Harry Houdini Mysteries (4 page)

“So,” Biggs continued, dabbing at his lips with a napkin, “have the two of you worked the spirit angle or not?”

“There was a brief period when we were travelling with an outfit called Dr. Hill’s California Concert Company. We were doing tent shows through Kansas and Oklahoma, and everybody wanted to see a spook show because the Davenport Brothers had passed through and caused a sensation.”

“The Davenport Brothers? Something to do with a ‘spirit cabinet,’ right?”

I nodded. “The cabinet was a great big bureau with swinging doors on the front. It was set on a raised platform at center stage. Inside there was a long wooden bench. The brothers, tied hand and foot, were placed inside the cabinet, facing each other. There was a number of tambourines and trumpets and such placed on the floor at their feet. At a signal from the brothers, their assistants lowered the stage lights and swung the doors closed. All at once the audience heard strange noises—jangling
tambourines, strumming guitars, that sort of thing. Disembodied hands poked out through openings in the cabinet and musical instruments could be seen floating in mid-air.”

Biggs snorted. “So they’d freed themselves from the ropes! Where’s the mystery in that? Your brother does it all the time! It’s a simple escape!”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But at regular intervals during the demonstration, the assistants threw open the doors. Inside, the brothers were seen to be securely fastened, breathing hard as though deep in a trance, with their heads bowed and their eyes closed in concentration. When the doors swung shut, the strange happenings started up again—instantly.”

“A clever act,” said Biggs. “Nothing more.”

“The Davenports rarely—if ever—laid claim to supernatural powers, but their audiences were quick to form that impression, and the brothers did little to dispel the notion.”

“Sounds like overripe boilings to me.”

“The public seemed to like it, and it opened the way for a number of imitators. Harry and I were given the job of presenting something similar for the benefit of Dr. Hill’s company. We were in Topeka at the time, and we spent a couple of days—”

We both turned at the sound of thudding footsteps on the back stairs. I recognized the sound. It was my brother, having collected Bess at Ravelsen’s, returning home for the evening. By the reverberation of Harry’s tread, I knew that Bess had not responded warmly to his latest career plan, and that his “uncomprehending world” tirade would not be long in coming. After a moment, the kitchen door flew open, and Harry stormed into the room, followed by Bess.

“Dash!” he cried. “She will not listen! She does not wish to join the Portain Circus! Is this not madness? You must explain it to her! I cannot tolerate another day in the dime museum! Am I not the man whom the
Milwaukee Sentinel
called the ‘most captivating entertainer in living memory’? Yet I am squandering my youth working a ten-in-one! My talents are being wasted!”
He threw himself down in a chair. “I feel as if I am alone with my genius in an uncomprehending world.”

“Harry,” I said, indicating Biggs. “You remember—”

But he was too caught up in his jeremiad. “I am the world’s all-eclipsing and justly celebrated master of escape! I have struggled for years to attain my present level of perfection in my craft! And now I have an opportunity to reach a broader audience, and my own wife would prefer to remain where she is! Madness! Dash, perhaps you can explain the importance of this new opportunity! She will not listen to me!”

“Harry,” I said again, “we have a—”

“Must I remain at the dime museum until I am old and gray, entertaining the groundlings for mere table scraps? Ridiculous! I am accused of being a jealous husband! Absurd! I am proud of my wife’s attainments! But at the same time I must endeavor to do what is best for my family, as every man must! Is it not vastly preferable that husband and wife should be together? This seems to me to be beyond dispute! I would even go so far as to say—”

As was often the case when my brother was well along on one of his harangues, it fell to Bess to quiet him. “Harry,” she said, laying a hand on his arm. “Stop.”

That was all it took. My brother blinked once or twice, as though emerging from a trance, then looked down at her with a curious expression. “What is it, my dear?”

“We have a visitor.”

Harry turned and registered for the first time that there was another person in the room. “Biggs,” he said, puzzled.

Biggs had stood to pull out a chair for Bess. “Hello, Houdini,” he said. “Nice to see you again, Mrs. Houdini.”

“Thank you, Mr. Biggs,” said Bess, smiling in a way that even a brass-plated bloodhound couldn’t possibly have resisted. “And how are you this evening, Dash?”

“I’m well, thank you.”

