Who Done Houdini (16 page)

 

Chapter 23

A
s was his wont, Holmes kept his silence on the ride back to the hotel. While we rode, he wrote in his notebook, his mouth working as if he were adding sums before shaking his head and starting anew.

At the hotel, he let me pay the taxi driver and the door man, barely looking at them as he passed. I followed behind, puzzled. I had never seen his thought processes so close to the surface before.

Finally, he bent close to my ear and said, “Your intelligence report was correct. Albert Becker is staying at the hotel, but he isn't in his room. I called the Boston Police. They said they'll contact the New York police to verify the attempted murder charges before they try to arrest him. Even if they succeed, which I very much doubt, we still have to contend with Schmidt and his accomplice.”

“We have to assume Becker is still on the loose. I'm certain he knows about our intent to meet with Margery and the three of them are waiting for us to make the first move.”

“Lamentable, but quite true,” Holmes said.

I broke into a broad smile. “But what they may not know is that we've already met with Sir Arthur. I expect we moved too quickly for that.”

Holmes eyebrows raised. After a moment of silence, he said, “Brilliant, dear fellow. I'm amazed I didn't realize that myself. Sir Arthur probably is the only one who can contact Margery safely. What we told him about Becker would allow him to help us without having to switch sides. What time is it?”

“Nearly six-thirty.”

“That should give us just enough time to get to Margery's speech.”

 

We stopped at the front
desk to learn Mr. Holmes had a message. Holmes read it aloud when we got back to our room. “Sir Arthur wants you to know he'll indeed be in attendance at the lecture, and he'll be delighted to see you. He'll get you invitations. The lecture isn't open to the general public.”

Rose, who had been sitting reading a newspaper, got to her feet. “Since I won't be going with you, this'll be a good time to start making my calls. Anyone need to use the phone before I start?”

Finding no takers, she lifted her briefcase from the floor, set it on a chair and moved it next to the phone.

“I wish you could come with us, Rose,” Violet said in an excited voice. “I'll wear what I was wearing at the play. I've already pressed it so it doesn't even look as if it's been worn. Doesn't that sound like a good idea to you, Timothy?”

She already knew the answer. She always looked dazzling in whatever she wore, and I could never understand why she asked for my opinion so often. Some deep-seated insecurity women seem to have, I suppose. I found it flattering, and never had to say anything more than mere truth. “You always look a vision, my dear.”

She certainly outshone me. My serge business suit had gone limp, so I solved the problem by wearing a cardigan sweater and tie with the pants. I did send my shoes down to be shined, putting a rush on the job, but I knew my attire didn't measure up to Boston standards by any means. I really didn't care. Except for the Fords and the Durants and the other automobile manufacturers, and maybe the mayor of Detroit and the governor of Michigan, my city didn't go in for such snobbery. Holmes, on the other hand, could wear the same tweeds he wore when he hired me to be an Irregular, and he'd look as gentlemanly as ever.

With a knock on the door, my shoes returned. They charged me a whole dollar for the rush job and a half-dollar tip. Outrageous, of course, but I have to admit they did an excellent job of polishing them. I could see my reflection when I looked at my feet.

“Let us be on our way,” Mr. Holmes said.

Violet took my arm as we waited for the elevator.

We stepped out of the hotel into a beautiful late fall evening with a light, refreshing breeze. I took a deep breath. Our cab was waiting, idling. The Bell in Hand was just a few blocks away. I hesitated before opening the door.

“Come along, Wiggins,” Holmes said. “I'd like to walk, too, but it's far too dangerous.”

Suddenly I felt like Dr. Watson. “But how . . . ?”

“You are transparent, dear fellow. You were looking longingly up the street and determining how far it would be to our destination. I don't fault you one bit for wanting to walk. I haven't been getting my constitutionals lately, either.”

This time we didn't engage a chatty cab driver. He dropped us off on Union Street in front of a red brick building, allegedly the longest continuously operating pub in Boston. Or at least it had been until Prohibition.

A small crowd already was waiting outside on the sidewalk. As a Midwesterner, I hadn't realized the popularity of ankle-length dresses with the cream-of-society woman, or the appeal of bowler hats to their husbands. They gathered in a tight group outside the pub. Though the tones of their conversation were subdued, the gay laughter wasn't.

With a huge smile, Violet said hello to a woman in a taffeta dress. The Brahmin worthy gave her a sidelong glance before turning away. My heart fell as Violet's smile disappeared.

