Who Done Houdini by Raymond John Page A

had trained every inch of his body to help him perform his tricks. To prove it, he took off a shoe and sock and wrote out and signed his check to me with his good foot. He said he would have been happy to sew a button on my smock, too, but he couldn’t do it with a broken ankle. We both got a laugh out of that.”
    â€œI’m sure I would have liked him.” said Mr. Holmes. “Do you have a card? I may have some more questions for you later.”
    â€œRight here. I just got my new ones back from the printer.”
    He handed one to each of us. At the bottom of the card were the words, “Attending physician to Harry Houdini in his last days.”
    I wondered if the good doctor realized the words could be taken in more than one way.

 
    Chapter 8
    W e caught the northbound trolley on Woodward Avenue just outside the doctor’s office. There were few riders, and we settled into a cane-back seat by ourselves. I always enjoyed riding the trolley, though I hadn’t used it much lately because I was so excited about my new auto. I still enjoyed watching the people and listening to the clanging of the bell when it started and stopped. The main library was on Fifty-Fourth and Woodward, just a few steps away from Wayne State College and not far from our home on Adelaide Street. Violet said she was roasting a beef rump for supper.
    Conversation turned to Dr. Daniel Cohn. We both found him likable and felt he had a fine future. Whether we had learned much of value about Harry Houdini from our visit was debatable, though I thought it might be important Houdini considered himself to be a spy.
    Mr. Holmes had no doubts. “He was acting as one nearly every day of his adult life. Just as someone else I know did for some years.”
    I snorted.
    â€œIf he were investigating someone, obviously it must be a local. I expect I might find the name in the social columns of the papers.”
    â€œExcellent thinking, Wiggins. I also suggest you should contact the theatre. He may have arranged for free tickets for his newest ‘victimizer victim.’ I have a considerable amount of research to do on my own. I’m sure there must be scores of eyewitness accounts of what happened at the performance.” He paused. “Though none as accurate or as well-written as yours, of course.”
    â€œThat goes without saying,” I replied. From anyone else, his compliment could have been taken as a satirical dig.
    The ride ended near the front of a large Italianate building. Holmes stopped in his tracks, amazed. “This is a library?”
    I had to explain it was less than four years old and the pride of Detroit. Much of the funding came from Andrew Carnegie, but local business and civic leaders contributed additional funds far beyond the original grant to make it as impressive as any of the buildings in our nation’s capitol. The lengthy façade resembled a portico, and its seven tall, arched windows ensured an abundance of natural lighting. Violet and I proudly contributed two hundred dollars of our own money to the building fund.
    â€œThis is a great city,” I said. “Detroit is London two hundred years ago. Some day, everyone in America will own an automobile and Detroit will be bigger and richer than Chicago—or New York, for that matter.”
    â€œWe do live in exciting times,” Holmes mumbled. “I just wonder how long prosperity will last.”
    â€œSome think forever.”
    â€œWhat do you think?” Holmes asked.
    â€œI hope so.”
    â€œI do also. Mycroft says the whole world is in great peril if it doesn’t. He thinks the Great War did nothing but create a cancer that is eating at Europe’s entrails, and that it’ll burst forth to consume the whole body someday. The only thing holding it in check is a booming economy.” He paused. “Enough of that. Let’s see if the library’s contents match its appearance.”
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