The Floating Lady Murder (22 page)

“Not much of a legacy,” Biggs observed. “What’s it say?”

“ ‘Kendall Brothers Top Bill at Hogarth Fairground.’ ” I scanned the article. “Let’s see... ‘The youthful acrobats delighted the citizens of Hogarth with their aerial wizardry’ ... ‘the human pyramid was an especial highlight, causing much astonishment’ ... ah! Here we are! ‘The fetching Miss Francesca Moore drew much appreciative applause during her solo turn upon the high wire, which concluded with a stunning backward somersault.’ ” I passed the clipping over to Biggs.

He read it through and then looked up with feigned amazement. “Good God, Hardeen! What a scoop! We’ll have to re-make page one!”

I sighed and replaced the clipping in the file. “Hardly the revelation I was seeking. No doubt there will be more material on Kellar.”

Indeed, Mr. Kellar’s file was so extensive as to require seven packets to contain it all. Biggs left me alone to work my way through it while he returned to his desk. In all I spent the
better part of three hours sorting through the various reviews, advertisements and press announcements. The clippings presented a fascinating overview of the magician’s long career, beginning with his modest appearances in vaudeville, where his efforts were usually described as “engaging” and “competent,” through the long years of his worldwide travels, when the label of the “wandering wonder-worker” appeared with great frequency, and concluding with the period of his greatest success, during which he was referred to almost without exception as “the Dean of American Magicians.” I noted a few familiar names running through the articles, including that of Dudley McAdow, whose appearance in Mr. Kellar’s life appeared to coincide with a dramatic upturn in the magician’s fortunes. Try as I might, however, I could find nothing to suggest a reason for anyone to wish harm upon Mr. Kellar, far less a motivation for the murder of Francesca Moore.

Upon finishing, I closed up the final file and replaced it in the cabinet, then went off to find Biggs. He looked up at my approach. “You didn’t find anything, I take it?”

“How can you tell?”

“That fancy manicure of yours. You always chew your thumbnail when you take notes, but today it’s positively pristine.”

“You should have been a detective, Biggs.” I reached for my hat.

“Come clean, Hardeen. What exactly are you digging for? The woman’s death was an accident, wasn’t it?”

“There’s certainly nothing in the files to suggest otherwise,” I said.

“That didn’t exactly answer my question, Dash.”

“Look, Biggs, I just wanted to find out a bit more about the poor woman who died last night. That’s all.”

He studied my face. “You really are a terrible liar, Dash. It’s quite endearing, actually.”

“You see? I was never cut out for journalism.”

“Promise me one thing, then,” he said, as I made for the door.
“Promise that when the story breaks—”

“Don’t worry, Biggs. You’ll be the first to know.”

A heavy snow was falling as I left the offices of the
World.
Even so, I decided to make my way back to the hotel on foot. My finances were precarious at best, and the events of the past few days had left my prospects uncertain. A long walk in the frigid air, I told myself, would do me a world of good.

I had learned nothing to shed any light on why anyone should wish to harm Miss Moore or Mr. Kellar. From all that I had seen, Mr. Kellar was a generous employer, and most of my fellow crew members were openly grateful for the terms of their employment. Most, like myself, had worked in far less pleasant conditions, and enjoyed the little comforts and fripperies that came with a front-rank touring company.

Miss Moore, for her part, remained a troubling question mark. She had been with the company only a short time before the tragedy occurred, and no one seemed to have come to know her terribly well. Apart from her European birth, and her years with the Kendalls, I knew almost nothing about her. How had she come to be murdered in such an astonishingly dramatic fashion? I felt no closer to finding the answer.

By the time I neared the hotel, my face and hands had gone numb in the biting afternoon wind. My route happened to take me past the Belasco, and I was just thinking to myself how pleasant a roaring fire might be when I saw a column of dark smoke rising from the dome of the theater. Fearing the worst, I ran forward only to find that the black plume was coming from a trash fire in the back. I hurried down the access alley and came upon Silent Felsden and Valletin stoking an enormous bonfire.

“Hardeen!” cried Valletin as I emerged from the alley. “Just in time! Join the party!” The biting cold had reddened his cheeks, making him seem even more cherubic than usual. He took a bundle of scrap wood from Felsden, who was taking a long swig from his glass flask. “Come along! You can toss in the drapes!”

