A warning frown appeared on Daniel’s face. “And I’ll wager you’re itching to find out who is behind it.”

  “I must profess to being a little curious,” I said. “In fact I was wondering whether there could possibly be a gang involved. Do gangs charge performers protection money, do you think? Might the equipment going wrong be a warning to pay up? Is that something your men could look into?”

  Daniel put his hands firmly on my shoulders. “Stay well away, Molly. Nobody’s asked you to poke your nose in and your interference wouldn’t be welcome. Especially if you suspect that a protection racket might be involved. Thank heavens you have a case on the books that will keep you occupied. I take it you had a satisfactory meeting with your client last night, before you went to the theater without me?”

  “Yes, I did, thank you.” I got an odd feeling in the pit of my stomach as I said so. Now that I was actually engaged to Daniel it didn’t feel right to be lying to him—not even stretching the truth. Then I reasoned that as a policeman he would have plenty of things he’d have to keep from me. “And I’m sorry about the house you wanted to show me,” I added for good measure. “I will come and look at houses with you. It’s just that I love my little house. I’m very happy there.”

  Daniel sighed. “We’ve been through this before. Don’t you see? It’s your house, not mine. I’d be the interloper, the intruder. It wouldn’t be the right place to start a new life together. I’d never feel quite at home.”

  “Sure you would,” I said. “You’d bring in all your furniture. We’d make the downstairs back room into your den. We’d buy a new bed.” And I smiled up at him as I said this.

  “Don’t try your feminine wiles with me, Molly Murphy,” he said, but he was smiling. “We’ll talk about this when we have more time. I am already late for work.”

  I picked up the food basket from where it had been left on the table. “I’ll put this in your kitchen then, shall I? The pork and the salad should go in the ice chest or they’ll spoil.”

  He took it from me. “You’re good to me sometimes.” He leaned toward me and kissed me gently on the lips. Then he kissed me again, not so gently this time. “September, Molly. My next day off we’ll go up to Westchester and set a date.”

  “Westchester?”

  “You’d like to be married from my family home, wouldn’t you? It would make a lovely setting in the garden and there’s St. Benedict’s Church close by.”

  “You want us to get married in the Catholic Church?”

  “Well, I thought—my mother will probably expect it and we were both raised in the faith.”

  “I’ll have to think about it,” I said.

  We left the house together and parted with an amicable kiss. But inside my head was whirling. Did I want to get married in church after having rejected it for so long? Did I want a wedding in Daniel’s house, where it would be his family, his friends? I had pictured a wedding in the city, with Sid and Gus as my bridesmaids and Ryan looking flamboyant in a long black cape and all my other friends in attendance. But Daniel was picturing the traditional wedding in the country—at his mother’s house, no less! As I had said, I’d have to do some thinking about this.

  Eleven

  After I left Daniel I went straight to the theater. I didn’t expect to find the Houdinis there, but I hoped that there might be some activity at this hour and someone could tell me where they lived. The Bowery was a regular hive of activity, with women doing their morning shopping, pushcart vendors crying out their wares, and small boys dodging between carts as they played some game. The street itself was clogged with a jam of horse-drawn drays, hansom cabs, the occasional automobile, and trolley cars. The smell of fresh manure and the slops tipped into the gutters were overpowering in the sticky heat, and I was glad when I saw the theater marquee rising above the shops and saloons. The front doors were locked but I went down the alley to the stage door and found Ted, the doorkeeper in attendance.

  “You again?” he said. “You keep turning up like a bad penny—and speaking of bad pennies, I’d keep well away from Mr. Irving, the manager, if I were you. He was in some fearful bad temper last night. Not only did he have to stop the show for the second time in a week, and give some people their money back, but it turned out that someone had unloaded quite a few forged banknotes on us. My but he was hopping mad.”

  “That’s terrible,” I said. “So what was everyone saying about the accident last night?”

  “You know theater folks—superstitious, that’s what they are. They were saying that the place is jinxed. First Lily and then Bess.”

