Harry Houdini Mysteries (18 page)

The girl said nothing.

Harry tried again. “It is a fine day, is it not? The sky is blue and the air is clear. What a marvellous day to be frolicking in the park. I am reminded of an exciting story. Would you like to hear it?”

Lila turned away and dangled the yellow yarn in front of the cat. Harry pressed on.

“Long ago, in ancient Mesopotamia, there was a celebrated young conjurer by the name of Ari Ardeeni. He had many wonderful powers. It was said that young Ari had the ability to transport himself from one place to the next in the twinkling of an eye! One moment he might be roistering in a stream, and at the next instant he could be seen dancing atop the highest mountain! Stranger still, it was believed that this handsome conjuror possessed the ability to change places with any being of his choosing—at the merest snap of his fingers! But of all these wondrous talents, there was one that young Ari prized most of all.” Harry leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner.
“It was said that the handsome young wizard could conjure spirits and ghosts out of thin air!”

Lila Craig scooped up the tabby cat and began scratching its ears.

Harry soldiered on. “Now, there is no need to be alarmed,” he said. “These ghosts and spirits were friends of young Ari, and would never have done anything to frighten anyone. They were jolly, happy spirits who loved to dance and play on their spirit clouds. Sometimes they brought candy for the children of the village. Is this not delightful?”

The girl gave no answer. Instead, she set the cat on the grass and tried to push down its tail.

“Of all the many people in the kingdom, the young wizard had one very special little friend. A young girl in whom he confided all his secrets. Her name was Mila. The magical Ari would carry her up to the enchanted meadow on his flying carpet and share his mystic secrets. He thought it was glorious to have a friend such as this. And little Mila shared her secrets in return. She loved to tell Ari all about her toys and her cloth bear and her kitty cat. It must be wonderful to have a friend such as this, don’t you think?”

Lila twisted the yellow yarn around her index finger and gazed off across the park.

“Of all the young wizard’s many secrets, there was one which Mila wished to know most of all. This was the secret of making ghosts and spirits appear. How was such a thing possible? She puzzled over the mystery for many a long day, but she could not imagine how anyone could do it—not even Ari, with all his fantastical powers. One fine day, she plucked up her courage and decided to ask young Ari how he—”

“I need to go back.”

It was the first thing either of us had ever heard her say, and I suppose the fact that she had spoken at all surprised us a bit.

“Go?” Harry asked. “But I haven’t even told you about the dragon!”

Lila stood up, cradling the cat in her arms. “I need to go back,” she repeated.

“But it’s a very good dragon!” Harry insisted.

The girl set the cat down and watched as it darted away.

I took out my linen handkerchief and knotted the corner. I draped it over the crook of my right hand and made a sprinkling motion with the fingers of my left. Slowly, the knotted corner began to twitch and wriggle. “Lila,” I said, “there have been some very strange things going on lately. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

She nodded.

“Do you know what happened last night?”

She gnawed at her lower lip. “Yes.”

“Do you know how it happened?”

She shook her head.

“Neither do we,” I said, as the knotted corner bobbed up and down. “My brother and I think it started out as a magic trick, like this one. It wasn’t like any trick we’d ever seen before, though. We hoped maybe you could explain it to us. You seem like a clever girl. I bet your father has taught you some tricks here and there, right?”

She nodded.

“Like this?” The handkerchief was now floating above my right hand in the manner of a dancing puppet.

“Not like that.”

“What sort of tricks, then?”

“I’m not supposed to tell.”

“That’s right. You’re not supposed to tell. Magicians never tell their secrets. Your father is a very fine magician, isn’t he?”

“He’s not—” She gnawed her lip again. “He doesn’t like it when people say he’s a magician.”

“No?” I untied the knot and poked the handkerchief down into my right fist. “I think he’s a very fine magician. One of the best.” I uncurled the fingers of my fist to show that the handkerchief had vanished. “I wish I knew how he did his tricks. Hold still for a moment—” I reached across with my left hand
and plucked the handkerchief from behind her ear. “Thank you. You would make a fine magician’s assistant. Do you ever help out as your father’s assistant?”

She watched as I spread the cloth over my palm and folded the corners inward. “Sometimes,” she said.