“What—what’s going on?” I asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Valletin asked, taking the flask from Felsden. “It’s a funeral pyre for Princess Karnac!”

I peered into the inferno. Sure enough, I could just make out, amid the cracking wood and peeling paint, the outlines of the dragon-footed levitation banquette.

“The costumes and screens are already gone,” said Valletin merrily, “but look, we’ve saved you the cloak!”

“I—I don’t understand,” I said. “This illusion cost Mr. Kellar a fortune! How could you just toss it onto a fire?”

“The old man gave the order himself,” Valletin explained. “Says he never wants to lay eyes on the Floating Lady ever again.”

“But the police! They may yet need to examine the equipment!”

Valletin waved aside a wisp of smoke. “Mr. Kellar said they were done with it. ‘Throw it on the fire, boys,’ he told us.”

I hesitated. “It just seems such a waste, that’s all.”

“Hell, I once saw Mr. Maskelyne toss away an entire Temple of Benares illusion. Said he didn’t like the way it creaked.”

I watched as a pair of boards collapsed, sending up a shower of sparks. “That illusion cost more money than my father made in his entire lifetime,” I said. “Just throwing it all on a fire like this, it doesn’t seem right.”

“Come on, Hardeen. It’s just a pile of wood! You look as if you’ve lost your best friend!” He took another swig. “Who knows? Maybe this will drive out the evil spirits. Send the curse of Kalliffa across town to plague Mr. Servais Le Roy. Have a drink with us! Give the princess the send off she deserves!”

I took the flask from his hand and stared into the heart of the flames. “Rest easy, old girl,” I said. I raised the flask in a salute and took a swallow.

“That’s the spirit, Hardeen,” said Valletin. “Come on, here’s another piece of the braceworks, why don’t you—oh, good afternoon, Miss.”

We turned to see Perdita Wynn standing at the mouth of the
alley, dressed in a fur collar and muff. Her eyes were wide and gleaming in the reflection of the fire, and an expression of utter dismay was stamped upon her features. She took a step closer, but halted. Tears were streaming down her face.

“What’s the matter, Perdita?” asked Valletin.

“How could you?” she sobbed. “How could you do such a thing?” She turned and fled into the alleyway.

“What’s she off about?” asked Valletin. By way of a reply, Felsden shrugged and tilted the flask to his lips.

I dropped the wooden slat I was holding. “She seems rather upset,” I said. “Hadn’t you better go after her?”

“Why me?” Valletin snapped. “Miss Perdita Wynn is none of my responsibility.”

“But—”

“See here, Hardeen,” he continued, “if you’re so concerned, you can go chasing after her yourself.”

“As you wish.” I turned and set off down the alley.

I caught sight of Miss Wynn hurrying along Broadway in the direction of the hotel. She did not seem to hear my shouts, so I ran a short distance to overtake her, grasping her by the arm as I reached her side. “Miss Wynn!” I said, catching my breath. “Perdita, what’s the matter? You’re trembling!”

“It’s nothing, Mr. Hardeen,” she said, taking the pocket square I held out to her. “I’m sure I’m being very foolish.”

“Your cheeks are flushed with the cold,” I said, clasping her hands, “and your fingers are like ice. Come on, let’s get you inside.” I led her a short distance across Broadway to Mickelson’s tea room, and soon we were installed at one of the marble tables near a gleaming brass samovar.

“Is there no end to your capacity for chamomile, Mr. Hardeen?” she asked, smiling bravely through her tears. “It seems that you are forever obliged to ply me with cups of tea and endure my tales of woe. You’re terribly brave.”

“I would gladly drain a hogshead of chamomile for the pleasure of your company,” I said, draping my coat around her
shoulders, “though I would find it far more warming to see you restored to your better humor.”

“Forgive me. I really don’t know what’s come over me.”

“We are all distressed by the events of last night,” I said, warming her hands with my own, “but you should not have been out in this foul weather. You might well have exposed yourself to pneumonia or worse.”

“I’ve been walking for hours,” she admitted, waving aside my ministrations. “I barely noticed the snow.”

“Where were you going?”

