in New York?” I asked.
“Only three weeks, then we’re booked on the
Deutschland
to sail back to Europe at the end of the month.”
I still wasn’t sure whether to talk myself out of a job or not. “If it’s only three weeks, then surely it’s hardly worth hiring me, is it? You’ll be safely far away again before you know it.”
“And Harry could be dead,” she said bluntly. “If someone wants him dead, then three weeks is plenty of time to kill him.”
This, of course was true. “All right, Mrs. Houdini. Let’s get started and you can tell me what you want me to do,” I said. I went to the desk and took out a sheet of paper.
“Well,” she said. “After what happened to that poor girl the other night, I’m especially worried that someone is going to try and get at him during his act. It wouldn’t be that hard, you know. One little thing that doesn’t work and you’re a goner. And it looks like an accident. So I want you to be there with him all the time onstage.”
“What?” This came as a bombshell. “You want me onstage?”
She nodded. “Yes, I thought that maybe you could take over my part in the act. Oh, I know you won’t be able to do everything. You’d never be able to learn the famous Metamorphosis that we do—you’re not small enough to fit into the trunk, for one thing. But I can teach you the other things. We open with the mind reading, you know. That always goes down well with the crowd. We’ve done spiritualism in the past too, but Harry’s so against it now that we don’t do it anymore.”
“You really communicated with spirits?”
She laughed. “No, it’s all bunkum. All illusions. My Harry loves to go to these spiritualists’ meetings, then show everyone what frauds they are. They’re really just illusionists like us, Miss Murphy. We’ve never come across a genuine one yet.”
I nodded agreement. “I can believe that. I once had to investigate the Sorensen Sisters. Have you come across them?”
“They’re good,” she said. “Even Harry had to admit they’re convincing. But he’s had great fun exposing some of the others.”
“I don’t suppose they took that well.”
She chuckled. “No, he’s made them mad all right.”
“I was going to ask you if you had any idea as to who might want to wish your husband harm. Certain spiritualists he has exposed should go on my list then. Who else?”
“Everyone worships him,” she said.
“You just said he has his rival illusionists.”
“No one can rival Harry,” she said. “He’s in a class by himself. Oh, he has his imitators right enough—men who call themselves ‘Boudini,’ or ‘Houdani,’ or ‘the Real Handcuff King.’ Harry’s taken on quite a few of them. He loves a good scrap.”
“Fought them, you mean?”
“No, set up a public challenge to do what he does. And on every single occasion they’ve been humiliated. Totally humiliated. He’s made a laughingstock of them.”
“I see. So one of them might well want to get even, don’t you think?”
“I suppose,” she said.
“But none of them has actually threatened your husband that you know of?”
“Not that I know of. Of course Harry doesn’t tell me everything. He doesn’t like to worry me.”
This was not going to be easy. If she was delicate and he babied her, there might be quite a lot he didn’t tell her, and was not likely to tell me either. And my first and biggest challenge would be persuading him to take a tall, healthy-looking Irish woman who had never been either dancer or contortionist as his assistant.
“Mrs. Houdini,” I said. “Are you sure you really want me onstage as Houdini’s assistant? Couldn’t I just watch as well from the wings?”
“Of course you could, but people would get suspicious, wouldn’t they? Most theater folk think it’s bad luck to have someone watching backstage.”
“But I could never learn the sort of things you do in such a short time.”
“Let’s face it, the crowd
“Only three weeks, then we’re booked on the
Deutschland
to sail back to Europe at the end of the month.”
I still wasn’t sure whether to talk myself out of a job or not. “If it’s only three weeks, then surely it’s hardly worth hiring me, is it? You’ll be safely far away again before you know it.”
“And Harry could be dead,” she said bluntly. “If someone wants him dead, then three weeks is plenty of time to kill him.”
This, of course was true. “All right, Mrs. Houdini. Let’s get started and you can tell me what you want me to do,” I said. I went to the desk and took out a sheet of paper.
“Well,” she said. “After what happened to that poor girl the other night, I’m especially worried that someone is going to try and get at him during his act. It wouldn’t be that hard, you know. One little thing that doesn’t work and you’re a goner. And it looks like an accident. So I want you to be there with him all the time onstage.”
“What?” This came as a bombshell. “You want me onstage?”
She nodded. “Yes, I thought that maybe you could take over my part in the act. Oh, I know you won’t be able to do everything. You’d never be able to learn the famous Metamorphosis that we do—you’re not small enough to fit into the trunk, for one thing. But I can teach you the other things. We open with the mind reading, you know. That always goes down well with the crowd. We’ve done spiritualism in the past too, but Harry’s so against it now that we don’t do it anymore.”
“You really communicated with spirits?”
She laughed. “No, it’s all bunkum. All illusions. My Harry loves to go to these spiritualists’ meetings, then show everyone what frauds they are. They’re really just illusionists like us, Miss Murphy. We’ve never come across a genuine one yet.”
I nodded agreement. “I can believe that. I once had to investigate the Sorensen Sisters. Have you come across them?”
“They’re good,” she said. “Even Harry had to admit they’re convincing. But he’s had great fun exposing some of the others.”
“I don’t suppose they took that well.”
She chuckled. “No, he’s made them mad all right.”
“I was going to ask you if you had any idea as to who might want to wish your husband harm. Certain spiritualists he has exposed should go on my list then. Who else?”
“Everyone worships him,” she said.
“You just said he has his rival illusionists.”
“No one can rival Harry,” she said. “He’s in a class by himself. Oh, he has his imitators right enough—men who call themselves ‘Boudini,’ or ‘Houdani,’ or ‘the Real Handcuff King.’ Harry’s taken on quite a few of them. He loves a good scrap.”
“Fought them, you mean?”
“No, set up a public challenge to do what he does. And on every single occasion they’ve been humiliated. Totally humiliated. He’s made a laughingstock of them.”
“I see. So one of them might well want to get even, don’t you think?”
“I suppose,” she said.
“But none of them has actually threatened your husband that you know of?”
“Not that I know of. Of course Harry doesn’t tell me everything. He doesn’t like to worry me.”
This was not going to be easy. If she was delicate and he babied her, there might be quite a lot he didn’t tell her, and was not likely to tell me either. And my first and biggest challenge would be persuading him to take a tall, healthy-looking Irish woman who had never been either dancer or contortionist as his assistant.
“Mrs. Houdini,” I said. “Are you sure you really want me onstage as Houdini’s assistant? Couldn’t I just watch as well from the wings?”
“Of course you could, but people would get suspicious, wouldn’t they? Most theater folk think it’s bad luck to have someone watching backstage.”
“But I could never learn the sort of things you do in such a short time.”
“Let’s face it, the crowd
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