“Do you? I thought as much. You strike me as a natural magician’s assistant.” I gripped the four corners and shook the handkerchief. Something rattled inside. “Did you help him last night?”

“Last night?”

I let the corners drop to show three walnuts cupped in my palm. “Sure. Last night. He did some tricks for us. I thought maybe you might have helped him.”

Her eyes darted to the Clairmont house. “No,” she said, fixing her attention elsewhere. “I was in the kitchen. The whole time.”

I followed her eyes across the green. Lucius Craig could be seen standing in the bay window of Jasper Clairmont’s study, gazing down with a stern expression, his hands clasped behind his back.

“I need to go back,” the girl repeated. “Good-bye.”

“Wait a minute,” I called after her. She turned, and I tossed her the three walnuts one after the other. She caught them easily, then turned and hurried off toward the house, disappearing down the side lane that led to the kitchen entrance.

“What do you make of that, Harry?” I asked.

“The girl’s afraid of her father,” he answered. “She won’t tell us anything.”

“There’s more to it than that,” I said. “Something doesn’t quite fit.”

We fell silent as we crossed the green and mounted the broad stone steps to the Clairmont house. Harry pulled at the door chime, and once again the oval-paned doors swung inward. Brunson, looking no worse for the previous night’s drama, ushered us into the reception area. We divested ourselves of our hats and coats and were shown through to the drawing
room. Richardson Wells and Kenneth Clairmont were helping themselves to tea from a silver service.

“Hardeen!” called Kenneth. “There you are! Lieutenant Murray was just asking if you’d arrived yet. He’s upstairs with Lucius Craig at the moment. Dr. Wells and I were just wondering what further questions he might have for us today.”

“I couldn’t say,” I answered. “We told him everything we could last night.”

“Yes, but the two of you were up there rather a long time after the—the unpleasantness. He seemed to take a great deal longer with you than any of the rest of us.”

“He was availing himself of our expertise in matters of the occult,” said Harry. “We had a very interesting discussion.”

“Actually, I believe the lieutenant was just being thorough,” I said. “Harry and I have a slight acquaintance with him, so he may have questioned us a bit more closely than the rest of you.”

“I see,” Kenneth said, though he did not seem entirely satisfied.

“Where is your mother?” Harry asked. “I’m sure Lieutenant Murray will have additional questions to put to her, as well.”

“His questions will have to wait,” said Dr. Wells curtly. “Augusta is nearly beside herself with agitation. Her nerves have not been right since Jasper’s death. I gave her a sleeping draught last night, but I’m afraid the shock of what happened may be more than she can stand. I have confined her to her sitting room.” He stepped toward the fireplace as Brunson poured two cups of tea for Harry and myself.

“I don’t see why the police should need to question my mother, in any case,” Kenneth said. “She had nothing to do with Edgar’s death. I refuse to believe that any of us could have done such a thing, and yet the other explanation is too fantastic.”

“The other explanation?” asked Harry, reaching for the china cup Brunson offered him.

“The spirits, of course,” said Lucius Craig, appearing suddenly in the doorway. “I don’t know why you refuse to acknowledge what we all plainly saw. I’ve just been explaining it to the
lieutenant. Last night the door between our world and the next was flung wide open. The manifestation which we all beheld came through as plainly as could be wished. There can be no point in seeking any other explanation.”

“For God’s sake, Craig!” said Dr. Wells, turning back from the fireplace. “A man has been murdered! It’s time to drop this spirit claptrap once and for all!”

“On the contrary, Dr. Wells,” the medium answered. “It is the only explanation that meets the facts.”

A flush of angry red spread across the doctor’s cheeks. “The facts, as you would have us believe them, are too ridiculous to consider. I’m quite serious, Craig. I have endured your foolishness these past weeks because it appeared to bring comfort to Augusta. As of last night, your usefulness is at an end. I don’t know how you contrived to make that strange figure appear, but we can no longer tolerate this pretense of traffic with the supernatural. This is a matter for the police now. Surely they will demand to know what strings you were pulling while the lights were lowered.”

