Escapade by Walter Satterthwait

much to trust any of them.
    I said, “Sounds like Sir David doesn’t feel the same way about his.”
    Abruptly, he stood up. “We are leaving, Phil. I cannot remain here, among such people.”
    I leaned back against the stone wall and put my hands in my pockets. “What about the seance?”
    He waved a hand. “They can hold their ridiculous seance without Houdini.”
    “Won’t look good,” I said.
    He frowned. “What do you mean?”
    “You leave now, you’re admitting defeat.”
    He drew himself fully upright. “Houdini never admits defeat.” 
    “That psychic, Madame Sosostris, she’ll claim you lammed out because you couldn’t prove fraud.”
    He snorted. “The famous Madame Sosostris. Where is she? She hasn’t arrived yet, even.”
    “Looks worse, then. You wouldn’t even hang around till she showed up.”
    He screwed up his face and chewed pensively at his lower lip. He turned and walked over to the window. He put his arms behind his back and grasped his left fist in his right hand and he stared out through the glass.
    Maybe he wasn’t staring through it. All he could see through it was darkness. Maybe he was staring at his own reflection.
    “Why not just ignore them?” I said. “You’ve got the rest of the world in your pocket, Harry. After this weekend, you’ll never see those two again.”
    “Filthy vermin,” he said. He stared at the window.
    “What about Conan Doyle?” I said. “Isn’t he a friend of yours? Won’t he be disappointed if you’re not here?”
    What I wasn’t saying was that my job would be a lot easier out here in the country than it could ever be in London.
    I also wasn’t saying that if we left now, the drive back to London would take us all night. I was too tired to do it myself and too fond of living to let him do it.
    “And Lord Bob and Lady Alice,” I said. “You’ll hurt their feelings. That might get around. Maybe you wouldn’t get invited to any more of these soirees.”
    He thought for another moment and then he turned from the window. “Yes. Yes, of course. You are entirely right, Phil. They are extremely fine people, Lord and Lady Purleigh, are they not? Extremely gracious. I cannot abuse their wonderful hospitality.” 
    “Right.”
    He nodded. “Very well. We will stay. I can rise above this, above the other two. The vermin. I can ignore them, as you say. What are they to me? Nothing. Less than nothing.”
    “Right.”
    “Yes. Good.” Once more, he nodded. “But now I think I shall retire for the night. I find myself curiously fatigued.”
    “I think I’ll pack it in myself. Mind if I use the bathroom?”
    “No, no. Of course not.”
    I left his room, walked past the bathroom into mine. I circled around the four-poster bed to the night table. I opened my bag. I hadn’t locked it. People don’t usually bother with an unlocked bag.
    But when I dug around a bit, I realized that someone had bothered with this one. Someone had gone through it. Carefully, but not carefully enough.
    I lifted out the clothes and set them on the bed. I took out the case that held my razor and my toothbrush and I put it beside the clothes. I lifted out the pint bottle of bourbon and put that beside the case.
    “Phil?” The Great Man stood at the doorway between our two rooms.
    I straightened up and looked at him across the satin bedspread. “Yeah?”
    He was frowning, puzzled. “Someone has attempted to unlock my bag.”
    I nodded. “Anything missing?”
    He shook his head impatiently. “No, no. The locks are made to my own design and, naturally, they are impregnable. But someone has clearly tried to pick them. To an expert like myself, the signs are unmistakable.” He frowned again. “You seem very calm about this, Phil.”
    “Someone got into mine. Didn’t take anything, looks like.” “But who would do such a thing?”
    “Couldn’t be any of the others. They were all downstairs. One of the servants, maybe.”
    He was standing fully upright.