My sister-in-law had come directly from Ravelsen’s, wearing
a cloth overcoat over her stage costume. Her chorus girl outfit was a gauzy, tight-fitting concoction of short bloomers, purple stockings, and a glittery sash. It was designed for ease of movement and showed her bare arms and stockinged legs to advantage. Although not quite as revealing as the familiar sugarplum fairy getup she wore on stage with Harry, it had much the same impact. Take my word for it.

Harry took his usual place at the table while Bess chatted brightly about the goings-on at Ravelsen’s. Mother served each of them a bowl of soup, while Biggs and I were given plates of Chicken Debrecen. Harry and Biggs regarded one another warily across the table.

“Biggs,” Harry said at last, “if you’ve come to drag my brother off to one of your bawdy houses, I’m afraid you’ll have to go alone. I need him for an important rehearsal this evening.”

“Oh, undoubtedly!” cried Biggs. “It’s apparent that all of New York is crying out for the debut of Harry Houdini’s latest miracle! Have you reserved the Palace yet?”

Harry’s face darkened. “It is only a matter of time, Biggs. Only a matter of time.”

“Strong words from Harry Keller’s hod carrier. Or was even that job too demanding?”

Harry slapped his hands on the table. “I’ll have you know that Mr. Kellar—”

A stern voice cut his words short. “That will be enough, boys.”

Biggs and my brother looked up to see my mother standing over them with her hands on her hips. “That will be enough, boys,” she repeated. “Don’t make me separate you.”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Weiss.”

Harry folded his arms and stared fiercely at the opposite wall. Biggs beamed happily as my mother served him another portion of whipped potatoes. “You’ll spoil me, Mrs. Weiss,” he said.

“You looked as if you could use a little something on your stomach,” she answered.

“Biggs has been asking about spook shows,” I said, hoping to cajole my brother out of his foul humor. “I was just telling him about that night in Topeka.”

“Oh, I remember that night,” Bess said. “Very strange. I wouldn’t care to go through that again.”

“Nor I,” Harry said with a shake of his head. “I don’t know why I ever agreed to it.”

Biggs, his curiosity roused, set down his fork and leaned forward. “Agreed to what? What’s all this about, anyway?”

“It was supposed to be a simple spook show,” I said. “With a few ghosts and goblins dancing against a black screen. In the end it became something more. I’m trying to remember how we billed it. What was it, Harry?”

He closed his eyes as if picturing the handbill. “‘Professor Harry Houdini, the man who sees all, will give a Spiritual Séance in the Open Light,’” he intoned. “‘Grand, Brilliant, Bewildering, and Startling Spiritualistic Display and other Weird Happenings presided over by the Celebrated Psycrometic Clairvoyant. Assisted by Mlle. Beatrice Houdini.’” He opened his eyes and gave a sidelong glance at Bess. “You see, my dear. Even then I always took care to share the stage and billing with you.”

Bess, chewing a forkful of chicken, did not reply.

“What does ‘psycrometic’ mean?” asked Biggs.

“We were never quite sure,” I admitted. “It was a term the Davenports seemed to favor. We copied everything from them, except for the part about performing in the open light.”

“Well, that was the point,” Harry said. “I had hoped to present the thing in a fair and open manner, not like these cork-show Merlins who can’t even make a tambourine jangle unless the room is pitch black.”

“You’re getting ahead of me,” Biggs said.

Harry, who seldom had the chance to tell Biggs something he didn’t know, leapt at the opportunity. “It’s very simple,” he said. “In your ordinary séance room or spirit show, the so-called psychic will offer up a number of modest little parlor tricks. A
ringing bell, perhaps. Or a scrawl of writing on a chalk slate. He dresses up these minor effects as ‘manifestations,’ and they are presented as indications of contact with the spirit world.”

“That much I understand,” said Biggs, bridling a bit at being on the receiving end of a lecture from Harry. “But what does that have to do with Topeka?”

“I planned to do something unique,” Harry said. “When Dr. Hill asked me to present a spirit show, I hoped to show that the Great Houdini was capable of doing such things under the glare of the stage lights. It—thank you, Mama—” He looked up as Mother served him a plate of chicken. “It seemed to me that if I could do these things in the open light, it would open the audience’s eyes to how easily such deceptions are practiced. I should have known better.”

