by Kirby Larson
“May I remind us all once again not to jump to conclusions?” Cypher sighed.
“Every magician has dabbled in that art,” Houdini said.
“So, a theater bill full of magicians and other such types means we are faced with many suspects.” Audie brushed cake crumbs from her lap. “Therefore it is imperative that we find a motive!” She was so pleased she had recently reread Mr. Houdini’s own book on the criminal element.
“A motive’s not difficult to deduce.” Mr. Houdini handed his cup and saucer to Winston. “In fact, it’s obvious. Professional jealousy. Someone wants me to fail at my illusion. And they’ve somehow connected Theo with the act.”
“But how?” Cypher wondered aloud. “Your meetings have been in secret, have they not?”
“Absolutely.” Houdini patted his lap and Bobby hopped up. The terrier nosed at the magician’s pockets to no avail.
“And we’ve been so careful here not to give anything away.” Audie stopped. “Oh, dear. What would people think of you being in Mr. Houdini’s dressing room now?”
A stunned look flashed across Cypher’s face.
As she had on the train, Bimmy once again came to the rescue. “We’ll say the Pomegrantos requested an audience with Mr. Houdini to bring him greetings from the people of España.”
“Bees and bonnets,” Audie exclaimed with admiration. “You’re good!”
“I agree.” Mr. Houdini scratched Bobby under the chin. “This meeting is easily explained.”
“Meeting!” Theo glumly held up her be-stringed right pinkie. “You came to my lodgings that day.”
Houdini appeared flustered. “Well, I was forced to. You never answered my correspondence,” he snapped.
“She’s a busy scientist!” Audie came to Theo’s defense.
Theo fiddled with the pinkie string. “My landlord, Mr. Billy Bottle, is not the most upright of fellows. I’m afraid if he saw a chance to make some money, he would leap at it. He would probably feel it was his right, what with my rent in arrears.”
“So you think someone bribed him in an effort to find the connection between you and Mr. Houdini?” Cypher asked.
“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Theo answered. “He cheats at cards,” she offered. “I should know. I’ve never beat him in a game of gin rummy.”
Cypher made a mental note. Was Mr. Billy Bottle a possible card shark? What else might Theo’s landlord be hiding about his past?
“Well,” Audie jumped in enthusiastically. “Have you noticed any strangers paying a visit to Mr. Bottle lately?” She breathlessly awaited Theo’s reply.
“I’m sorry.” Theo reached for a cucumber sandwich, unaware of the one slice of cucumber sliding onto her lap. Bobby was quick to leap across the room to rescue the errant vegetable. “I spend most of my days with my books. Except, as I said, for the odd game of gin or cribbage.”
Houdini consulted his pocket watch. “We will have to leave you detectives to your work.”
Audie sat up taller in her chair, thrilled at being called a detective.
“Miss Quinn and I have a run-through to discuss.” Houdini stood and indicated for Winston to usher everyone else out of the dressing room.
“We will get right to work,” Cypher assured the world-famous magician.
But Houdini appeared not to hear this remark. He and Theo were already deep in discussion, heads nearly touching.
Audie was the last one out of the dressing room. “Thank you for the tea,” she said to Winston.
The valet nodded and closed the door to further conversation.
“I want you two to go back to the hotel,” Cypher instructed. “And stay there.”
“But surely there’s something we can do,” Audie said.
“Yes, there is.” Cypher put his hands on her shoulders. “Go back to the hotel and stay put. Do not leave. Do not speak with anyone. Especially not strangers.”
“But how can we help if we’re at the hotel?” Audie asked.
“Trust me,” said Cypher. “That will be a huge help.” He pulled some money from his pocket for cab fare. “I should be back in time to take you to dinner. If I’m not, order something from room service.” With that he turned and disappeared into the cool dark of the backstage.
Audie and Bimmy stepped out onto Sixth Avenue. Bimmy expertly flagged down a cab. The girls climbed aboard and gave the address of the Evelyn Hotel.
“What do you think Cypher is going to do?” Bimmy settled back in the seat.
