Harry Houdini Mysteries (9 page)

“Don’t be absurd!” cried Harry. “Our evening clothes are hand-tailored!”

“If by that you mean that Mama was able to run them up on her sewing machine, then I suppose they are. But I doubt if any of Mrs. Clairmont’s other guests will be wearing tailcoats fitted with a special pouch for the concealment of rabbits and doves.” I fingered the shawl collar of my dinner jacket. “At least Mr. Sanders was able to give my trousers a bit of a touch-up.”

Harry pursed his lips. “Mrs. Clairmont will have to take me as she finds me, Dash. We can’t all be strutting peacocks.”

“Speaking of strutting peacocks, why are you walking so strangely? Have you hurt your leg?”

“No,” he said. “My leg is fine. I am simply eager to arrive on time for our dinner engagement.”

“We’d have plenty of time if you hadn’t disappeared for half the day. Where were you, anyway?”

“I had business to address.”

“What sort of business?”

“Private business,” he said. His hand went to the right-hand pocket of his coat.

“Harry, what have you got there? Don’t tell me you’ve brought Selma.” Selma was an aging, somewhat flatulent, lop-eared rabbit who often appeared from Harry’s top hat.

“Selma is resting comfortably at home, Dash. You needn’t worry yourself about that.”

“Then what have you got there?”

“Just a precaution.” Harry increased his pace as we approached the north end of Gramercy Park. “Come on, Dash. Try to keep up.”

I had no difficulty keeping pace with my brother, as he knew perfectly well. Throughout my life I have been a walker, and it was my habit in those days to walk several miles each day. I could not begin to count the number of times I have crisscrossed Gramercy Park, enjoying the restful elegance of its brownstones and shade trees. Until that night, however, I had never crossed any of the thresholds.

The late Jasper Ellsworth Clairmont, who did rather well for himself in the shipping business, had lived on the west side of the park in a graceful home with fine stone columns and an elaborate cast-iron porch. A pair of bilkin torches threw a guttering light over the path as we approached. As we passed an expensive brougham standing in front of the house, I paused to neaten my collar in the reflection of the carriage’s gleaming brass palm plate.

“Dash! This is no time to preen your feathers!” cried Harry, pulling my elbow.

“Harry, it’s bad enough that our clothing smells of rabbits. At least my tie should be straight.”

“If you spent half as much time practicing your sleights as you do arranging your hair, you’d be a headliner by now.” He dragged me up a set of broad stone steps and pulled at the door chime.

A pair of heavy, oval-paned doors swung inward, and we stepped into a large entryway, the chief feature of which was a heavy wooden staircase winding up to a minstrels’ gallery.
A ruddy-faced butler took our cloaks, and I don’t think I’m imagining it when I say that his nose wrinkled a bit as he accepted Harry’s top hat.

“Your name is Brunson, is it not?” Harry asked as the butler led us toward a reception room.

“It is, sir.”

“Would you ask Mr. Kenneth Clairmont to join us for a moment before we go through to meet the others? I should like a private word with him.”

“Of course, sir.” Brunson withdrew, leaving us alone in the entry hall.

“What’s this about, Harry?” I asked. “I don’t want to keep Mrs. Clairmont waiting.”

“Just a minor precaution, Dash. I wish to ensure the success of our examination of Mr. Craig.”

“Houdini!” called Kenneth Clairmont, strolling through from the reception room. “Good of you to come! Nice to see you again, too, Hardeen!”

Harry put a finger to his lips. “Quiet! Do not use my name too freely!”

“Pardon?”

Harry stepped closer to Clairmont and grasped his elbow. “Tell me, have you mentioned our names to Lucius Craig? Have you told him that you have invited a pair of professional magicians to observe his actions this evening?”

“Why, no. You specifically told me not to do so. I’ve only said that a pair of school friends would be joining us.”

“Excellent! Then it is not too late!”

“Too late? Too late for what?”

By way of an answer, Harry reached into his coat pocket and produced a monocle and a false moustache. “I must conceal my true identity from Mr. Craig at all costs,” Harry explained, fixing the monocle over his right eye. “If he should learn that the Great Houdini is among the sitters this evening, he will be on guard. Indeed, he might even refuse to proceed!”

“Uh, Harry,” I said, “I’m not sure this is entirely necessary.”

“We cannot be too careful,” he insisted, fixing a luxuriant black moustache onto his upper lip. “It is our best chance of exposing Mr. Craig’s trickery. You must not use my name during the evening. You may refer to me as Dr. Weiss.”

