Harry Houdini Mysteries (15 page)

“That’s enough cat and mouse, Houdini,” Lieutenant Murray said. “If the killer didn’t come from outside and it wasn’t one of the people sitting around the table, then what other choice is there? Hardeen’s glowing apparition, perhaps? I prefer a flesh and blood killer myself.”

Harry turned away from us. “Sergeant Flaherty, may I ask you to gather up some of the newspapers from the rack beside Mr. Clairmont’s desk?”

“Newspapers?” the sergeant asked, glancing at Lieutenant Murray.

The lieutenant held up his hand. “Hold on, Houdini. I won’t have you giving orders to my men.”

“You have asked me to name the killer. I intend to do better than that. I am going to produce him for you. All I require is a bundle of newspapers.”

Lieutenant Murray hesitated, then nodded to the sergeant, who went off to do as Harry asked.

“I must ask that you do exactly as I say, but please keep your voices down until I give the signal. What you are about to see
may strike you as peculiar, but the reasons for my actions will be apparent soon enough.” Harry led us back into the séance room as he said this, his voice dropping to a low whisper as he approached the octagonal table. “Earlier I pointed out this scratch to you, Lieutenant,” he continued, crouching next to the thick pedestal base. “It is worth noting that this table is quite new and was constructed to the exacting standards of Mr. Lucius Craig. It is an unusual piece of furniture, is it not? The octagonal shape is quite unconventional. So, too, is the exceedingly heavy base. Instead of four separate legs holding the table up, we have one extremely thick column of wood at the center. If Mr. Craig were here, he would undoubtedly tell us that the construction of the table forms a focus for the energies of the sitters. I believe there is an additional function, not generally known to outsiders. Ah, Sergeant Flaherty! Please spread the newspapers onto this tray. Excellent. Now, if you would be so good as to bring that pitcher of water from the sideboard. Thank you so much. Have you a match, Sergeant?”

“Wait a minute, Houdini,” said Lieutenant Murray. “A match? What do you think you’re doing?”

“All will become clear in just one moment, Lieutenant. Come along, Sergeant Flaherty. I believe we are ready to proceed. Please set fire to the newspapers, if you would be so kind.”

The sergeant looked to Lieutenant Murray, who fixed my brother with a dubious expression. “You’re sure this is necessary, Houdini?”

“You shall not be disappointed, Lieutenant.”

Murray shrugged and nodded at the sergeant to proceed. In a moment, the newspapers were burning merrily. “Good,” said Harry. “Now if we could direct some of the smoke toward the table, I believe the results will speak for themselves.”

The sergeant used a discarded section of newspaper to fan smoke in the direction of the table.

“Now there is one more thing I must ask of you, Sergeant,”
said Harry. “If you would join me in raising a cry of ‘Fire,’ I should be eternally grateful.”

The sergeant looked up from fanning the smoke. “You want me to yell ‘Fire’?”

“Yes, only let us direct our voices toward the base of the table.”

“Harry,” I began, “this isn’t going to—”

“Not now, Dash. We have a murderer to apprehend.”

“But—Harry—”

“On the count of three, Sergeant. Now then: one, two, three—”

“Fire!” shouted the sergeant and Harry together.

“Thank you, Sergeant. I will trouble you once again.”

“Fire!” they shouted again.

Harry rubbed his hands together with satisfaction. “Thank you so much. And now, Lieutenant, I believe it will be possible to introduce you to the murderer of Mr. Edgar Grange.” Harry folded his arms and gazed expectantly at the séance table.

“Harry,” I began again, “there is no—”

“Not now, Dash! I am waiting for the murderer to reveal himself.” Harry beamed happily at the table. “Any moment now!”

Lieutenant Murray turned to me. “Hardeen? Can you explain what your brother is trying to achieve?”

“I believe I can,” I said, “though I hope I’m wrong.” I looked at Harry, who was still gazing expectantly at the séance table, as though waiting for it to burst into song. “Harry, I’m afraid you may have miscalculated.”

He shot a quick glance in my direction, his happy confidence beginning to fray a bit at the edges. “Just a moment longer,” he said. “I’m sure of it.”

“What does he think is going to happen?” Lieutenant Murray asked.

“My brother has concluded that the murderer of Edgar Grange is hidden in a secret compartment within the base of
the table,” I explained. “Harry believes that the concealed killer will smell the smoke, hear the cries of fire, and conclude that the house is burning. At that point—”

The lieutenant finished the thought for me. “At that point he will emerge from his place of concealment and fly into the waiting arms of Sergeant Flaherty.” He stroked his chin. “I believe I read that story as well. Was it Dr. Thorndyke?”

“Holmes,” I said. “ ‘The Norwood Builder.’”

“Funny, I’d have sworn it was Thorndyke.” He turned to the sergeant. “Flaherty, I think we can safely extinguish the flames now.”

“Wait, Lieutenant,” cried Harry. “There is still a chance that—”

“Put out the flames, Flaherty.”

Harry gave a theatrical sigh as the sergeant poured water over the embers of the newspapers. “Perhaps he didn’t smell the smoke,” he said, still clinging to a shred of hope.

The lieutenant walked over to the séance table and took hold of the edge. With a sudden effort, he heaved the heavy table onto its side. “Hello?” he called, bending over the upended pedestal. “Anyone in there?” He rapped on the solid wood with his knuckles. “Come on out. Harry Houdini is waiting to apprehend you.”

Harry appeared crestfallen. “Perhaps I was mistaken in my assessment of the situation,” he admitted.

