Sherlock Holmes and the Houdini Birthright

by Val Andrews

  Holmes interrupted, 'I seem to have read that this occurred in Mr Houdini's dressing room at the theatre in Montreal?'

  'Yes, this young guy came into the dressing room with some other folk from the university where Harry had just delivered a lecture - as if he didn't have enough on his plate what with the show - on spiritualism. Harry was reclining on a couch, reading some letters; typically answering his visitor's foolish questions in a rather aignn a ratbsent-minded manner. Everyone in the room was hanging on his every word. It's a pity he wasn't hanging on theirs as it happens! You see this student, Whitehead, asked Harry if it was true that he could withstand hard punches in the stomach. Harry said that it was so and evidently this young guy asked if he could put this to the test. Well, Harry was so absorbed with what he was reading that he would have said yes or no to anything they said. If only it had been no! Before anyone could stop him this guy had landed two or three sharp punches on Harry's belly. I tell you, those punches would have rocked a prize fighter. Of course, Harry made light of it but I could see that he had been badly hurt. I tell you, I could have killed this guy, even if it wasn't quite his fault.

  'Harry had a doctor look him over and he diagnosed the ruptured appendix. Instead of going straight to a hospital he carried on with the show that night and not only that but with the tour as well. He ignored all my pleas and, by the time we got to Detroit, anyone could see that he was in agony. A couple more shows and Harry had to give in. Three surgeons combined to remove his appendix but when it was out they told me that the poisons had been going through his bloodstream for too long to hold out any hope of recovery. He was a fighter, sure, but he died in my arms at one-thirty on the morning of October the thirty-first.'

  I whistled softly, 'Good Lord, that means that he survived for a week that which as a doctor I would normally expect to kill within hours!'

  Holmes, who had been quiet for rather a long time said, 'So, the Great Houdini was a man of mystery to the last, leaving this world at Halloween. The drama of such a seasonal departure would not have displeased his sense of theatre but I find it sad that a man who had survived so many duels with death should die through such a preventable incident. Dear lady, whilst I sympathize I fail to see what I can do that would be of any help to you at this stage.'

  Beatrice Houdini dropped her bombshell. 'Mr Holmes, I believe that Harry was murdered!'

  'What?' I gasped, as I leapt to my feet, only to be restrained and reseated by Holmes, who spoke calmly. 'Such a thought crossed my mind when first I read of his demise. The circumstances were bizarre and followed, as I recall, a number of other suspicious accidents. However, it is late in the day for accusations.'

  The lady emptied her glass and signalled to the waiter to refill it before saying, 'I am not of course suggesting that this student killed Harry deliberately, it's more the thought that someone might have put him up to it in the hope that the result would be just as it was.'

  'But surely, had Houdini not been distracted, events would have taken a different turn?' I exclaimed.

  She said, 'Sure Doc, it would then have been just one in a series of incidents which were, I believe, inspired by someone who hoped, or knew, that sooner or later a fatal accident would occur.'

  Holmes asked if he might smoke and, that permission having been granted, lit a cigar of a kind which was the nearest means of sampling strong tobacco in female company. We observed the irritatingly slow ritual in which he removed the band, then cut and lit the cigar. At last he spoke:

  'To my mind what you have said bears some substance. Your husband had enemies, professional rivals and, of course, many among mea many athe psychic-fraudsters yet I find it hard to believe that any of these people would take their dislike or envy so far as to commit murder. Financial gain is quite another thing and is certainly one of the commoner motives for homicide. Who benefited from Houdini's death from a financial point of view?'

  'His brother, Dash; he got the act and a few minor gratuities. The Library of Congress got most of his huge and valuable book collection and his surviving sister got a small amount in cash and bonds but the actual bulk of his estate was willed to me and Mr Doyle. I assure you, I didn't kill Harry.'

  The lady spoke frankly, a woman who obviously put all her cards on the table, as her next statement illustrated. 'You see, I had a number of insurance policies taken out on Harry quite aside from the principal life policy which he had set up himself. Harry knew about these, except for one of them. You know, in the United States you can take out a policy on anyone, for anything, without the person concerned even having to know. After a number of suspicious accidents, I took out an extra policy with a small company who was willing to issue it. To cut everything to the quick, Mr Holmes, I will get half a million dollars if I can prove that Harry was murdered.'

  Holmes and I were both considerably shaken, although I believe he managed to conceal his surprise better than I. He considered the glowing end of his cigar before he spoke, 'I take it madam that we can have your assurance that you would have made, nay did make, every effort to prevent any of these suspicious accidents from becoming fatal?'

  She smiled; she had a way of doing this without opening her mouth. I soon deduced that this was in an effort to conceal rather prominent front teeth.

  'Mr Holmes, Houdini was worth a great deal more to me alive than any half-a-million bucks. We lived high on the hog, carried people with us everywhere to wait upon us hand and foot, stayed at the very best hotels and dined at the finest restaurants. Aside from this, there was a kudos attached to being the wife of the Great Houdini that being his widow just does not carry. But picking up that five-hundred-thousand dollars could go a long way to soothing me down.'