  “And what do you think?” I asked him.

  “I’m not paid to have an opinion,” he said, “but if you really want to know, I think these illusionists take crazy risks and something’s bound to go wrong sometime. Give me a nice song-and-dance act any day.” He realized he was chatting with me, stopped, and frowned. “Now what did you want this time?”

  “I was upset about what happened to Bess Houdini last night. I wanted to go and see her to make sure she’s all right. She quite took to me, you know. So I wondered if you could tell me where they are staying?”

  He looked at me appraisingly. “I’ve been doing this job for a good while and I’ve learned a thing or two about people and there’s something about you I just can’t quite fathom out. Something that doesn’t quite add up.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked innocently.

  “The first time you showed up, you came back here to collect your lost shawl,” he said. “A shawl that had been used to cover a dead girl. What young lady would want her shawl back after that? Any young lady that I know wouldn’t want to touch it again, even if it wasn’t covered with blood. And then the next time you show up you’re supposedly the bosom buddy of Bess Houdini. And you know what else?” His eyes narrowed as he squinted at me. “Every time you’ve been at this theater, something’s gone wrong. So I’m thinking that maybe someone has sent you here—someone who has it in for our theater.”

  “You think I might be the one who caused the accidents?” I demanded.

  He shrugged. “Wouldn’t surprise me. Some of these criminal types, they’ve used pretty young ladies to do their dirty work before now. So perhaps someone’s paid you to settle a score with Houdini.”

  I glared at him. “Settle a score with Houdini. Who might want to do that?”

  He touched his nose in a confidential way. “Remember that affair with Risey on Coney Island? That left bad blood, didn’t it?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “I haven’t been in this country for long. Who is Risey?”

  “Risey—he’s a big noise on Coney Island. He was badmouthing Houdini and calling him a fraud, so Houdini challenged him and locked him in a trunk at Vacca’s theater. Risey panicked and they only just got him out in time.”

  I nodded, digesting this. So Risey, a shady character, had been made to look a fool by Houdini.

  “And Risey was heard to say that Houdini better not show his face anywhere near him again,” Ted added.

  “I see,” I said. “Well, I assure you that I am not working for anybody. The first time I came to this theater was with my young man and we witnessed that horrible scene with Scarpelli. My intended went onstage immediately after the tragedy happened to see if he could help. I went with him. Bess Houdini saw all the blood and had hysterics. I took her away and calmed her down and she became instantly attached to me. She came to my house to thank me and invited me to come and watch the show. That’s the whole truth.”


  Ted stared at me again, then nodded. “Maybe it is, and then again maybe it isn’t. I’ve always found that women make the best liars.”

  “So you’re not going to give me the Houdinis’ address?” I asked. He was now beginning to annoy me—partly because he could see through me, I suppose. “I just thought it would be the friendly thing to do to go and check on Bess, seeing that I was there as her guest last night and I was supposed to be meeting her for lunch today, an appointment which she obviously won’t be well enough to keep.”

  This last was a lie, of course, that came to me in a flash of inspiration.

  “They’ve taken a house up in Harlem, from what I hear,” he said, “but as to the address, you’d have to ask Mr. Irving, and like I say, he’s in no mood to talk nice to anybody today.” He turned away, then looked back at me. “Your best bet would be to come back to the theater tonight. Houdini will be doing his act whether his wife is fit to join him or not.”

  This made sense, but it was Bess I wanted to see and I had seen how protective Houdini was of her. She was now my client, as far as I was concerned. She had hired me to do a job and from what I had seen last night, that job had become all the more urgent.

  “Why don’t you write her a note and I’ll make sure that one of them gets it,” Ted said, seeing my frustration.

  “That’s not going to be any use for my luncheon appointment today, is it?” I said. “Still, I suppose it’s better than nothing.”

  He handed me paper and a pencil and I wrote, “So sorry about what happened last night. If you’d like to talk about it, you know where I live. Yours fondly, Molly.” I suspected that Ted would snoop and read it so I left it at that.