Sherlock Holmes and the King of Clubs (20 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Meanwhile …

H
OUDINI BELIEVED
HE
had conquered claustrophobia years ago. Such a fear would have been disasterous for a man who allowed himself to be locked into a filled milk can; or who spent as long as possible in a tub, under water, to increase his lung capacity. But now, as he looked around the small attic room in which his captors had imprisoned him, he began to feel, for the first time, that these dark, angled walls were crowding in on him and squeezing all the air out of their meagre confines.

He had always gone his own way in life. He had set goals and gone after them with utter dedication and complete focus. He had never before been forced to submit to any will but his own, but now he was at the mercy of another, a man whose name he still didn't know, and it was …

God, he hated to confess it, even to himself, but it was true: it was
breaking
him.

More of a torture still was the knowledge that Bess, his beloved Bess, was also being held prisoner in the cellar of this very house. And equally frustrating was the realization that there was not a single thing he could do about it.

He got up irritably from the archiect's drawing board where he had been studying the blueprints of the Imperial Palace. This was crazy! Here he was, the world's greatest escapologist, unable to do the very thing he was so famous for.

He went over to the skylight set high in the north-facing
section of the roof. It wasn't much, a window barely sixteen inches square. He reached up, pushed it open and cold air immediately rushed inside.

He inhaled deeply and felt invigorated; he tried to bring sharpness and order to his thoughts. After a moment he dragged a box across the floor, climbed onto it and looked out at his surroundings.

The three-storey house in which he and Bess were imprisoned was set in acres of foreSt Leafless oaks and black pines stretched as far as he could see on this bleak winter's day, with its low, heavy clouds and light, breeze-blown snow.

After leaving the church, his captors had shoved him into a narrow alley where a square-looking car built along the lines of a four-seater brougham was waiting for them. The younger man, the one called Wolf, had then driven them through Vienna. There had been no conversation, except for the fat man with the tortoiseshell glasses occasionally telling him to keep looking down, presumably so he wouldn't have any idea where they were taking him.

The car had made barely any noise; Houdini had wondered what kind of a car could travel so soundlessly.

As near as he'd been able to tell, the journey had taken them across the Danube and then through a sparsely populated area. Soon the lights of Vienna fell behind them and darkness filled the car. Houdini tried the cuffs with which they had bound his hands behind his back, but these people really
did
know all the tricks. He had tried to make them cuff him more on the forearm than the wrist, so that he could later slide the cuffs down his arms and slip out of them, but that was an old dodge and one with which they were all too familiar.

So he was theirs for the taking.

He estimated the journey had lasted perhaps an hour. Then the car crunched along a gravel drive until at last it braked and came to a halt. While Wolf turned off the engine, the girl, Annalise, got out, hurried around the car and opened Houdini's door. Sleet lashed at the exposed side of his face. The muzzle of the gun in the fat man's hand pressed into his side. ‘Get out,' he was told.

Houdini obeyed, finally looking up in order to examine his surroundings. It was a wretched night and visibility was poor, but as he glanced around he noted that they had halted before a large, dark and seemingly isolated house.

Wolf climbed out of the car, closing the driver's door, then walked hurriedly to the front door, unlocked it and went inside.

Houdini wondered about Wolf. He talked tough, but Houdini sensed that it was just an act. He wondered if he might be able to exploit that in some way. During the cab ride from his hotel to the church, Wolf had even apologized for what had happened to Frankie, saying that this hadn't been part of the plan, but that it had been an accident. Houdini found this of no comfort at all.

A few seconds later lights began to show inside the house.

‘Go inside,' said the fat man.

Again, Houdini did as he was told. He went through the front door and into a spacious lobby, now hardly able to feel his frozen feet. Electric lamps showed him a comfortable area with old, expensive-looking paintings and fine furniture. Whoever these people were, they clearly had money.

‘Now,' said the fat man, confronting him, ‘you will be quartered upstairs, in a room from which I fancy even
you
will be unable to escape. And it is there that you will work upon the problem that has caused me considerable vexation.'

‘How to get into and out of this building of yours, undetected, right?'

‘Precisely.'

‘No,' said Houdini.

The fat man arched an eyebrow. ‘No?'

‘No.'

Without warning, the fat man lashed out with the butt of the gun, slamming it across Houdini's jaw. Houdini dropped to his knees and lights exploded inside his head. It had been his understanding that the jaw was one of the strongest bones in the human body, but just then it didn't feel anything like strong enough.

‘Listen to me,' he gasped, lurching back to his feet.

The fat man, Annalise and Wolf all gathered before him.

‘I'll do whatever you want,' Houdini continued. ‘But I won't do
a single damned thing until I see my wife.'

‘She is here and she is safe,' said the fat man. ‘That is all you need to know.'