  Sherlock Holmes smiled, almost kindly, 'Dear lady, can you not take your suspicions to the police?'

  Ah, they don't want to know for they suspect me of being after publicity. Why I don't know because I've got no fish to peddle!'

  'Are there no private investigators in America who might be happy to help you?'

  Holmes's enquiry produced a derisive reply. 'A New York private dick would cost a fortune and fail to deliver. You, I know, you I trust for heaven's sake. Please help me, Mr Holmes, you are my only chance.'

  I admit that I had half expected Holmes to mutter something to the effect that he was far too busy with his bees. I thought that he then might politely beg our leave and be unmoved by the display of tears which I fully expected would follow such a step. Imagine then my surprise when I heard him say, 'If I do make some enquiries, I will expect you to be completely frank with me Mrs Houdini. Moreover, again if I do, it will not be on account of your insurance policy but rather to see justice done. There are aspects of the affair that interest me and I feel that matters current and involving me not long before Houdini's death were never completely resolved.'

  'Isolved.

  She brightened. 'You won't regret it Shamus.'

  Although I did not know the meaning of this name I suspect Holmes did, for he said, 'My name, Mrs Houdini, is Sherlock Holmes and, as for matters of finance, I have a set scale of fees which does not vary save where I choose to omit it altogether. But, if it is necessary for Watson and I to travel to the United States, you may settle our day-to-day expenses, which despite our temperate ways and frugal habits are likely to prove expensive.'

  She was delighted and hinted darkly at a locked box which Houdini had left her with the instruction that it should not be opened until fifty years had followed his death. 'If you stay in New York for a day or two I can introduce you to everyone who loved him, feared him, or just plain hated his guts and, believe me, Sherlock there were a lot of those! I'll put you up at a nice hotel near my home everything paid for and, of course, you can go back with me next week on the New Mayflower first-class.'

  To my utter amazement, Holmes agreed to all of this on behalf of us both without the nicety of prior consultation with myself. Sometimes I think he takes me too much for granted.

  As sh
e walked with us to the lobby, Beatrice Houdini slipped her hand around my right biceps and said, 'We'll have fun on board Doc, never fear!' It was but forty minutes after midday, yet she was not quite sober. This I found very sad but I noted that her companion seemed to have the situation well in hand saying, 'Beatrice, come on, time for a quick nap before lunch.'

  On the journey back to my home Sherlock said, 'I knew that I could depend on your participation in one last adventure Watson: Sherlock Holmes and the Houdini Enigma. How might that title attract your readers and gain you another fat cheque from The Strand?'

  Despite the confines of an ocean liner, Holmes became adept at avoiding too much contact with Beatrice and Daisy on the voyage. He had a great many excuses concerning dances, functions and whist drives which were not only convincing in themselves but delivered with a firmness that made them unquestioned. In fact, I almost felt that he had overdone it a bit, as I for one would have welcomed the odd diversion. As it was, however, we spent a lot of time in our adjoining cabins with Holmes either studying the small print on the Acme Insurance Policy with which Mrs Houdini had provided him or playing mournfully upon his violin. He had thought to bring a vast supply of black shag, so his cabin soon filled with a fog reminiscent of Baker Street in November. Indeed, on one occasion, this smoke issued forth when his cabin door opened and was responded to with a ship's fire drill.

  The Hotel Brownstone was near enough to Beatrice Houdini's home to be convenient yet far enough from it for comfort. We had a large room between us which could have accommodated two more persons, having four beds in all. We settled in quite comfortably and then visited Beatrice Houdini's home on the second day of our arrival.

  She gave a small dinner gathering for us. The guests included Houdini's brother, Theodore Hardeen - Dash as Houdini had always called him. Whilst he bore quite a likeness to his brother, Theo Hardeen struck me as being far less Aryan in appearance and, of course, a few inches taller. He showed us press books and publicity items relating to the days before the turn of the century when he and Harry were a double act: The Brothers Houdinier,hers Ho. But Holmes seemed to find these items of less interest than the album of family photographs which Theodore had also brought with him. Taking his lens from a vest pocket, Holmes surveyed the serried ranks of old sepia photographs depicting the Weiss family; mother Cecelia who had the same broad forehead as her son Harry and the father, the Rabbi Weiss with his neat beard and prayer shawl. The several brothers and sisters all resembled each other rather more than they did Harry himself.

  Holmes asked Theo if he considered that his brother had made a lot of enemies. He considered carefully before he answered. 'Well, my friend, I'll tell you, Harry was the sort of guy who made a lot of enemies among the small-time operators who tried to emulate his success. They were annoyed because he had taken their age-old business from the fairgrounds and with it put himself into the big time show business. In their envy they never seemed to take into account that he was different to them in that he had class. Hell, he had a lot more class than I got and I'm no bum. They knew how he worked and tried to do the same things but couldn't understand why they couldn't break in. There was only one Houdini and if anyone tried to bother him seriously he would put them down with ridicule and lawsuits. If that didn't stop them, he and I would beat them up in some dark alley.'

