Who Done Houdini (8 page)

He turned toward Myrtle. “If you'll kindly give me your chair, my dear.”

Myrtle's captor jerked her to her feet.

“Thank you. I will now introduce my own dead brother Nigel to our gathering.”

He settled into the chair and closed his eyes. “Nigel, please make your appearance.”

“I am here, dear brother.” The guests traded gasps at the ghostly voice seemingly coming from Holmes's stomach.

“That was not Nigel. There is no such entity, living or dead. That was me. Like Mr. Becker, I also practice ventriloquism. It's a common magician's trick. Very effective in this setting.”

The murmur of voices got louder. Becker jumped from his chair and reached for Holmes. I caught his arm and twisted it behind his back before he could take two steps. His two-hundred pound bulk had no sinew, and he couldn't elude my grasp, though the silk fabric of his costume did make him hard to hold.

“How does Mr. Becker answer the questions from his guests?” asked a woman with wisps of gray hair escaping from under an enormous feathered hat.

“First of all, he has a week to learn as much about you as he can. To answer the specific question you ask, he uses a well-known magician's trick. His assistant will give ‘Sidney' the question, then she will ask you to whisper the answer to her. The first words in the questions and answers she has for Sidney will spell out the information he needs.”

“Is that true?” the woman demanded with a glare in Myrtle's direction.

“I—I have nothing to say.”

I watched Myrna Warren and the reporter from the
Times
scribble madly into their pads. Myrna looked up and grinned at me. Tomorrow's
Free Press
would have a very juicy story on its front page. So would the
Times
.

“Now that we've shown how you deceive your clients, Mr. Becker, would you be so kind as to tell your guests where the money raised at the sessions is really being spent?”

Becker again struggled to get free. Perspiration slid over his painted-on mustache, and his sharp brown eyes blazed. “Everyone knows the money is being spent to build a school of spiritualism,” he shouted. “I've answered that question numerous times. Now leave immediately. You have no right to invade my property and interrupt my business. I'll certainly sue you for this intrusion and the harm you must have done to my dog to get in here. As to the rest of these ridiculous charges—”

“They are not ridiculous, and you're welcome to try to use any legal recourse available to you,” Mr. Holmes said mildly. “By then the truth will be out.”

Becker snarled and tried to break my grasp.

“Just to set the record straight,” Holmes said. “Birth records indicate you are an only child.”

Becker growled in anger, and Mr. Holmes continued. “I was very surprised to see the Spartan condition of your business and the frugality of your lifestyle, considering the large sums of money you bring in. Your explanation that you're intending to start a school of spiritualism could indeed be true, but I think there may be another reason. Your parents' names were Alfred and Heidi Becker, were they not?”

“I refuse to answer any questions from a worthless Jew.”

“You don't need to answer, my good man. They are on record as having owned this house. During the Great War, they remained strong supporters of the Kaiser, claiming that all the reports of German atrocities were no more than Jewish lies.”

“My parents only spoke the truth,” Becker mumbled.

“They not only spoke their version of the truth, they wrote about it. They published a newspaper from the basement here advocating that either America withdraw from the war, or that it switch sides to defeat France and Great Britain. Isn't it true they were ultimately prosecuted under the Sedition Law?”

Becker glared in silence.

“Whether or not you choose to respond, I can cite the case for you.
U.S. versus Becker and Becker
. They were convicted, but because of their age, they were given suspended sentences and deported.”

Becker shouted. “It broke their hearts. They both died less than a year later in Berlin. They loved this country as much as they loved the Fatherland.”

“What they were advocating was illegal, but far less reprehensible than their publicizing of their intense hatred of Jews and Negroes. Did they ever participate in lynching one, as they said all true Americans should do?”

“Of course not.”

“Would you?”

Silence.

“Tell me. Why didn't you go with them when they left the country?”

Becker didn't respond, and Holmes continued. “Is it because they wanted you to stay behind and continue their campaign of hate from here?”

Holmes paused for only a moment. “When the war ended, you wanted to help build a new Germany. There's nothing wrong with that, and it could very well be of benefit to everyone. Unfortunately, that's not what you want, is it? You want Germany to occupy and rule the whole world, and there are millions of Jews, Poles, and Russians and other ‘inferior' races taking up space. Tell me, why do you have a copy of
Mein Kampf
on the table in your foyer?”

Sneering, Becker asked, “Why not? It's an important book. I want everyone to know about it and read it.”

“I doubt your guests know anything about it. Tell them who wrote it.”

“A great patriot who will someday lead Germany. His name is Adolf Hitler. He's determined to steer the beloved Fatherland back to its deserved greatness.”

“As I understand it, Mr. Hitler wrote his book from prison.”

“He's a martyr to the cause. His internment has been a great contribution to his resolve.”

“Indeed. His resolve to rid the world of Jews.”

“That's just part of his crusade. He knows they started the war, and their days are numbered for their crimes.”

“Thousands of Jewish men died during the war fighting for Germany.”

Becker snorted. “They were fighting to take over the Fatherland for themselves.”

“Do you have Jewish clients?”

“Several.”

“Do they know of your feelings about them?”

Becker caught his breath. “I like the Jews I know and will see no harm comes to them. The guilty ones are in Germany and the rest of Europe. They deserve their fate.”

“Hitler had Jewish friends also. They gave him very generous prices for his drawings before he went into politics. Do your Jewish friends know the money they spend with you is being used to fund beatings, murders, and destruction of Jewish citizens' property in Germany?”

“The leader does only what's necessary. The Communists are doing the same things. Even more so. The Jews intend to hand the Fatherland over to the Russians. Hitler won't allow that to happen.”

“I've read many German newspapers recently. The National Socialist party has received large contributions from the United States, mostly through the Deutscher-Amerikanischer Freundschaft Bund. When I first came to your manor, I noticed several calendars with that organization's name on it.”