Clairmont watched with raised eyebrows as my brother straightened his moustache. “You’re quite certain about this, Houdini?”

“Harry, is that Uncle Herman’s monocle?”

“Don’t worry, Dash, I’ve brought a disguise for you, too! Here is a false nose!”

“Harry, I don’t want to wear a false nose.”

“But it has a wart!”

“Be that as it may, I’m not going to wear it. The whole idea is absolute foolishness.”

Harry gazed at the false nose wistfully, then put it back into his pocket. “Very well,” he said. “It is not essential to my plan for you to be incognito as well. Your fame is not quite so transcendent as mine. I merely thought—”

“Gentlemen?” Brunson, the butler, had reappeared at the doors to the reception room. “If you’ll pardon me, Mrs. Clairmont wondered what had become of you.” The butler’s eyes came to rest upon my brother’s upper lip, which had been clean-shaven not five minutes earlier. If the sudden sprouting of a handlebar moustache struck him as odd, he gave no outward sign.

“Of course, Brunson,” said Kenneth, glancing at Harry with an uncertain expression. “We’re just coming now.” Squaring his shoulders, he led us from the room.

We were shown through to a large and brightly appointed reception room, where a woman whom I took to be Mrs. Clairmont stood waiting to greet us. Behind her was an imposing oil portrait of a grim-faced man who could only have been her late husband.

“Mother,” Kenneth said, “here are the two friends I
mentioned. This is Dash Hardeen, and this, uh, this is Dr. Weiss.”

“It is so good of you to agree to fill out our little circle,” said Mrs. Clairmont, greeting us with genuine warmth. “When Kenneth said that Mr. Biggs would not be joining us this evening, I was afraid that we would not have a sufficient number of sitters. I am delighted you were able to step in, and no doubt Brunson is relieved to have been freed of the obligation to fill the extra chair. I do hope that our demonstration this evening will be of interest.”

Mrs. Clairmont was tall and slender, with long hair of brilliant white. With her pleasing high cheekbones and sparkling gray eyes, it was plain to see that she had been a beauty in her youth. Like her son, she had an easy, gracious manner that went a long way toward putting us at our ease. Though Harry and I could not have been the sort of young men she was accustomed to receiving in her home, there was nothing in her manner to hint that we were unwelcome.

“Allow me to introduce my brother, Mr. Sterling Foster,” Mrs. Clairmont was saying, indicating a stooped figure near the fire. Sterling Foster made no move to acknowledge our presence. He stood at the far end of the room with a glass of whiskey in hand, glowering at us as though we might have been debt collectors. Like his sister, he had bright eyes and strong features, though the broken veins tracing his bulbous nose spoke of a more dissolute lifestyle.

“I don’t see why I have to participate in this foolery,” he grumbled. “Lucius Craig can go and hang himself for all I care.”

“Where is the mysterious Mr. Craig?” I asked, scanning the room.

“He is upstairs in my late husband’s study,” Mrs. Clairmont answered, ignoring her brother’s grousing. “He requires a period of silent meditation before a demonstration. We shall wait here for the others.” She signalled to the butler, who moved forward with a tray of wine glasses.

Kenneth and I each accepted a glass while Harry busied
himself examining a shelf of books. “Is wine not to your liking, Dr. Weiss?” Mrs. Clairmont asked, noting that Harry had not taken a glass. “We have other spirits, if you would prefer.”

“Thank you, no,” my brother answered. “As a medical man, I prefer to keep my mind clear.” He tapped the side of his head, indicating the fine and presumably delicate organ operating within.

“What a shame,” said Mrs. Clairmont. “It’s a most unusual vintage.”

The ringing of the door chime interrupted Harry’s reply, and a moment later Brunson appeared to announce a pair of fresh visitors.

Dr. Richardson Wells was a dark-haired giant of a man, with a swag belly but powerful arms and shoulders. His skin had a coppery tinge that spoke of much time spent out of doors, and he appeared uncomfortable and somewhat confined in his formal attire. Mr. Edgar Grange, by contrast, had a pallid, drawn face that appeared never to have seen the light of day and the languid manner of a man unused to physical exertion of any kind. Kenneth had mentioned that Grange had taken over the family’s business concerns in the months since Jasper Clairmont’s passing, and it took no great feat of imagination to picture him hunched over a ledger volume, tallying up a column of figures.

“Ah! Grange! There you are!” called Sterling Foster in a voice thickened by whiskey. “Need to speak to you. Most urgent.” With this, Foster shuttled the lawyer into a corner for a whispered conference. Judging by the sharp gestures and grim expressions, the subject under discussion was not pleasant.