Mr. Holmes opened the door to the pub.

“Do you suppose we could stay out here for a moment?” I asked.

“It isn't that warm,” Holmes said. “You certainly may, if you wish.”

Violet turned and joined me. “Save us a seat,” I said.

The odors of cigar smoke, mingled with what probably was expensive perfume, wafted towards us, but we barely noticed it. I could see Violet trying to eavesdrop on the Bostonians' conversation, but she quickly gave up.

I was about to suggest we go inside when a cab pulled up. The driver opened the rear door and Sir Arthur and Lady Jean got out.

One of the men in the group waved at him. “Good evening, Sir Arthur. I'm glad you came to the lecture. Please join us.”

Though Lady Jean smiled and waved back, Sir Arthur absently nodded at him before turning his attention to us. “Wiggins and Miss Violet. I'm so happy to see you. I'm sure Mrs. Croydon will do a good job of convincing you of the truth of Spiritualism.”

“I have an open mind,” I said.

“Excuse me,” Lady Jean said, turning to me and speaking in a not especially friendly tone, “Just who are you?”

“I invited them,” Sir Arthur said. “They're friends of Doctor Trevor Claybrook.” He turned to me. “Is he inside?”

“Waiting for us. He's saving our seats.”

“Then we'll join you. How do you like Boston?”

“We haven't seen much of it,” Violet said.

“Yoohoo. Lady Jean,” one of the Bostonian women called.

Lady Jean broke into a wide smile. “Louise! I thought you might be here tonight. We'll join you inside.”

Sir Arthur stiffened. “But my dear, I want to sit with Doctor Claybrook and his friends.”

“Absolutely not.” With that, Lady Jean pulled on her husband's arm and tried to drag him to the other group.

Sir Arthur stood firm. “Sit where you will, my dear. I'll sit with Mr. Holmes and join you after the lecture is done.”

The look of shock on Lady Jean's face was a sight to behold. I could barely believe Sir Arthur would flaunt social custom in public, but he clearly wanted to talk to Holmes.

I held my breath. Lady Jean's eyes blazed at Violet and me. She opened her mouth, ready to return a verbal volley, then shut it.

Would she relent and sit with us?
I prayed she wouldn't.

Turning with exaggerated delicacy and sporting a big smile, she said, “Very well, my dear. Go sit with Dr. Claybrook and his friends.” After another glare in our direction, she contemptuously turned her back to us and walked toward Louise. “How are you, darling? It's so wonderful to see you again.”

I blew out a big breath as I opened the door for Sir Arthur and Violet, though I could still feel Lady Jean's eyes burning into the back of my neck.

We stepped into a different era. Huge timbers and exposed joists outlining the interior stood bravely, now deeply cured from years of wood and tobacco smoke. The booths along the wall opposite the bar were obviously added in a different century. Holmes, who had taken a seat in the second row, stood and gestured to us.

We walked past bare shelves under huge mirrors behind the long bar. The area where owners once stored barrels stood empty. It seemed ironic that a watering hole where George Washington and John Adams met to quaff an ale on a winter's evening had to serve near-beer, sarsaparilla, and ginger ale. Somehow, they didn't quite have the same panache.

Mr. Holmes stood, and Sir Arthur seized him in a hug. The gesture was so uncharacteristic, I could see the look of embarrassment on Holmes's face. He didn't return the embrace, but, by his faint smile, I could tell he was delighted to find Sir Arthur alone.

Was his uncharacteristic show of affection another effect of embracing Spiritualism? I really wondered.

Sir Arthur turned to look back toward the entrance. “I'm glad to be able to speak to you alone,” he said in a low voice. “There's more I need to tell you, and there won't be enough time tonight.”

“Then you need to go on a scientific expedition,” Holmes said with a twinkle in his eye. “The local power plant has just installed some important new equipment. I'll have J.P. Morgan call you tomorrow morning and invite you to view it.”

Sir Arthur looked startled for a second. “Morgan? Oh, yes I see. Of course. I'll be delighted to take a look. Lady Jean will be pleased, also. It'll give her more time to spend with her friends.”

“Excellent.” Holmes's voice lowered to a near whisper. “Tell me. I know you are very fond of Margery. What do you think of her husband?”