‘And am I supposed to take your word for that?' asked Houdini. It was hard to talk now because his jaw was as numb as his feet.

‘You have no choice.'

‘Well, let's just see, shall we?'

‘Don't try my patience—'

‘Then don't try
mine,'
Houdini warned. ‘Now, I've told you, whoever you are, that I'll do as you ask. I'll play square with you right down the line … but I won't do the first damned thing until I know Bess is all right.'

The fat man looked at him. His expression said that he wanted to use the gun on Houdini again, but finally his damp shoulders rose and fell in an irritable sigh. ‘Very well. Come this way.'

Wolf led the way and Annalise followed. Houdini didn't know why, but she was the one he felt he should fear the moSt There was a hardness to her that was missing from Wolf. A hardness he suspected was missing even from the fat man. Her silence was unnerving, too. But then, she didn't seem to need speech. One glance from her flat hazel eyes clearly conveyed any message she chose to send.

At the fat man's urging Houdini followed the others to a door at the far end of the hallway beside the staircase. Wolf turned on lamps as he went. Houdini's throat tightened and his heartbeat picked up expectantly.
Bess … Bess …

The door led through to a kitchen. It was large and functional, but also curiously sterile. Houdini decided that precious little cooking went on here. In the middle of the flagstone floor Wolf bent and slipped gloved fingers through a metal ring, then lifted a hinged trapdoor, showing a series of wooden steps descending into the twilight below.

‘She's down there,' said the fat man, and when Houdini hesitated, ‘Go on. You wanted to satisfy yourself that she's all right.'

Still Houdini didn't move. Was this some kind of trap? Was
this the room from which he couldn't escape, the
cellar?

Then he heard it and all further thought simply ceased.

A sob.

He went down the creaking steps into a cluttered cellar lit by a single hissing carbide lamp resting on an overturned tea cheSt At first he didn't see Bess. Then his eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness and he saw her sitting on an old dining chair in the far corner, her head bowed, face buried in a small, embroidered white handkerchief.

She looked up at the clatter of footsteps. Houdini saw her face as something ghostly; her dark eyes seemed dark in a bloodless oval and then she jumped up, saying in absolute disbelief, ‘H-Harry …?'

‘Bess!'

He went to her, words tumbling out of him as he did so, dirt from the earthen floor sticking between his toes. ‘Are you all right? Tell me they haven't ill-treated you?'

She came to meet him. But even as she moved there was a cold, metallic clanking sound and when she stopped moving forward, he realized with mounting fury that she had been shackled.

Houdini could barely control his fury that these
animals
had shackled one of her ankles and that she was unable to move more than a few feet from her dirty, depressing, garbage-filled corner.

Then Bess was holding him, pressing herself against him, and he could feel her crying. It broke his heart that he couldn't hold her because of the cuffs. ‘Tell me you're all right,' he said in anguish.

She stood back, holding his arms, looking up at him. It seemed like an eternity since he had last seen her and it was all he could do now not to break down completely.

‘I … I'm all right, Harry,' she said, fighting back her tears. ‘But who
are
these people? What do they want?'

‘A favour.'

‘Favour?'

‘Yes. They want me to do something for them. Once it's done they'll let us go.'

He tried to sound as if he believed it, but of course he didn't. The only way he and Bess would gain their freedom would be through their own efforts. And that was something he had been thinking about all the way from Vienna.

Bess frowned at him. She looked exhausted, her face smudged, her hair in disarray. ‘What do they want you to do, Harry?'

‘I don't—'

‘What's happened to your coat?' she asked suddenly, noticing the torn lapels.

‘Oh, nothing … They roughed me up a little is all.'

More footsteps echoed on the wooden staircase behind them. They broke apart and Houdini turned to face the fat man.

‘She is unharmed,' he said, ‘as you can see.'

‘You didn't have to shackle her.'

‘That's a matter of opinion. Now, come along. Time to lock
you
away, too.'

Houdini managed one last look over his shoulder as they led him back upstairs. His wife was watching him go through eyes that swam with tears.

‘It'll be OK, Bess,' he called. ‘Just hold your nerve. Everything's gonna be OK.'

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Escape!

A
FTER THAT THEY
had taken him up three flights of stairs until they reached a small landing. The narrow, ill-lit passage ended in a sturdy, bolted door. Wolf went ahead, threw back the bolts top and bottom, then took out a key and unlocked the door. It opened into a dusty attic room.

Houdini was pushed inside.

The dark interior smelled of damp and dust, but after a few moments his eyes adjusted to a small square near his head that was somewhat lighter than the reSt Then came the scratch of a match and a storm lantern was lit. Amber light ghosted through the room. He realized that the square was a small skylight. Beyond it, the inky shades of night were shot through with slanting snow.