She tilted her head as though trying to remember. “To be honest with you, Mr. Hardeen, I wasn’t going anywhere. I’ve just been so upset since—since last night. I couldn’t sleep at all. Every time I closed my eyes I fancied I could hear Francesca’s scream. And then to come upon the three of you having a jolly time over the wreckage, it seemed...” She let the thought trail off. “I’m being foolish.”

“Not at all,” I said.

She waited while our tea was served, then leaned forward as the server withdrew. “Mr. Hardeen, I beg that you will be frank with me. Is it true that Mr. Collins has been imprisoned?”

“Who told you that?”

“I was sitting near Mrs. Kellar at breakfast when Mr. Kellar returned from speaking to that policeman. I couldn’t help but overhear.”

I considered my answer carefully. “The police seem to believe that Mr. Collins has not been as forthcoming as he might.”

“But he’s not to blame! He just happened to be the one who helped her onto the wire. It could have been any one of us! Surely the police understand that?”

“They appear to have formed a different view.”

Her eyes filled with tears once again. “Mr. Collins is in jail, Mr. Kellar is thinking of closing the show. Yesterday everything seemed as bright as could be. Now it seems certain that I will have to rejoin the Gaiety Girls after all.” She raised her tea cup.
“Do you know why I was coming to the theater just now?”

I shook my head.

“I wanted to speak to Mr. McAdow. I wanted to offer my services as the new Princess Karnac. I’d have happily taken over the role to prevent the show from closing, but then when I saw you burning the apparatus—well, I suppose there’s no possibility of that now.”

“You say you would have been willing to do the levitation?”

“Of course. I had been looking forward to a long period of employment before yesterday’s unhappiness. I thought that if I could do something to help the show regain its footing—”

“What about the danger? The effect cost Miss Moore her life.”

“I—I know that, Mr. Hardeen. There is no need to remind me, I assure you. But I was certain that you and your brother and Mr. Collins would discover what went wrong and take steps to be sure it wouldn’t happen again. I have great confidence in you.”

“But what made you think you would be able to assume the role so easily? Have you any experience on the high wire? Miss Moore was a very extraordinary young woman, and even she—”

Something flashed in her eyes. “I am well aware that Francesca was a woman of exceptional gifts, Mr. Hardeen. I have been reminded of this fact every hour of every day that I have been with the Kellar company. You and Malcolm and everyone else simply couldn’t wait to tell me about how the sun rises and sets upon Miss Francesca Moore and her transcendent loveliness. Well, Mr. Hardeen, it may interest you to know that—” Her tirade broke off as quickly as it had begun. She snatched up my pocket square and pressed it to her mouth, her eyes wide with astonishment and self-reproach. “What am I saying?” she asked, lowering the napkin from her lips. “How could I think such things, especially now? I’m sure you must think me quite the worst person in the world, Mr. Hardeen.”

“Not at all. You’re just upset.”

She twisted the fabric in her hands. “My God! I’ve been saying horrible things!”

“You make too much of it,” I said, sipping my tea. “We are all in shock today. My brother has been spouting nonsense about some ludicrous curse all day long. We are not ourselves.”

She fell silent over her tea for several moments, apparently trying to muster her composure. “What I meant to say, Mr. Hardeen—what I should have said—was that I am well aware that Francesca possessed many special talents that made her ideally suited for the role. However, I have come to believe that with the proper training, I might have made a passable substitute.”

“Your willingness to do so is a great credit to you. I would only suggest that your lack of experience as an aerialist might have been an obstacle.”

“Francesca seemed to think that the high-wire work was not so difficult as you and Mr. Collins had made out. She told me that she could have done the conclusion of the Floating Lady on one foot. She even promised to take me up to the dome one night and show me how much fun it was out there.”

“With respect, I imagine that this is the sort of thing that seems simple enough to someone with her long experience, but very difficult to the uninitiated.”

“I’m sure you’re right. In any event, it hardly matters now.”

“No. Mr. Kellar seems resolved that the effect will not be revived.”

“He’s a dear man, but it was just an accident. He can’t possibly think that he could have prevented it, any more than Mr. Collins—” She looked into my eyes, and for the second time I had the uncomfortable notion that she was reading my thoughts. “It
was
an accident, wasn’t it, Mr. Hardeen?”

“That’s what Lieutenant Murray said last night,” I offered.