“Weiss, eh?” Dr. Wells was saying to my brother. “What sort of practice are you in, sir?”

“Practice?” Harry asked, adjusting his monocle.

“I’m a general practitioner, myself,” said Dr. Wells. “Had a country practice for many years.”

“Yes!” Harry’s head bobbed eagerly. “I am also a general practitioner.”

“Ah!” cried Dr. Wells. “A kindred spirit! Where did you do your practicals?”

A spark of fear began to show in Harry’s eyes. “Europe,” he said. “Budapest, to be precise.”

“Budapest? How very interesting! I can’t say I know much about Hungary. It must be fascinating!”

“Dr. Weiss was just telling me of the most fascinating article he saw in
The Lancet
,” said Kenneth Clairmont, endeavoring to save my brother from himself. “It had to do with the vasomotor changes in tabes dorsalis and its influence on the sympathetic nervous system.”

“Indeed! Interested in nervous disorders, are you?” asked Dr. Wells.

“Isn’t everyone?” said my brother.

“Well, Kenneth here certainly is.” He clapped Kenneth on the back. “So, you’re keeping up with your studies, boy? They’ve managed to teach you a thing or two in New Haven?”

“A thing or two, yes,” Kenneth answered.

“You know there’ll always be a place for you with me, if you should want some seasoning when you finish. I could use a pair of fresh legs on my rounds.”

A cloud passed over the young man’s face. “Well, I’m not certain that will be possible in the present circumstances.”

“Nonsense!” cried Wells. “You’re a born sawbones. Never saw anyone with such a ready grasp of anatomy. It’s been that way since you were a pup.”

“See here, Wells,” said Edgar Grange, extricating himself from his conference with Sterling Foster, “you know perfectly well that young Kenneth will be joining the family firm soon enough. With Jasper gone, it’s all the more urgent that we have a member of the Clairmont family at the helm.”

The remark prompted a surly exclamation from Sterling Foster, who moved off toward the sideboard and reached for a whiskey decanter.

“Gentlemen,” said Mrs. Clairmont in a bright but firm tone,
“we agreed that there would be no talk of business this evening. My plans are too important.”

“Sorry, Augusta,” said Dr. Wells, finishing off his glass of wine. “When are we going to have another go in the spook room, anyway?”

“We shall be joining Mr. Craig after the meal. Gentlemen, if you will follow me.” With that, our hostess led us through to the dining room.

“I hope you’ve built up an appetite,” Kenneth said as we made our way down a long corridor. “My mother has a rather exaggerated view of what constitutes a light supper.”

“So does mine,” I replied, “but as it happens, I’m so hungry I could eat a—good lord!”

It is fortunate that I did not actually proclaim my willingness to eat a horse, as my hostess would undoubtedly have produced one. In later years, when I had achieved a modicum of fame, I became accustomed to dining in high style at some of the finest establishments in Europe—at considerable cost to my waistline. At that time, however, I had never seen a table laid out in the fashion that awaited us in Mrs. Clairmont’s dining room, nor would I have many more chances to enjoy the lavish gilded-age groaning board style of hospitality. The table was dressed with the finest linen beneath the soft glow of an alabaster gasolier. Each place was set with a square of cloth folded into an intricate crown imperial, and a bewildering array of seventeen pieces of silver. Mrs. Clairmont directed each of us to his place, then Dr. Wells held her chair as she settled herself to the right of the head of the table. The place of honor, I noted, was held vacant.

Even now, I can still recall the delicious smells that rose from the vast assembly of dishes on offer. Kenneth Clairmont, perhaps noting my perplexed expression, took care to name each of the dishes, adding a word or two of comment so as to remove any further confusion. “Ah! What have we in the soup tureen? Mock turtle! How pleasant! And for the fish course? Salmon
Restigouche, I see. A particular favorite of Mr. Grange’s, as I recall. And what about the entrees? There’s a brace of partridges, I see, and a wild duck. Is that Grenadine de Veau? You really must try that, Mr.—er, Dr. Weiss. The cook has a wonderful talent for veal.”

On and on it went, with Kenneth offering helpful assistance at each stage of the meal, and Harry and myself struggling to do justice to the astonishing bounty before us. Brunson and his staff managed the silver serving platters and rolling carts with unobtrusive skill, although there had been some minor distress as we sat down over a missing chair. Brunson dispatched an assistant to fetch a replacement, and the rest of the meal passed without any noticeable disruption. More than once I looked down to find that my setting had changed or my glass had been filled without my having noticed.