The Ectoplasmic Man (5 page)

“Was that acceptable to your husband?”

“Indeed it was. That gave Harry time to print up hand-bills and inform the local newspapers. While Kleppini usually played to half-filled houses, the night of the Houdini challenge was sure to pack them to the rafters.” Mrs Houdini took a sip of her tea.

“Several hours before the challenge was to take place, Harry received a visit from Kleppini’s manager, a Herr Reutter.”

“Indeed,” Holmes chuckled. “Indeed!”

“Reutter wished to see the handcuffs which would be used to test Kleppini. Harry showed him the bag of ’defeaters’ and explained that Kleppini would be allowed his choice. Reutter picked out a very unusual pair of French Letter cuffs. These were handcuffs which did not lock with a key, but instead were opened by turning the letters on five small cylinders to form a word. Naturally, Reutter wanted to know what word opened the cuffs.”

“Surely your husband did not tell him!” I could not help blurting out.

“Dr Watson,” she answered quietly, “my husband is a shrewd man.

This, too, was part of his scheme. After swearing Reutter to secrecy, Harry turned the cylinders to form the word
clefs,
the French word for ’keys’. The cuffs sprang open. This seemed to satisfy Reutter, who then left after promising once more not to reveal anything to Kleppini.

“As Harry had hoped, the theatre was filled to its capacity that evening. Kleppini began with his usual magic routines, but the audience was impatient for the Houdini challenge to begin. When the time came for the contest, Houdini stepped up to the stage and was greeted by boos and jeers from the audience. You must understand that the Germans are an extremely patriotic people. To them, it seemed that one of their fellow countrymen was being harrassed by a brash, insolent American. My husband, however, speaks fluent German.”

“So I have observed,” Holmes said dryly.

“So you have, and I am sorry about that. But in this instance Harry put it to better use. Addressing the audience in their own language, he was able to make them see that Kleppini had wronged him. Harry is a brilliant showman, and he very quickly won their favour.

“The time came for Kleppini to select the handcuffs to be used in the test. Of course, Harry was not surprised when the French Letter cuffs were chosen. Kleppini took the cuffs and dashed into a curtained enclosure that had been erected on the stage. Evidently he was checking to be sure that he could open the cuffs. When he emerged he announced that he would accept the challenge. ’I shall escape in minutes!’ he claimed. ’And afterwards I shall allow my wife to escape from the Great Houdini’s handcuffs! Then we will have shown this American that it is we Germans who lead the world!’

“At this point a fight broke out between Kleppini and my husband. It was several minutes before they stopped pushing each other and shouting horrible insults. But at last Kleppini allowed himself to be handcuffed. He then withdrew to his cabinet enclosure and set to work.”

At this crucial juncture in her story, Mrs Houdini paused and began tugging distractedly at her lace sleeves. It was plain to me that her husband was not the only Houdini with a sense of the dramatic. “Well?” I asked. “What happened then?”

She smiled very pleasantly at me. “After an hour, Kleppini’s cabinet was moved aside so that another act could go on. After two hours most of the audience had gone home. Four hours after Kleppini had entered his cabinet, he gave up and begged to be released from the handcuffs. In the presence of a newspaper reporter, Harry spun the cylinders to open the cuffs.
Clefs
was no longer the key word. During their fight on the stage, Harry had changed the letters to F-R-A-U-D.”

I have seldom heard Holmes laugh as loudly as he did upon hearing this. While he soon recovered himself, I was left gasping and dabbing at my eyes with a handkerchief. Mrs Houdini, obviously delighted with the effect of her tale, smiled demurely and took another sip of tea.

“Really, Mrs Houdini,” Holmes said after a moment, “though your story is a charming one, I fail to see how it concerns either Dr Watson or myself.”

“That is what I am just coming to now,” she said, setting down her cup and saucer. “You must understand that all of this took place five years ago, and we have heard little of Kleppini since. Occasionally we have had reports that he still claims to have bested the Great Houdini, but in general he is regarded as a buffoon, and he obtains only the very worst bookings. So we did not think much about him until this morning when we received a very mysterious note in the first post.”

“A note?” Holmes sat up and leaned forward. “What did it say?”

“Only this, Mr Holmes, ’Tonight who the fraud is we shall see.’”

Holmes walked to the mantel and began refilling his black clay. “Was that the exact wording?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have the note with you?”

“I’m afraid Harry would not let me have it. He insisted that there was no cause for worry, and did not wish me to concern myself with it.”

“A pity. We might have learned a great deal from the note itself. You suspect this cryptic message came from Kleppini?”

“The word ‘fraud’ led me to believe so.”

“Quite. And the peculiar construction of the sentence suggests that the author is not a native speaker of English. You believe this message is a threat of some sort, not merely another escape challenge?”

“What would be the point of another challenge? Houdini has been challenged dozens of times, and he always wins. The man has no equal. Surely Kleppini, of all people, knows that by now.”

“But why threaten him? And why now?”

“For the humiliation. For the damage done to Kleppini’s reputation and career. Have you never run across a grudge before, Mr Holmes?”

Sherlock Holmes stood at the mantel staring down at the black and white ivory box which had been a gift from the murderous Culverton Smith. Had he ever opened its lid, Holmes himself would have fallen victim to a grudge of some twenty years’ duration, for the box contained a sharp coiled spring dipped in bacterial poison.
^*

“It sounds to me more like a gesture of frustration than a legitimate threat,” said Holmes. “At any rate, I don’t see what steps we can reasonably take. We can’t very well confront Kleppini on the strength of your conjectures.”