“I don’t know. More undercover work, I imagine.” Audie fussed with the ribbons on her tunic. They’d all been so distracted by Theo’s disappearance, they hadn’t changed back into their street clothes. “Bees and bonnets!” Audie smothered a giggle. “I do hope he’s changed out of his costume.” Both girls laughed to imagine Cypher engaged in covert activities while attired in red tights.
“Where do you think he’ll start?” Bimmy asked. “Interviews with the stagehands?”
“Speaking of that.” Audie chewed her lip. “Did you happen to notice a ragged-looking young man backstage? Battered hat? Lumpy pockets?”
“I didn’t. What about him?”
Audie recalled Cypher’s warning about not jumping to conclusions. “Nothing. Yet,” she said.
The driver pulled up in front of the Evelyn. The girls thanked him. He tipped his hat.
Audie dawdled a bit as she followed Bimmy to the lobby. She knew there would be a letter awaiting her, a letter she did not want Bimmy to see. Casually, she removed a white glove from her pocket, dropping it behind the enormous Boston fern by the reception desk.
Upstairs, she unlocked the door to room 513 and then made a big show of patting her coat. “Oh, dear,” she exclaimed. “I’m missing a glove. I wonder if it fell out downstairs.”
Bimmy had been shrugging out of her own coat but immediately tugged it back on. “We’ll go look.”
“You get comfy!” Audie insisted. “I’ll be back before you know it.” She swiftly closed the door to forestall any protestations. At the end of the hall, the elevator opened and she hurried inside, joining a man with a very large nose. It was such an unforgettable nose above such a scrubby moustache that Audie instantly placed the man. He’d been in the lobby when Theo Quinn had introduced herself.
“Good afternoon,” she said, once again ignoring Cypher’s admonition about speaking to strangers.
“It is a good afternoon at that.” The man folded a small piece of paper and tucked it into his vest pocket. When the elevator landed at the lobby, he strode ahead of her, whistling with enthusiasm and cheer.
Audie gathered her mail, and her glove, but was preoccupied by a flurry of questions as she rode the clanking elevator up to the fifth floor. Who was that man? What was his business here? And why was he whistling?
And more important, how was she going to read and reply to the letter in her pocket without attracting Bimmy’s attention?
“That’s going to be sore,” the girl pronounced after washing the place where the dog had nipped Min’s flank. The girl set out a very small saucer of cream. Then she left Min to further nurse her wounds and her pride.
Had she been asked, Min’s rescuer could not have explained why she had opened the window and encouraged the cat. It wasn’t as if anyone ever lent her a hand. Perhaps she’d helped because she was still feeling giddy over the whole dime she’d bullied from those two greenhorns the other day. Daisy hadn’t seen a dime in weeks. Months. She was generally lucky to get a penny for a pair of pickles.
“Don’t even think of keeping that cat,” Daisy’s mother declared. The older woman reeked of dill and the tang of vinegar and was preoccupied with great kettles that gave off enough steam to turn the apartment into a sauna. “We can barely feed ourselves.”
“I know. I know.” Daisy opened the window again. Looked out. The dogs were nowhere to be seen. “It won’t stay.” Of that she was sure, though Daisy would be hard-pressed to explain from whence her certainty derived.
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br /> Min merrowed her agreement with Daisy’s remark; she had no intention of staying. But she did inspect the small apartment, which was a flurry of activity—and nearly as crowded as had been the train station earlier. Min’s tour of the domicile required very little time; how long does it take a clever cat, even one with a sore hind leg, to explore three tiny rooms? But every step through that bedroom, parlor, and kitchen required care to stay out of the way of many pairs of feet.
One half of the sole table in the parlor was heaped with knobby green objects, which Daisy wrapped in bits of waxed paper and stuffed into a canvas sack. Another handful of humans sat at the far side of the table, rolling potent dried leaves into long sticks. These, Min discerned, were called cigars. The green things had an odd name that she couldn’t quite translate into Cat; it sounded like pickle, but surely not even humans used such a ridiculous-sounding word.