“Perhaps so,” said Lieutenant Murray. He turned back to Dr. Peterson. “You have anything else for me, Doc?”

Peterson snapped his black bag shut. “Not until I finish up downtown. Are you done here?”

“Not yet. I’ll let you know.”

“Lieutenant,” said Harry, “may I suggest that we—”

“No,” said Murray shortly. “You and your brother are going back downstairs to join the others. I’ll be through questioning in a couple of hours. I suggest you just make yourselves comfortable in the meantime.”

“But we can be of assistance! We have unique talents and abilities that—”

The lieutenant signalled to a uniformed officer. “Marsden, take these gentlemen back downstairs, would you?”

Harry made to offer another plea, but I restrained him as the officer escorted us to the exit.

“Oh, Hardeen?” the lieutenant called after us.

I paused in the doorway. “Yes?”

“If you see this thing again, this—what did you call it?”

“A glowing apparition.”

“Right. If you see it again, tell him I need to ask him some questions.”

The sound of the lieutenant’s laughter followed us all the way down the main stairs.

7

“T
HE GALL OF THAT MAN!” CRIED
H
ARRY, HELPING HIMSELF TO A
portion of scrambled eggs at breakfast the next morning. “After all we’ve done for him in the past! He’d still be trying to solve the murder of Branford Wintour if not for us! He’d still be trying to crack the Case of the Deadly Damsel!”

“The case of the deadly damsel?” I asked, stirring my black tea.

“Francesca Moore,” said Harry, his cheeks reddening slightly. “I have recorded the business in my note-books under that title.”

“Have you? I must say, Harry, that’s quite vivid.”

“Well, I have a certain theatrical flair, as you may know.”

“Hadn’t noticed.”

Harry was referring to an unfortunate chain of events some months earlier, when an assistant to the great magician Harry Kellar had been murdered under seemingly inexplicable circumstances during a performance of the Floating Lady effect. Harry and I realized that Lieutenant Murray’s investigation had taken a wrong turn, and through a combination of persistence and happenstance we had been able to uncover the identity of the killer.

“The lieutenant is just jealous,” Harry said, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of sausage. “He is afraid that the Great Houdini will show him up once again.”

“Patrick Murray has one of the finest records in the history of the New York City Police Department,” I said. “Of the many hundreds of cases in which he has been involved, only two have required the assistance of the Brothers Houdini. And there is nothing to say that he wouldn’t have solved those two on his own eventually.”

Harry snorted. “I don’t know why you place such confidence in that man, Dash.”

It was nearly two o’clock in the morning when Lieutenant Murray dismissed our small band of suspects from the Clairmont house and we were instructed to return at noon for a further round of questioning. It was clear from his tone that the lieutenant would have preferred to conduct those interrogations at the precinct house, but Mrs. Clairmont’s standing in society would not permit him to be so high-handed with her guests. Harry and I had attempted to confer with him over the findings, but he had wished no further aid from the two of us.

I had returned to my room at Mrs. Arthur’s boarding house and fallen exhausted into my bed, but sleep would not come. I could not put the events of the evening out of my mind. Each time I closed my eyes, a vision of that strange, glowing spectre rose up behind my lids, brandishing its gleaming blade. What was it? How had it come to appear in the room? Could it possibly have been responsible for the death of Edgar Grange? I turned these problems over in my mind until the first brightening of dawn appeared at my window.

“The problem does not seem so very difficult to me,” Bess was saying, as she poured out another cup of tea for Harry.

“No?” I asked.

She set the pot on a clay trivet. “Well, I don’t mean to say I’ve worked out every detail, but I think that Harry must have been on the right track last night.”

My brother beamed at her. “Thank you, my dear.”

“How do you mean?” I asked. “You think the murderer really was hidden in the base of the table?”

“No, of course not. But it stands to reason, however, that the murderer was hidden somewhere in the room when the séance began. If what you’ve told me is true, no one could have entered the room after the lights were lowered. You’d have seen the light from outside.”

“That’s true,” Harry agreed. “I said as much to Lieutenant Murray.”

“If the murderer didn’t come from outside the room,” Bess continued, “he must have been inside the room the whole time. Naturally, that suggests that the killer was one of the other seven people sitting at the table.”

“That is clearly the impression that Lieutenant Murray has formed,” I said.

Bess nodded in agreement. “It would seem the logical conclusion, but it doesn’t explain how one of you could have broken away from the circle without alerting the others. Wasn’t Mr. Grange sitting next to Lucius Craig?”

“He was,” Harry confirmed. “He was sitting to the left of Mr. Craig.”

“And who was sitting on Mr. Grange’s left?”

I looked up from buttering a piece of brown toast. “I was.”

Bess favored me with a winning smile. “It begins to look quite bad for you, Dash. Did you kill Edgar Grange?”

“Not that I recall.”

“No,” she agreed. “You don’t seem the murderous type. And we must rule out Mr. Craig, because Harry had tied him to his own chair.”

“The man couldn’t have moved an inch in any direction,” Harry said proudly.

“So where does that leave us?” Bess took a sip of tea. “Dash didn’t kill Mr. Grange. Lucius Craig didn’t kill Mr. Grange. None of the others could have killed Mr. Grange without breaking the circle. Therefore, the killer must have been hidden elsewhere in the room.”

“I’m not quite so sure,” I said. “There was a great deal of
confusion when that figure appeared in the room—whatever it was. Lieutenant Murray asked last night if it might have been possible for one of the guests to take advantage of the chaos to break away from the circle. After all, Harry and I did so. We went after the ghost the instant we spotted it.”