Sir Arthur faced away from me, but I could see his back stiffen. “He's done a great service to the cause. Without him, most people would consider Mrs. Croydon to be nothing more than a skillful magician.”

“I understand there's been some question about the whereabouts of a young man the Croydons adopted. Dr. Croydon says he returned to boy to England, but no one seems to know where he is.”

Sir Arthur stiffened again. “The doctor actually asked my assistance in the matter. I have no real influence with the sheriff or the local constabulary, so I haven't been able to do much on his behalf. He's asked how to go about adopting other boys, too.”

We turned at the sound of footsteps and quiet talk behind us. The seats began to fill. I gathered that the custom in Boston was to socialize somewhere other than in the lecture hall, and then come in just before the event. Lady Jean and her friends sat several rows behind and on the opposite side of the aisle from us. She noticed my glance and returned it, hurling several sharp daggers in my direction. I threw her an open-handed innocent look in return. I wanted her to know it wasn't my fault.

Soon every seat was taken, and I took a deep breath.

 

Chapter 24

T
he audience applauded as a matronly woman wearing a hat with a pigeon roosting on its brim suddenly appeared at the podium. After a flowery and longer-than-necessary introduction, Margery stood to enthusiastic applause. Her easy smile told me she was used to public speaking. She was tall and attractive; her chaste gingham dress and low-heeled shoes belied her high social standing. She also was very pretty without makeup.

I was impressed.

I jumped when Violet jammed her elbow into my side.

After acknowledging the applause, Margery began. “Good even­ing. It's a great pleasure to see so many friends. Especially Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, our greatest friend in the cause.”

Sir Arthur stood and bowed to even louder applause.

“Would you like to introduce your guests?”

Sir Arthur gestured for us to stand. I wondered how he would introduce us. “Of course.” He put a hand on Holmes's shoulder. “This is my very old friend Doctor Trevor Claybrook. I've known him since my days in medical school.”

I nodded to myself in triumph. I loved the irony. He didn't introduce him as Holmes. His real name now had become the name Holmes used in public.

“My newer friends are Timothy and Violet Wiggins. They're long-time friends of Dr. Claybrook and have come all the way from Detroit to meet you.”

We stood, turned and smiled, nodding to the polite applause. I noticed that Lady Jean didn't join in.

We sat and Margery continued. “I bring you greetings from my husband, Dr. Croydon, who can't be with us tonight because he's in New York for a medical conference. I also have had recent word from my late brother, Walter. He sends his greetings and wants you to know everything's up to date in hell. They switched from coal to oil heat a week ago.”

Like most of the audience, I laughed at that. Perhaps a bit louder than the rest. It won me another poke in the ribs from Violet. Despite my suspicions about her, I found myself liking Margery. Other than the cab drivers, she seemed to be the nicest person I had encountered since coming to Boston.

“All of you by now know about the death of Harry Houdini. Much has been made about my so-called feud with him. As strange as it may sound, I actually liked and respected him. He was honest and forthright. I still don't believe the charges that he cheated when trying to discredit me before the Scientific American committee. I have no idea where the rubber eraser or yardstick found inside my cabinet came from, though my husband and Walter are convinced they were placed there by Houdini to try to prevent me from conducting my séance. I always thought it sad to realize he could have become the greatest Spiritualist the world his ever known. Instead he followed the dictates of his conscience.”

She paused. “And made millions of dollars
that
way.”

That brought loud laughs and enthusiastic applause.

I liked the gentle irony. Her attitude toward Houdini wasn't what I expected. Holmes's raised eyebrows suggested he felt the same way.

“I have some exciting news for my followers and the entire Spiritualist community. My husband LeRoi and I have been invited to meet with the prime minister of Canada, Mr. Thomas Glendenning Hamilton, to put on a demonstration in Winnipeg next February. Mr. Hamilton is an enthusiastic Spiritualist, and I know our visit will spread our message in our neighbor to the north. He has also volunteered to extend our Spiritualist custom of sharing living quarters with fellow members. I've never been a guest with a high government official before.”

She was greeted with polite applause. For the first time I turned to take a look at the rest of the audience.

And wished I hadn't. I caught my breath, gasping loud enough to cause Violet to grab my arm. Even Margery stopped speaking and threw me a worried look.

“Sorry. Gas pain,” I mumbled. “I'm fine.”

Mr. Holmes stared into my face, and I made a small head gesture over my shoulder.