Min was grateful for her rescue and for the dish of cream, no matter how meager. She hinted for a taste of something else, but nothing else was offered. The humans in this place had an amazing capacity for working hard without taking sustenance. In contrast, the humans at Miss Maisie’s did very little but ate three times a day, sometimes more if you counted the French girl’s amuse-bouches, little afternoon snacks that Min was happy to help consume.
Seeing that there would be no further nourishment, Min meowed her thanks to Daisy for the open window at just the right moment and then was out that very window again, working her way to the pavement, tracking the now scant scent of Punk. Those dratted dogs had chased her a dreadfully long distance.
Though she dodged plenty of people and carts and wagons and noisy automobiles, Min thankfully encountered no more unfriendly canines on her trek. An old mutt nosing around a set of ash cans gave her rather good directions to the general area. And a sharp-looking Dalmatian at a fire station led her the rest of the way, right up to the back door of an enormous building called the Hippodrome. Dalmatians are always glad to go the extra mile.
Min had arrived at feeding time. Workers wheeled barrows loaded with assorted fruits and vegetables through a large door. Min’s instinct was to follow the food. As always, those instincts were spot-on. She followed the worker with the largest barrow—an entire watermelon teetered on top of an enormous heap of foodstuffs—and he led her into the cold, dark innards of the building. She caught a whiff of the Dobermans; thankfully, that was the only sign of them. She padded confidently past pacing tigers—greeting them with due deference—and bears and monkeys and even an odd barking creature that smelled like the sea, until she found the cage she sought. Though he was housed next to some larger, older creatures of his own kind, Punk was no happier. In fact, if it could be possible, he was even more downcast than when Min had last seen him.
“Merrrow?” Min asked permission to enter the cage.
Punk’s reply was barely audible. His large ears drooped, but he reached for Min with that long appendage, wrapping it around her middle, drawing her close.
“He misses his mother.” This gentle voice came from a gray mountain in the cage next door.
“They took him too young,” another voice further explained.
Min pondered this. While she herself had never experienced motherhood, she could remember back to her kitten days and the sweet weeks with her own mum. Despite having to compete for milk with too many greedy brothers, those had been tender times. And, as she had with all her litter, her mother had let Min stay until she was ready to go off on her own. Min shivered to think what kind of cat she might have become had she been taken from her mother, and taken too young. No doubt the worst kind: a scaredy-cat.
Several hours passed as Min did her best to comfort Punk. When he finally drifted off to sleep, she remained, hidden from human eyes in the dark of the cell. While he slept, the other creatures of his kind talked about their lives. Poor Punk had little to look forward to—hours of being chained to a wall, thrashings, tricks that required un-elephant-like contortions.
“He’s too frail,” the largest of the creatures, named Jennie, explained. “He won’t last.”
“There must be something we can do,” Min said.
Jennie raised her own shackled foot, skin scarred around the metal. “There’s no escape.”
The resignation in Jennie’s voice was more chilling than an ice bath. Min would not accept this for Punk. What was it Audie liked to say? If it’s not splendid, it’s not the end?
“My friend can save him,” Min declared, bristling with confidence.
“But how?” Jennie asked.
“I don’t know,” Min answered truthfully. “All I know is that she can.”
Her words of hope shed powerful light in that dark and dreary place.
He caught her outside the theater. “Good evening,” he said, twirling the moustache under his large nose like a silent-screen villain.
Surprised to see the man, Theo adjusted her spectacles. It had been a long two days and she was eager to get to her rooms. There was a wrinkle in the illusion that needed ironing out before she would connect with her pillow that night.
“Good evening,” she answered, ever polite no matter how weary.
“You’re working late,” the man noted, checking the time on his pocket watch.
“Oh, you know what they say.” She lifted her hem to step off the curb. “No rest for the wicked.” For some reason, she could not take her gaze from the pocket watch, now swaying to and fro.
“That’s a lovely watch,” she said. After five fros, her voice changed. It was dull, automatic. “I am at your command,” she said.