‘Until you have completed your task,’ said the fat man, ‘this will be your home. The sooner you present me with the solution I require, the sooner you regain your freedom.’

Again, Houdini knew he was lying. And the fat man knew that he knew, and cared not one whit.

‘I shall bring you the blueprints tomorrow morning,’ he continued. ‘Then you will set to work.’

At last they uncuffed him, threw his shoes and socks into the corner and left him alone. He heard them locking and bolting the door from the outside, then sat on the edge of a mean little truckle bed that had been set up for his benefit. The attic was cold and
cheerless. The only other furniture was a sloping drawing board, a stool and an empty crate upon which sat the lantern.

How are you going to escape from this place, Harry? Think!

Although Houdini had been certain sleep would prove impossible, he eventually dozed off, shivering beneath a thin grey blanket, only to be woken at seven the following morning by the sound of the bolts being drawn back. A moment later the door was opened and there stood Wolf and Annalise. While Wolf kept him covered with the revolver, the girl entered and set down a bowl of oatmeal. The sight of it reminded Houdini how long it had been since he had last eaten. Hunger and the cold had made him sluggish – if he were to find a way out of this predicament he knew he must be as sharp as possible.

Soon they left, locking and bolting the door behind them. Houdini rose, picked up the bowl and began to eat. The oatmeal was tasteless, but it was hot and he was determined to get as much nourishment from it as he could.

He had just finished when he heard footsteps on the landing outside, and then the fat man entered with a roll of papers tucked under one arm.

‘Here,’ he said, offering them to Houdini. ‘These are the plans of the Imperial Palace. You will examine them and then—’

‘I know,’ Houdini interrupted. ‘If it’s possible, I’ll find you a way in and out.’

‘Precisely.’ The fat man smiled, but it was a cold, fleeting smile that never reached his eyes.

After that Houdini was left alone again, the door locked and bolted.

He walked around the room to loosen his cramped muscles. Beyond the skylight the Austrian countryside was bleak, the new day’s sky still heavy with snow. He shivered, then unrolled the blueprints on the drawing board and began to study them.

But concentration was next to impossible. All he could think about was Bess; Bess shackled in the cellar, alone with the shadows, and the cold and the damp stench of worm-riddled earth …

As difficult as it was to do so, however, he knew he had to set
thoughts like that aside. He and Bess weren’t finished yet. Holmes was still out there somewhere, and if anyone could find him and somehow set him free, it was that Limey detective.

He forced himself to focus on the plans, and gradually his analytical mind began to work. His fingertips traced the lines of passages and tunnels; the lines of sewers and access routes, and somehow the day passed in oppressive silence.

Evening arrived. The bolts were drawn back again, the harsh grating sound unnaturally loud in the hitherto unbroken quietude. Wolf opened the door, his revolver trained on Houdini’s stocky torso. His sister, Annalise, was with him – as unnervingly silent as ever. She came in, set a plate of what appeared to be rabbit stew on the crate beside the lantern.

‘Do you have anything for us yet?’ asked Wolf.

Houdini shook his head. ‘No. I can see why you had problems yourselves.’

‘Well, don’t keep us waiting too long,
Amerikaner.’

Darkness came early and with it a white blanket of snow that covered the skylight. Houdini doused the lamp, curled up beneath his blanket on the truckle bed and dozed the night away.

The following dawn he awoke with new purpose. He had been cloistered here in this unknown location for long enough. Today he was going to escape and take his beloved Bess with him.

Around him, the isolated house creaked in the biting wind. He dragged the crate over to the skylight, hopped up onto it and looked out into the dawn: skeletal trees waved back and forth as an icy breeze chased swirling snow across the lawns.

Now that he had made up his mind, he was eager to get on with his plan. But he also knew that, as with everything in life, it would rely on timing. And so he forced himself to wait, to let them deliver his bowl of oatmeal and lock him in again, and then he went back to the skylight and continued to wait.

Eventually his patience was rewarded. There was a sudden crunching of gravel. He scrambled onto the crate and opened the snow-covered skylight. He looked below. And … yes … there! The boxy little maroon-coloured car was driving silently off along the lane, making for the narrow road they had followed to get here.

Houdini squinted, trying to see who was inside. He thought he could discern the silhouettes of two figures. One, he thought, would almost certainly be the girl.

Knowing there was not a moment to lose now, he jumped off the crate, composed himself as best he could, squared his shoulders and thumped at the attic door.

‘It’s done,’ he called. ‘I’ve found you your safe passage in and out of the palace.’

He stepped back and waited. Nothing happened. He went back to the door and was just about to hammer at it again when he heard footsteps coming along the hallway outside. He waited, his pulse racing.

The bolts were dragged back; a key turned in the lock. The door opened and Wolf stood within its frame, the revolver as always in his hand, held tight against his right hip, so there was no chance that Houdini could make a successful grab for it.