After Margery resumed her speech, Holmes surreptitiously turned his head to look behind him. He turned back, shrugged and gave me a puzzled look.

Steeling myself, I made another glacially slow turn. The rear aisle chair behind us now stood empty.

Albert Becker had left the premises.

I found it impossible to follow the rest of her lecture. I did understand Margery to say she never knew she had psychic powers until her husband brought a specially made séance table into the large room on the fourth floor. Almost as a party joke, the doctor suggested she conduct a mock séance, since séances were all the rage at the time. To everyone's surprise the table lifted off the floor and hung midair. After that, she made regular invitations to those who wanted to see her. She also said she didn't charge for her services because she and her husband felt her contribution to Spiritualism wasn't based on money.

“If anyone is inclined to donate financially, they can do so to the Spiritualist Church of their choice.”

The more she spoke, the more confused I became. This was no mere charlatan advertising for customers. I could detect not even a whit of deception. Her words, expression, and voice all bespoke sincerity.

Perhaps I was too confused by fear to be able to judge her adequately. My heart still beat so violently from seeing Becker I could feel blood rushing through the veins in my temples. Violet kept looking at me with a worried expression, and even Holmes sat forward to study me from time to time.

At last, the lecture was over and everyone stood to give her an enthusiastic hand. Could she be a true medium? I couldn't tell. I was sure I missed the tell-tale clues to her possible deception. I could only hope Holmes and Violet could see through her.

“What on earth is wrong with you, Wiggins?” Holmes asked.

“Albert Becker was sitting in the back row.” I said in a whisper. “I spotted him, and he nodded at me with a frightful look. He must have left seconds later. I'm sure he went to fetch his shorts.”

Smiling, Margery got down from the stage and approached Sir Arthur. His face lit up brightly, then he blushed, clearly pleased, as she threw her arms around him.

Remembering what Rose had said, I half expected her to kiss him. Or him to kiss her.

Lady Jean appeared. In a half-scolding voice she said, “Arthur, behave yourself.”

“Sorry. I couldn't help myself. This is the greatest woman who has ever lived.” Then he caught the expression on his wife's face. “After you, of course, my dear.”

“I have something important to tell you,” Holmes said in a firm voice. “Albert Becker, who you know as Albert Baker, was in the audience earlier tonight. He'd tried to murder Mr. and Mrs. Wiggins at a theatre in New York. Now he's here in Boston, undoubtedly lurking about somewhere to make another attempt.”

“Albert Baker?” Margery said in what sounded to me like total disbelief. “He's a good friend of my husband and a well-known Spiritualist. Why would he want to kill your friends?”

“Vengeance,” Holmes said. “Wiggins and I exposed him as a fraud, and he thinks we're Jewish. As a radical anti-Semite, that's something he couldn't abide.”

A young woman wearing a short coat and knitted scarf and cap appeared. She barely looked in our direction. “Is something wrong, Mrs. Croydon?”

“No, Lucille. Just wait for me by the door. I'll be out shortly.”

“I'm totally at a loss what to do,” Sir Arthur said. “I certainly cannot allow you to be murdered.”

“Nor can I,” Margery said. “I can scarcely believe it's true. Mr. Baker's been friends with my husband for years.”

“How long?” Holmes asked.

“Sometime before the war. LeRoi was a surgeon with the US Army. How they met, I can't say. I do know Mr. Baker and he both were very interested in eugenics and belonged to the Eugenics Society together.”

“Has your husband ever said anything about the war?”

“Only that he regrets America decided to side against the Germans. He admires them very much. He says they're the greatest scientists and surgeons in the world.”

“Enough about Dr. Croydon,” Sir Arthur said. “We have to come up with a way for everyone to leave safely. Perhaps I should find a phone and contact the police.”

“That isn't necessary, Sir Arthur,” Margery said. “I'll have my chauffeur take your friends to their hotel. There won't be room for all of us, so Lucille and I will wait here. I'd welcome a chance to converse with you and Lady Jean, anyway, if you're willing to stay. Much has happened since our last correspondence.”

“We'd be delighted,” Lady Jean said, and Sir Arthur nodded an enthusiastic assent.

“Lucille,” Margery called. “Would you please have Simon come in?”

“Of course.”

I felt a twinge of suspicion. Could my impression of her be wrong? Was she looking for a way to deliver us into Becker's hands? But then, even if that were true, how could he have known we would be attending tonight, or that we would feel threatened and seek protection?