The man chuckled. Oh, this was rich. This was sweet! The earlier afternoon session had been successful. She really was in his power.
“You remember what you are to do?” he asked, barely able to control his joy as he anticipated the answer.
“I am to stop the elephant from vanishing,” she said. “I am to ruin Houdini.”
The watch stopped its swinging. It was returned to the man’s vest pocket. “Very good.” He snapped his fingers. “You’re working late,” he said.
“Oh, you know what they say.” Theo stepped off the curb. “No rest for the wicked.” She crossed Sixth Avenue, eager to get home, feeling surprisingly refreshed, despite the long and stress-filled day.
“You were up early this morning,” Bimmy said.
“Up early?” Audie tried to sound nonchalant as she buttoned up her boots.
Bimmy reached for her own button hook. “I heard you step out.”
“I wanted to make sure that postcard to the triplets went out in the first mail.” Even though it was for Bimmy’s benefit, Audie did so dislike misleading her friend. Though her statement was partially true, she could not bear the glimmer of suspicion in Bimmy’s eyes.
To Audie’s great luck, Cypher’s knock on the door was sufficient distraction. He had come to take them to breakfast and then on to the theater for rehearsals. The three had the elevator to themselves so Audie could not resist asking what he had learned.
Cypher had slept well so he didn’t see the harm in answering Audie’s question. “Well, our Oberon is really a man by the name of Wylie Wurme, also a magician and illusionist, but there is no evidence of Wurme ever performing Oberon’s signature act.” Cypher’s left eyebrow arched. “Seems his essential equipment goes missing in some way before each show.”
“So it wasn’t really stolen!” Audie exclaimed.
They had clunked to a stop on the ground floor and the doors rattled open. Cypher’s forefinger went to his lips. “Seems so,” was all he said as they stepped into the lobby.
The fourth chair at their table in the nearby café remained empty all through breakfast.
“Perhaps Theo forgot she was to join us?” Bimmy suggested, crunching the last bite of bacon on her plate. She wiggled her fingers. “Maybe she ran out of string.”
“Or maybe she was working late at the theater.” Audie sprinkled a little more brown sugar on her oatmeal. “And
overslept.”
“I think it’s likely the latter,” Cypher said. “According to Mr. Houdini, there were still a lot of loose ends to tie up.” He took note of the time and then encouraged the girls to finish up. “I don’t relish paying the five-dollar late fine,” he told them as he paid the check.
As minor acts on the bill, they did not have grand dressing rooms of their own. Cypher shared one with the English acrobats, a tap dancer, and Herring’s trainer, as well as some of the other men and boys. The women’s shared dressing room was on the second floor, up a rickety, narrow stairway. Audie and Bimmy politely stopped at the bottom, allowing the opera diva to go ahead of them.
“Buongiorno.” The diva acknowledged them with a dip of her head.
“Buenos dios.” Bimmy winked at Audie. “That’s how we say good morning in our native country.”
“Buenos dios,” Audie echoed, unaware she was mimicking an inaccurate phrase.
The opera diva was a solid woman and it took some time for her to progress up the stairs. As Audie waited her turn to ascend to the dressing room, she glanced around backstage. Ten in the morning was the theater’s witching hour, when everything came to life. Some stagehands were testing the ropes, some moving props, and one of the costumers was mending a tear in the thick velvet stage cushion.
A flash of fur low to the ground caught Audie’s attention. Chocolate-striped! Min!
Audie stopped herself from calling aloud. Surely a cat would not be a welcome backstage addition. If Bert knew, he would be likely to throw her out. But how did Min get there? And where was she headed?
“I’ll be right back.” Audie dashed after her cat, following her down the stairs. Min’s pace picked up and so did Audie’s. The smell was powerful in this space deep below the grand stage: Old hay and animal dung made Audie’s eyes water. But she ran on, after Min.
When she saw Min slip between some heavy metal bars, she couldn’t help crying out. “Min! Take care.” Audie ran even faster, grasping the cold bars in her hands as she caught up with her cat.
