Who Done Houdini by Raymond John

Press. Gesturing for us to sit on his examination table, he started in.
    â€œI just hung my shingle out here a month ago, and every day I’m getting requests for interviews from all over the world. Everyone in the neighborhood has been in to see me and a journalism student from Ann Arbor came in to interview me. The article in the New York Times mentioning my name has made me famous.”
    I nodded. “I’m sure you deserve all the attention you get. I understand Mr. Houdini came to see you on the twenty-sixth complaining of stomach pains.”
    â€œI gave him some bicarbonate of soda. It seemed to make him feel better. He also said his feet burned. I said that wouldn’t be too surprising since he had a broken ankle. He said they both burned. I gave him a bottle of aloe balm. Later that night, he came back and thanked me for my help. Then he asked me if I wanted to join him for ‘Farmer’s Chop Suey.’ It’s a Jewish dish the delicatessen makes of vegetables and sour cream. I had them send some up to us. I’m sure he liked that I’m Jewish.”
    â€œDid you see him again on the thirtieth?”
    He nodded. “It was a Saturday and he called me at my home. I met him in the office. He had a 101-degree temperature, and bicarbonate didn’t give him any relief. He had a grayish pallor. I told him he should check into a hospital.”
    â€œDid he give you any reason why he wasn’t going to do that?”
    â€œHe said he was used to pain and that he had some important things to do on stage that night.”
    I took a deep breath. “Do you have any reason to suspect anything other than peritonitis caused his death?”
    â€œAbsolutely not. I saw the appendix after Dr. Kennedy removed it. He had all the symptoms.”
    Holmes and I traded glances. Why did Sir Arthur think the police suspected him of being involved in a homicide? I’d heard no rumors of it from any of my friends on the force, though they all were discussing his death.
    â€œHave you had any contact with Mrs. Houdini or his brother?”
    Dr. Cohn’s face lit up. “They both wrote to thank me for my help, and his brother singled me out in his interview with the New York Times. They were both pleased I was at Mr. Houdini’s bedside when he died.”
    â€œDo you recall his last words?”
    â€œYes. He said, ‘I am weaker. I guess I’ve lost the fight.’”
    â€œIt sounds as if he was resigned to his fate.”
    â€œVery much so. He was a most cooperative patient the entire time he was in the hospital.”
    â€œWas his wife with him throughout?”
    â€œShe was in another room with what was diagnosed as food poisoning. Houdini’s brother, Theo, was there throughout.”
    The room suddenly was filled with the aroma of corned beef.
    Dr. Cohn inhaled deeply. “Ah, they’re making Reuben sandwiches. One or another of the Weinstein family comes in to see me nearly every day with some complaint or another. This morning I gave the daughter some aspirin for a headache. My payment is always a sandwich and chicken soup. I haven’t had to lay out a thin dime for lunch since I started here.”
    â€œA very pleasant arrangement,” said Mr. Holmes. “Do you have any idea why Mr. Houdini was so anxious to perform that night?”
    â€œNo. When I asked him, he asked me if I ever saw his movies. I told him I hadn’t.” He said, ‘You’d understand why if you had.’”
    Holmes looked at me quizzically.
    â€œMy wife and I have seen them all,” I said. “They’re mostly about him being a spy and working for the secret service. The stunts were exciting, but some of the audience booed when he had to kiss his co-star.”
    â€œHe was a master showman,” Dr. Cohn said, “but he did seem shy in that respect. I’ve never seen anyone of any age in better physical condition, and he said he