“You couldn’t have known how they would respond, Harry,” said Bess.

“What happened?” asked Biggs, flashing another broad smile as Mother placed a slice of raisin bundt cake before him.

“I was too effective,” said Harry. “Too brilliant. It is a familiar problem.”

“It wasn’t so much brilliance as careful planning,” I said. “Harry and I knew all along that we’d need to soak up some of the local color if we were going to pull this thing off. We spent a couple of afternoons mooching about in the town, listening in on gossip, reading old newspapers at the library. As it happened, there had been a rather gruesome killing some months earlier—a bar fight gone bad—and the locals were eager to talk about it.”

“Don’t forget the cemetery,” said Harry. “That was my idea.”

“Yes, we went to the cemetery and copied down the names from the tombstones that appeared to be the most recent.”

“What’d you need those for?” Biggs asked.

“I’m surprised that a brass-plated bloodhound such as yourself has to ask,” I said. “We were priming the pump. We had prepared a few props and gimmicks, but we wanted to be
certain that our patter was up to scratch.”

“We needn’t have worried,” said Harry. “My startling natural charisma carried the day.”

“Even so, I was eager to make sure we were properly prepared. We knew the house would be full that night. Our Celebrated Psycrometic Clairvoyant handbills had been posted far and wide. It was a big theater—quite possibly the largest crowd we’ve ever played.”

“Surely not!” cried Harry. “Have you forgotten our appearance at the Belasco?”

“No, Harry, I haven’t forgotten the Belasco. However, since we were serving as assistants to Harry Kellar at the time, I’m not sure we can claim credit for filling the seats—although you were wonderfully engaging as Brakko the Strongman.” I turned back to Biggs. “As I was saying, it was probably the largest crowd who had ever assembled for the specific purpose of seeing the Houdinis. We started the demonstration with a rough approximation of the Davenport act. We invited a committee of audience members to come up and tie Harry to a chair. They made a good job of it, with his hands double-knotted at the back. Then we brought in a cabinet of cloth screens—the same one we used in the Trunk Substitution Mystery—and drew the curtains in front of Harry’s chair. I stepped away from the curtain and asked the members of the committee if they were certain that they had tied him securely. The words were barely out of my mouth when the weird happenings commenced.”

“They were rather good,” Harry recalled, smiling.

“Weird happenings?” Biggs asked.

“First the audience heard a loud klaxon horn from within Harry’s cabinet. Then the horn itself was flung into the air. Next there was the strumming of a mandolin. After a moment, we could see the mandolin itself hovering above the enclosure.”

“Harry had escaped,” Biggs said matter-of-factly. “Quite simple.”

“It might have seemed so at first,” I allowed. “But each time there was a strange manifestation, I would fling open the curtains to show Harry still securely tied to the chair, his head lolling on his chest, as though in the thrall of unseen forces. But as soon as I drew the curtain again, we would hear another sound or see another strange apparition. After a time, the whole cabinet started to shake and pitch as though possessed by a restless spirit. Finally the screen fell forward in a heap, and there was Harry, free of the ropes, taking his bows.”

“I couldn’t resist,” Harry admitted. “I couldn’t allow them to think that those feeble sailor-hitch knots could hold me. I told the audience that I had been untied by spirit hands.”

“I admit it sounds like a very clever act,” Biggs said, “but I don’t see much of a difference from the Davenport act.”

“Ah!” Harry cried. “That would have been true if we had let it rest there, but I was not content to be a mere imitator!”

“That’s where things got a bit out of hand,” I said. “We decided to give them a spirit message service.”

“Pardon?” asked Biggs.

“It’s what they call it when the medium brings forth messages from the other side—for specific individuals in the audience.”

“Messages?” asked Biggs. “From the dead, you mean?”

“Or so they claimed,” said Bess, taking up the thread. “On the face of it, the entire thing seemed outrageous. If I had not seen it for myself, I wouldn’t have believed how effective such a display could be. Imagine if you went along to the theater one night, and the gentleman on stage called out your name across the footlights and delivered a few words that he claimed to be a private message from a dead relative of yours. Your grandfather, for example.”

“I would say that he was a charlatan,” Biggs declared. “Such things are not possible.”