“That means nothing. And even if I may have made some small contributions through the Bund, I have done nothing illegal.”

“True. You're free to contribute to any organization you choose, but your contributions have been anything but small.
Frankfurter Zeitung
names you as one of the largest American donors, not under the name Baker, of course, but B A-umlaut K-E-R. Your original German spelling.”

Becker stuck out his chin. “Becker is a common name. That's someone else.”

“Of course. There must be hundreds of others with the same name living here in St. Clare Shores. Frankly, I'm surprised you want to hide your identity. You should be proud of what you're doing.”

Becker hissed.

“I understand you were invited to Houdini's opening night show at the Garrick. Did you attend?”

“Of course not. He was the enemy of everything I stand for. He was like all Jews, a cheat and a liar.”

“Then it must have been a great relief, even a joy to you, that he died before he had the chance to expose your trickery. I consider it an honor to finish his work for him.”

With a scream, Becker broke out of my grip and charged. “All filthy Jew lies! Now you'll have to look over your shoulder for the rest of your life.”

Holmes deftly side-stepped. I jumped on Becker from behind and knocked him to the floor.

With that, the attendees slowly got to their feet and began to leave the room. Only his assistant remained beside him.

“Don't go,” Becker pleaded. “Can't you tell he's lying to you?”

None turned around, and I refused to let him up until everyone but the four of us had left the room.

“
Ich bin nicht allein!”
Becker screeched. “
Der Fuhrer
has eyes, ears and knives all over the world. I promise you and all your other Jew conspirators will be punished.”

“Perhaps,” Mr. Holmes said in a quiet voice, “but it'll take more than the likes of you to silence me. Maybe I shouldn't dislike you so much. You're a product of your parents' hatred. But yours is far greater and far more dangerous.”

“
Fichst dich, juden! Du bist todt!”

“On the contrary, sir, I'm still on my feet and alive, and I intend to stay that way for many years to come. Furthermore, I may be older but I still can defend myself against rape. Lastly, I'm not Jewish.”

Nearly foaming at the mouth, Becker made a last attempt to get up. I pinned his head to the floor. Finally he stopped struggling and lay gasping for breath. He reminded me of the German shepherd, except I felt nothing but loathing for Becker.

Holmes apparently had the same idea. Standing over the stricken German, he said, “The only regret I have about this evening is having to restrain your dog. You'll find him unharmed behind your house. It's heartbreaking that he should have you for a master. Such a loyal animal deserves a far better fate. Now get up.”

“Let me help you,” I said.

My association with the police has taught me how to grasp a man's arm so as to incapacitate him. Holding him by his right wrist with my left hand, I stretched Becker's arm out straight and tucked my right arm under his elbow. Any attempt to break free or swing at me would result in a painful broken joint. All I had to do was jerk upward under his elbow while pushing sharply on his wrist.

Myrtle watched with an open mouth as we frog-marched Becker through the front door. He dragged his feet, all the way shouting. I knew enough Yiddish to recognize the obscenities. As I held Becker, Holmes went for the car.

Holmes got out, faced Becker and brandished the animal-capture rod like a lion trainer's whip. “Let him go.”

I did, and Becker immediately made a dash back toward the house. “Our man appears to have had enough for one evening,” Holmes said. “But I still suggest we get out of here quickly.”

I agreed, and we were soon speeding away down the road.

“Excellent work, Wiggins. I'm sure we've clipped Mr. Becker's wings for good.”

“At least we've put him out of business. But why are you making such a big issue of exposing a secret supporter of some obscure German political party?”

“He's far more than that, Wiggins,” Holmes said with a sigh. “And Mr. Houdini must have realized it too, if he was so determined to expose him he got up from his deathbed for the performance. Hitler is civilization's worst nightmare. I told you earlier that Mycroft says there's a great cancer growing in Europe. I'm sure you realize whom I'm referring to. Sadly, the German people do have much to be angry about.”

“You mean because they were forced to accept blame for starting the war?”

“That and the reparations they've been forced to pay. But most of all they're victims of the great inflation that left whole populations penniless. Germans are a proud people. Their poverty hurts them deeply. It's not surprising Hitler's message is so powerfully seductive. It offers them hope for the future and someone to blame for all their troubles. Unfortunately, his plans can only lead to war.”

“And suffering for the Jews,” I muttered.

“More than we can even imagine, I fear. The key is that the League of Nations is required to return the Rhineland to Germany in eight years. When that happens, Germany will have almost unlimited power to build weapons. When they finally go to war, they'll be determined to win, no matter what they have to do to achieve a victory, and their weapons will be far more deadly.”

“If even half the stories about the atrocities against the Belgians are true, they'd rank among the cruelest warriors of all time.”

“The next great war will be many times more horrible than the last. I hope I won't be around for it. My heart can't stand to be broken again.”

I didn't like the downbeat tone.

“I'm worried about Becker,” I said. “Do you think he'll try to carry through on his threat?”

“He might very well if he's able to find out who we are. My references to Houdini may be our undoing.”

Conversation ended, and I drove on in silence until we were approaching downtown Detroit.

“I'm sure you're enjoying your stay at the Royal Palm, Mr. Holmes, but it's an unnecessary expense. You're more than welcome to stay with Violet and me. We have a bedroom we've never used.”

“I appreciate the offer, Wiggins, but old habits die slowly, and I prefer my solitude. Moreover, we're done with what we can accomplish here. I know I should have told you earlier, but I've booked passage for us to New York on the eleven o'clock train. We have someone to meet in Brooklyn.”

“Eleven o'clock? That's impossible I can't even pack that quickly. And Violet will never agree to my leaving so abruptly. If you want me to come with you, she'll have to come too.”