Craig brought out his snuff shaker and tapped it on the back of his hand. “You are not the first man of science to doubt the evidence of his own eyes,” said the medium, pausing to inhale the powder. “I have grown accustomed to dealing with skeptics of all descriptions. Soon enough you will have to embrace the truth, one way or another. What you saw last night was quite genuine.”

Harry set down his tea cup. “Pardon me, Mr. Craig. If I understand you correctly, you are certain that what we saw last night was the ghost of Jasper Clairmont.”

“I am.”

“And you believe that the ghost of Jasper Clairmont murdered Edgar Grange?”

Craig pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve and dabbed at his nose. “You saw the message on the spirit slate. ‘Judgement is at hand.’ What other explanation could there be? How else could
that message have appeared?” A smile played at Craig’s lips. “After all, Mr. Houdini, I have no doubt that by this time you have made a rather thorough examination of the slate, have you not?”

Dr. Wells interrupted before Harry could reply. “Do you expect me to believe that the ghost of Jasper Clairmont descended upon us last night for the purpose of murdering poor Edgar? Even if one could credit such a preposterous notion, why would Jasper have wished harm to Edgar? They were the closest of friends.”

Lucius Craig gave a languid sigh and lowered himself onto the settee. “It is not for me to say. Possibly Mr. Clairmont’s spirit was resentful of Mr. Grange’s attentions to our hostess.”

Dr. Wells appeared genuinely shocked. “His attentions? What are you suggesting?”

“I am merely stating that Mr. Grange had been spending a good deal of time in Mrs. Clairmont’s company.”

“There’s nothing unusual in that, Mr. Craig,” said Kenneth. “My mother has been lonely since father passed. Both Mr. Grange and Dr. Wells have been very considerate in their attentions to her. For that matter, there is no one who has spent more time in her company these past weeks than you. Why should this ‘spirit’ have not taken his vengeance on you?”

“Because he recognizes that I am the conduit by which he will be able to communicate with his beloved wife,” answered Craig. “He would not dream of severing that link. You will come to understand this as you learn more of the science of spiritualism.”

“Science!” Dr. Wells cried. “There is no more science in this than in the ravings of a madman!”

Craig regarded him coldly. “There was a time, my friend, when the same was said of Copernicus and Galileo.”

Kenneth’s eyes went to the portrait of his father above the fireplace. “You speak of science, sir, and yet you are willing to ascribe the attributes of a crazed murderer to the spirit of my father.” He paused, apparently struggling with his temper.
“You did not even know my father, Mr. Craig. I deeply resent the accusation.”

At this Lucius Craig gathered himself on the settee and sat forward with a solicitous expression. “You must forgive me, Kenneth,” he said. “When I spoke of your father’s spirit, I was speaking in terms of an abstract problem, something to be considered within the ever-expanding horizons of what I know of the spirit realm. I did not stop to consider how my speculations might affect you on an emotional level. Let me explain myself more fully. It is my understanding that when a spirit makes its transition to the other side, there is a long period of adjustment—almost of rebirth, if you will. We cannot expect the entity to behave as it did during its time on the earthly plane. It is only half formed, and learning new ways of adapting to its circumstances. In this condition, its emotions and behaviors may be erratic and seemingly foreign to those who knew the spirit in life.”

Dr. Wells reached forward to grip the back of the settee upon which Craig was sitting. “You’re saying that the spirit of Jasper Clairmont, one of New York’s most distinguished citizens, has killed his close friend and associate because he wasn’t in his right mind?”

“I would not have phrased it so crudely, Doctor, but that is the gist of the matter.”

The doctor leaned in close and spoke in a level tone. “Craig, I will see you turned out of this house and run out of town on the next train. You are the very worst kind of confidence man.”

“Sir, you merely fail to—”

Craig’s reply was cut short as the doors flew open and Sterling Foster burst into the room. “I don’t see why that policeman needed to question me,” he said angrily, making his way toward the tea service. “I wasn’t even in the room at the time. I wasn’t even in the house, as a matter of fact. The implication is outrageous.” He poured himself a cup of tea and carried it to one of the armchairs. His face was pale and drawn, with a dirty
smudge clinging to his jawline. It was clear from the gingerly manner with which he carried himself that he was feeling the effects of the previous night’s excesses.