‘What was that you said?’ he asked.

Keeping himself subdued, Houdini said, ‘I’ve worked it all out, I think.’

‘What do you mean, you
think?’

‘I mean I believe it will work, but I can’t be sure. No one can, until you attempt it.’

Wolf’s eyes flickered briefly to the blueprints. Houdini said wearily, ‘Here, I’ll show you what I mean.’

He gestured at the blueprints, hoping Wolf would join him. Houdini’s plan hinged on Wolf’s natural curiosity dictating his actions. It was the only thing that might stop him from leaving, from locking and bolting the door and awaiting the fat man’s return.

Houdini held his breath, trying not to look as desperate as he felt. Another moment passed, and then Wolf said, ‘All right – show me.’

Houdini almost wilted with relief. He stood back, keeping his hands raised. Wolf entered, closed the door behind him and locked it without once taking his eyes off his prisoner. Then, slipping the key into his pocket, he came closer, glancing at the blueprints as he did so.

‘The key to it all is this tunnel here,’ said Houdini, indicating a point on the plan.

Instinctively Wolf looked at the spot and that was when Houdini struck.

He threw himself at the younger man and grabbed Wolf’s gun-hand.

Wolf cried out, tried to jerk his wrist free and inadvertently pulled the trigger.

The gun boomed. Houdini had no idea where the bullet went. He wrenched the gun from Wolf’s grasp, but before he could get control of it, Wolf hurled himself at Houdini.

As they collided Houdini lost his grip on the gun. It hit the floorboards and before he could try to retrieve it Wolf started swinging wildly at him.

Houdini fell back under the onslaught. Wolf was like a madman, battering him with a desperate rain of punches. Houdini did his best to swat all the blows aside, then punched him in the face. Wolf staggered back and dropped to the floor. Dazed, he groped around for his gun.

Houdini quickly kicked the weapon out of reach. It slid across the floor into a corner festooned with spider’s webs. Houdini dragged Wolf to his feet and drew back his fist to hit him.

Wolf twisted free and kicked Houdini in the shin. Houdini yelped with pain and stumbled back. Wolf ran to the door, where he fumbled the key out of his pocket.

Houdini was on him instantly. He wrenched the younger man back around, grabbed his throat and squeezed hard.

‘Give it up!’ he rasped. ‘Drop the key!’

Bug-eyed, Wolf shook his head, knowing he was beaten but knowing also that he couldn’t allow his prisoner to escape.

‘I’m warning you,’ Houdini yelled at him. ‘I’ll kill you, if I have to!’

Wolf struggled to break his hold, but couldn’t. He tried to butt Houdini in the face. When that didn’t work he did the one thing Houdini hadn’t allowed for.

He threw the key toward the open skylight.

Horrified, Houdini watched the key turn end over end,
reflecting the weak morning light as it flew out the window.

Enraged, Houdini slammed Wolf on the jaw. Wolf’s head snapped back and he collapsed at Houdini’s feet.

It was suddenly deathly quiet in the attic.

Then Houdini grew aware of his own ragged breathing, of the sweat trickling down his face, of his blood on his raw knuckles, the throbbing of his bruised shin.

He ran his fingers through his tight curly hair, went over and picked up the revolver, then stepped over the unconscious Wolf and hunched down to examine the lock.

He was extraordinarily well educated in the workings of locks, enough to know that any attempt to use the gun on this one would only buckle the mechanism and make it even harder to open.

He tucked the pistol into his waistband and returned to the unconscious Wolf. He searched Wolf’s pockets, but the young man carried nothing that Houdini might use to pick the lock.

Houdini slumped, mentally near defeat. He had come so close to escape …

But his will to survive wouldn’t let him quit. He knew this was too good an opportunity to waste. He
had
to escape, for it would go even harder for him and Bess now, after the fat man discovered what he had just attempted.

He stared at the skylight. Whether he liked it or not, this was now his only means of escape.

Heights had never frightened him. Before this he had regularly hung upside-down from tall buildings whilst escaping from chains and straitjackets. If he’d had any fears in that regard he would never –
could
never – have attempted such feats, but climbing down the outside of a house in such inhospitable conditions? He imagined the icy ledges out there, the frost-covered drainpipes that were so cold his skin might well stick to them as he tried to lower himself to the ground.

Then he gave a sour laugh. Anyone would think he had a
choice
in the matter.

In any case, the longer he remained there, undecided, the more time he was allowing the fat man and Annalise to return from wherever it was they had gone. He had to leave
now.

He shrugged into his overcoat and tugged on his hat, then set the lantern down and dragged the crate over to the skylight. Climbing onto it, he pushed the little window open as wide as it would go. It still wasn’t as wide as he would have liked, but he drew a breath, composed himself and reached one arm up and through the skylight.