“We appreciate your kindness very much,” Holmes said. “I hope this won't be an inconvenience to you.”

“Not in the least. Any friend of Sir Arthur is automatically a friend of mine.”

A swarthy young man wearing a tight navy-blue double-breasted coat and chauffeur's cap approached us. “Yes, Miss?”

I could smell garlic on his breath.

“Simon, I want you to drive my friends to their hotel. Where are you staying?”

I let Holmes answer. “The Park Hotel, the same as Sir Arthur.”

Sir Arthur was about to say something, then quickly shut his mouth. I didn't need to be Sherlock Holmes to realize he'd almost blurted out something about our earlier visit in front of Lady Jean.

“Yes, Miss,” Simon said. “I'll be back in ten minutes.”

After brief handshakes with Sir Arthur, Lady Jean, and Margery, we fell in behind Simon. Light snow was falling, clinging to our clothes and our hair as we stepped outside. I felt a moment's panic. Would Becker be bold enough to attack us as we came out? Holmes said the man was a coward and would wait until we were alone to strike.

Even so, I could only hope his henchmen were equally cautious.

Simon opened the back door of a black limousine. Violet entered first, followed by Holmes.

I took a long look at the incredibly lengthy snout of the Croydon's limousine and caught my breath.

“My God. It's a brand new Studebaker Commander. I've seen pictures of them, but this is the first one I've actually laid eyes on.”

“Yes, sir. The doctor bought it. How did you know that what it is?”

“It's an automobile. I know all the makes and models of all the cars. I have to.”

That brought a puzzled look. “Very good, sir.”

I stood dumbfounded inspecting the vehicle. A six-thousand-dollar hunk of metal boggled my mind.

“Get in here, Timothy!” Violet said, nervous, as she tugged at my coat. “Don't stand out in the street.”

Then I remembered Becker and scrabbled inside.

As we started away, Holmes took his pipe from his jacket pocket and put it in his mouth. There was no tobacco in the bowl, and he made no movement to fill it. I'd seen him do it before many times when I was a boy. Since conquering his drug addictions, his pipe had been his dummy, as necessary to him as a rubber nipple was to a baby. “Well, Wiggins, what do you make of Margery?”

“I was too distracted by Becker's presence to listen or watch her too closely. I was surprised how likable and honest she seemed. To be truthful, I was counting on your observations.”

“I think we should hear Violet's appraisal before I give mine. What did you think of her, dear lady?”

“She's an interesting woman. She's not from an upper-class background, so she works very hard on her speaking and demeanor to be accepted. And she likes to make eye contact with her audience—doesn't she, darling?”

“I didn't notice,” I lied.

“Yes, you did,” Violet said firmly.

I blanched.

“I don't think she liked Harry Houdini nearly as much as she claimed,” she continued, “but otherwise, I think she was being honest.”

“Bravo!” Holmes said. “You indeed have keen powers of observation. Almost exactly the same conclusions I came to, myself. I'm also convinced she doesn't know everything about her husband, or she doesn't want to know some things. One of them is her husband's relationship to Albert Becker.”

His sentence ended in an explosion. We slammed against each other as the vehicle caromed to the left. Wheels squealed, and we stopped abruptly as an oncoming vehicle slammed into the front bumper.

“Sorry,” Simon's hollow voice said from a speaker behind my right ear. “Is every one all right?”

We untangled. “No injuries, it seems,” Holmes said. “What happened?”

“One of the tires blew out. I'll talk to the other driver and put on the spare. We'll be on our way in a jiffy.”

“Which tire?” Holmes demanded sharply.

“Rear passenger. Just be patient. It won't take me long.”

I bent forward to look out the passenger-side window and saw a dark alleyway across the street. My heart pounded as I caught movement. Someone had backed against a wall to get out of sight.

“Down on the floor!” I shouted.

I flattened against the seat. Holmes and Violet dove to the floor.

“What is it, Timothy?”

“That wasn't a blowout. We're being ambushed.”

Though this seemed a very gangster-like attack, it wasn't Al Capone watching us from the alley. It was Albert Becker, or one of his henchman.

I had no idea what he had planned, but I wasn't going to stay around to find out. Lying on the seat, I crawled forward to open the door opposite the alleyway. My age fought me, making me gasp for breath as I slid to the end of the seat and out the door. I dropped my feet to the pavement and landed in a crouch.