to avoid detection in the dim light.”
Robert sank down next to Eddie, who was still sprawled on the bed, eagerly soaking in every word of our conversation. “Which would account for that strange-looking guitar—the balalaika, wasn’t it?—apparently playing music on its own.”
“A guitar what plays all by itself?” Eddie sat up straight, his eyes wide in amazement. “Dang it all, I’d ’ave traded my best shootin’ aggie to see that!”
I gave the boy a look but refrained from correcting his language. “It was meant to appear as if it was playing on its own, Eddie. But I rather think Madame Karpova achieved that effect by attaching a small music box to the inside of the instrument. Her brother undoubtedly wound up the mechanism and ‘floated’ the balalaika around the room on the end of a black pole, or reaching rod. Of course, he must have donned a black mask and gloves to complete his camouflage. Since our attention was on the instrument, Serkov ran little risk of being seen.”
Robert’s brow creased. “But Lieutenant Ahern examined the balalaika. There was no sign of a music box inside.”
“By then, I’m sure it had been removed,” I said. “Either by Serkov or by Madame Karpova herself. Yelena admitted she released her mother’s hand when the candle went out, although I suspect she’d let go of it long before then.”
“You mean when that white smoke started to come out of her dress?” Robert asked.
I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Eddie’s eyes grew even larger at the mention of this incredible feat of magic. “Man alive! How in tarnation did that medium lady go and make smoke come out of her dress? Was she on fire?”
“It’s called ectoplasm. Some magicians achieve the effect by using dry ice,” I explained to the boy, then remarked to Robert,“That’s undoubtedly why Yelena sat to her mother’s right. I noticed that Madame Karpova is right-handed.”
Robert’s blue-green eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute. I thought you bought into all this spiritualist nonsense.”
“I merely said I was attending tonight’s séance with an open mind. And so I did. However, that did not preclude me from researching some of the more obvious tricks of the trade beforehand.”
Naturally, my colleague did not hesitate to pounce on this innocent disclosure. “So you admit it’s all a bunch of hocus-pocus.”
“At least part of it is, yes,” I replied. “But that’s hardly the point. Obviously, no spirit or psychic phenomenon tightened the wire around Darien Moss’s neck. A very real flesh and blood individual is responsible. The question is, which one?”
“If we’re right and Serkov did sneak back into the dining room, then he must be the killer,” Robert theorized. “After all, he wasn’t holding anyone’s hand. And as you pointed out, he’d be free to move unseen about the room. If Moss wrote an article exposing Karpova as a fraud, that would pretty much finish her in this town.”
“Yes, it probably would. The problem is, just about everyone at that table had an equally valid reason for not wanting to see their names in Darien Moss’s column. Including me, I’m ashamed to say.”
“I can understand that. But surely no one was desperate enough to commit murder in order to stop him.”
“Hmmm. I wonder.” I removed Samuel’s list of names from my reticule and smoothed it out on my lap. I was silently considering it when a loud scream shattered the quiet of Robert’s room.
“What the hell?” Robert exclaimed, jumping up from the bed.
“I think it came from down the hall.” Without waiting for a reply, I grabbed the kerosene lamp off the table and rushed to the door, Robert on my heels.
“Wait for me,” Eddie cried, springing out into the corridor behind us.
I was right: The scream had come from the last room at the end of the hall. As I ran, I saw Madame Karpova dart into the room ahead of me. From the spill of light from the hall, I could make
Robert sank down next to Eddie, who was still sprawled on the bed, eagerly soaking in every word of our conversation. “Which would account for that strange-looking guitar—the balalaika, wasn’t it?—apparently playing music on its own.”
“A guitar what plays all by itself?” Eddie sat up straight, his eyes wide in amazement. “Dang it all, I’d ’ave traded my best shootin’ aggie to see that!”
I gave the boy a look but refrained from correcting his language. “It was meant to appear as if it was playing on its own, Eddie. But I rather think Madame Karpova achieved that effect by attaching a small music box to the inside of the instrument. Her brother undoubtedly wound up the mechanism and ‘floated’ the balalaika around the room on the end of a black pole, or reaching rod. Of course, he must have donned a black mask and gloves to complete his camouflage. Since our attention was on the instrument, Serkov ran little risk of being seen.”
Robert’s brow creased. “But Lieutenant Ahern examined the balalaika. There was no sign of a music box inside.”
“By then, I’m sure it had been removed,” I said. “Either by Serkov or by Madame Karpova herself. Yelena admitted she released her mother’s hand when the candle went out, although I suspect she’d let go of it long before then.”
“You mean when that white smoke started to come out of her dress?” Robert asked.
I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Eddie’s eyes grew even larger at the mention of this incredible feat of magic. “Man alive! How in tarnation did that medium lady go and make smoke come out of her dress? Was she on fire?”
“It’s called ectoplasm. Some magicians achieve the effect by using dry ice,” I explained to the boy, then remarked to Robert,“That’s undoubtedly why Yelena sat to her mother’s right. I noticed that Madame Karpova is right-handed.”
Robert’s blue-green eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute. I thought you bought into all this spiritualist nonsense.”
“I merely said I was attending tonight’s séance with an open mind. And so I did. However, that did not preclude me from researching some of the more obvious tricks of the trade beforehand.”
Naturally, my colleague did not hesitate to pounce on this innocent disclosure. “So you admit it’s all a bunch of hocus-pocus.”
“At least part of it is, yes,” I replied. “But that’s hardly the point. Obviously, no spirit or psychic phenomenon tightened the wire around Darien Moss’s neck. A very real flesh and blood individual is responsible. The question is, which one?”
“If we’re right and Serkov did sneak back into the dining room, then he must be the killer,” Robert theorized. “After all, he wasn’t holding anyone’s hand. And as you pointed out, he’d be free to move unseen about the room. If Moss wrote an article exposing Karpova as a fraud, that would pretty much finish her in this town.”
“Yes, it probably would. The problem is, just about everyone at that table had an equally valid reason for not wanting to see their names in Darien Moss’s column. Including me, I’m ashamed to say.”
“I can understand that. But surely no one was desperate enough to commit murder in order to stop him.”
“Hmmm. I wonder.” I removed Samuel’s list of names from my reticule and smoothed it out on my lap. I was silently considering it when a loud scream shattered the quiet of Robert’s room.
“What the hell?” Robert exclaimed, jumping up from the bed.
“I think it came from down the hall.” Without waiting for a reply, I grabbed the kerosene lamp off the table and rushed to the door, Robert on my heels.
“Wait for me,” Eddie cried, springing out into the corridor behind us.
I was right: The scream had come from the last room at the end of the hall. As I ran, I saw Madame Karpova dart into the room ahead of me. From the spill of light from the hall, I could make
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