“That is not what I am asking. I want you and Dr Watson to come to the theatre tonight and be alert for any trouble. It would be only too easy for some sort of accident to befall my husband during one of his performances. By their very nature, his feats involve danger. If anything
went wrong, for any reason, my husband could be seriously injured.” She drew in her breath. “Or worse.”

“Really, Mrs Houdini. I am a detective, not a praetorian.”

“A what?”

“A bodyguard. You have brought me nothing but suppositions and yet you expect me to dash off to meet this perceived, very likely imagined danger. It is like something in one of Watson’s tales, all bluster and no substance.”

Mrs Houdini’s face grew ashen. “Is this the legendary Sherlock Holmes? I can’t believe it! You are refusing to act because of your personal dislike for Harry, or some... some deeper prejudice. I had hoped that you would be above such behaviour.” She walked briskly across the room and snatched up her hat and cloak. “I can see that I have wasted my time here. If anything happens to my husband it will be upon your head, Mr Holmes. Good day to you both, gentlemen.” With these words, Beatrice Rahner Houdini turned her back on us and left the room.

Holmes and I sat for some time without speaking. The longer I considered Mrs Houdini’s tale, the more I became convinced that her fears were valid. “Holmes,” I said at last, “why are you so unwilling to act? How can you be so certain that there is no danger to the man?”

Holmes said nothing.

“I cannot share your complaisance,” I continued. “I trust that you will not mind if I attend the theatre tonight?”

Holmes reached across for his violin. Placing it carelessly upon his knee, he began scratching out a peculiar and haunting melody.

“Holmes, you are insufferable!” I cried. “Houdini’s life is in danger!”

Still he said nothing.

As I left for the theatre two hours later, he was still playing the same haunting tune.

^*
When Holmes finally did retire he moved to the south of England to spend his declining years as an apiarist.
proceedings, for he rarely spoke of abandoning his practice. In earlier days he woul have extinguished his frustration with cocaine, the fiendish addiction which had once threatened to check his remarkable career, so it was with some relief that I saw him turn instead to the chemical deal table, where a malodorous experiment awaited him.

^*
As told in “The Adventure of the Dying Detective”.

H
OUDINI
P
ERFORMS

T
he Savoy Theatre, alive for the evening’s performance, had regained some of its remembered grandeur; but my mind was too clouded with apprehension to take any note of the more congenial atmosphere. Surely this Kleppini fellow intended some harm to Houdini, but how would I detect it, much less prevent it? These and other concerns worried me until a familiar voice broke into my befuddlement.

“Watson! You seem in a daze, old boy! Or are you simply avoiding an old friend?”

It was Thurston, with whom I often shot billiards at my club. Recently he had led me into some poor investments, and we had been seeing less of each other. But as he was accompanied by his wife, whom I had never met, I was obliged to exchange pleasantries with them.

“Come to see the talk of all London, eh Watson?”

“Well, yes I—”

“He’s quite a showman, this Houdini. Two days ago I saw him nailed up in a packing crate and dropped into the Thames. He was out in no time. Should have heard the crowd cheer; you’d think he’d walked on water!”

“Indeed, I’ve been—”

“And he’s quite attractive, for an American,” said Thurston’s wife, who was far from the most prepossessing woman in the room.

“In fact I’ve—”

“Yes indeed, we’re in for quite an evening. Quite an evening.”

The conversation ran in this vein for several minutes until the first bell signalled us to take our seats. Mine commanded an excellent view of the stage, but as I peered about, alert for anything that seemed amiss, I feared that if disaster lurked onstage I should be too late to avert it.

The orchestra struck up a bright tune, and Houdini strode briskly into the footlights. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, spreading his arms to the audience, “often we magicians are accused of having tricks up our sleeves. Let me put a stop to that right now,
like this!”
He tore the sleeves right off his evening jacket and threw them into the front row. From that moment his spell over the audience was unbroken.

What was it that was so enchanting about this man? These many years later, I still cannot be certain. He had about him a kind of valour which issued from attributes well beyond being able to release himself from ropes and chains. I fear Holmes was right to accuse me of tinging these chronicles with romanticism; but there was something in Harry Houdini’s eyes, something in the knowing wink he would give to the audience as he faced a new challenge, trammelled in steel and leather. He seemed to be saying, “We’ll do this together, right?” And when, after many tense moments, he would at last emerge, wrung with perspiration, clothes torn and hands bleeding, there was indeed a sense of having shared in an immeasurable triumph.

The first part of the evening passed quickly as he moved through a series of escapes and challenges, each more baffling than the last, until he came to what I took to be the climax of the first act.

“My friends,” said Houdini, as the heavy maroon curtain lowered
behind him, “at this point in my programme I usually exhibit my legendary Walking-Through-a-Brick-Wall illusion. Tonight, however, I will present you with an even more remarkable feat. Ladies and gentlemen, for the first time on any stage, Harry Houdini’s Water Torture Cell!”

An ominous tune rose from the orchestra pit as the curtain lifted to reveal a tall glass cabinet filled to the top with water. It was very stark in its construction. While some attempt had been made to suggest oriental scrollwork about its base, the cabinet was in effect four planes of glass joined at the corners by solid wood struts, a design so simple as to preclude any possible gimmickery.

“Before I can proceed with this escape,” Houdini announced, “I require the assistance of a volunteer from the audience.” He stepped to the edge of the stage and peered out over the audience. “I see that we have a distinguished visitor with us this evening, the author of the amusing Sherlock Holmes mystery tales. Would you be so kind, Dr Watson?”

I never would have guessed that my readers would respond so enthusiastically to my presence, but as I rose from my seat there came a rousing cheer and a tumultuous round of applause. I blush to recall that I behaved rather foolishly in the face of this demonstration. I stood at my place for some time with tears in my eyes, nodding my head and trying to communicate my gratitude.