  I was rather aghast at this statement. 'I say, a bit steep that, what?' But Hardeen only laughed, 'Doc, you've got to remember that Harry and I was raised in the ghetto and came up the real hard way. We never got nothin' we didn't fight for and that habit kind of stuck with us. Harry and I worked our way up through carnivals, side-shows, wagon outfits and burlesque through to big time vaudeville. I can remember a time when Harry worked in the street and I had to pass round the hat. He had paid his dues, earned his place in the sun and was determined to keep others out, especially Johnny-come-latelys who had not even worked the dumps like we did.'

  'What made you cash-in on being his brother rather than establish yourself in some other type of business?' asked Holmes.

  Theodore Hardeen's eyes narrowed. 'We figured that if anyone was going to even begin to rival Harry it might as well be me. I was the other Houdini as far as bookers were concerned. It kept out any other really serious contender and the money stayed in the family. Harry was a great guy, a good friend and a wonderful brother but you could easily fall out with him unless you went along with his quaint ways. Say, Bess, do you remember that night about thirty years ago when he took us both onto a bridge at midnight and made us raise our right hands and swear always to be true to him, like we were in court or church or something?'

  'Can I ever forget and would he ever let me?' 'Me too but that's the kind of guy he was; you just couldn't refuse him anything. He was generous - at times at least. Life is dull without him. He left me the bulk of his show properties you know but I still work the act I have always had. For instance, there is a milk churn which he used to escape from after it had been filled with milk and he had been locked into it. Trouble is, it's too small for me to get into, let alone out of. Most of the stuff is like that -made to measure - but I'll keep it all as long as I live out of respect.'

  'You were not there were you when Houdini received those blows to the stomach?' prompted Holmes.

  'Nah, I was playing some tank town in the south. Of course, I went to the hospital a few days later; just as soon as I knew it was serioup>

  Holmes's interest increased. 'What were the circumstances?'

  'Well, the thing was a huge rectangular tank, glass-fronted. Houdini was lowered into the water head-downwards by means of a set of ankle stocks worked by a pulley. The stocks got jerked just a little too erratically at the wrong moment. With the pain in his ankle to contend with he was lucky to get out alive. Of course, the publicity involves two guys with hatchets standing by to break the glass if he was in trouble. That satisfied the authorities but in fact they never could have got him out in time. Like I say, that night he was lucky.'

  'I imagine the assistant who pulled the pulley rope was well trained?' asked Holmes.

  'Well, yes, either Jim Collins or Jim Vickery would usually do it but, as it happens, they were both off with some kind of influenza. A new guy pulled him up and that is why it happened.'

  Holmes was more than interested now. 'Who was this new guy, as you call him?'

  The reply seemed to interest him even more. 'Oh, someone called Zoltan I believe, don't know his other name. He seemed to shape up well at rehearsal but on the show he just pulled too hard, too soon, often happens like that.'

  'What happened to this Zoltan?'

  'I don't know, he didn't stick around long; got tired of being bawled out by Harry. He was a Hunky, they are always fiery tempered.'

  'Hunky...you mean he was a Hungarian. Are you sure?'

  'I should know, we are all Hungarians in the Weiss family; even if we are naturalized Americans.'

  Later, Holmes asked me what I made of Hardeen.

  'He expresses himself in a rather similar way to his brother, though he has even less education. He is of course taller than Houdini and, although there is a likeness, it is rather superficial.'

  Holmes nodded, 'The likeness, such as it is, appears to be from the mother's side of the family. Did you study carefully those old family photographs that he showed to us?'

  'As carefully as the time allowed. I noticed that they appeared to be a typically close-knit immigrant family.'

  'Exactly, did you notice how closely the brothers and sisters resembled each other, with the one exception, that of Houdini himself? The others carry characteristics of both parents but Houdini, please observe Watson, has a likeness to her but none whatever to the good Rabbi Weiss.'

  He opened a small portfolio and took from it a photograph of Houdini as a very young man, stiffly posed between his parents. I studied it and had to agree. 'What do you deduce from that Holmes?'

  He pondered, charging his pipe before he replied. 'It may have no
meaning whatever, for this othe"> or thisr influence which his features, indeed even his bearing and general manner, present may mean that he rather favours a grandparent or even a great-grandparent in appearance. He could be a throwback to an even more distant relative.'

  Beatrice Houdini's house, number 67 Payson Avenue, we found to be in something of a turmoil. She had only recently moved there from the family home that she and Harry had occupied at 113th Street. There were crates, piles of books, cardboard boxes and pieces of magical equipment everywhere. She apologized for the disorder: 'I'm getting rid of all this junk as fast as I can by donating, selling and just plain giving it away. Daisy and I want to move out of New York eventually. I'd like a real home, I've lived in a museum for thirty years.'

  She introduced us to a Mr Bernard Ernst, as 'Harry's attorney'. Mr Ernst was a dapper man, neatly dressed, balding with a spruce, clipped moustache. He spoke in the tones of a cultured American. He was amazed when told, in confidence, the reason for Holmes's investigations.

  'Good Lord, I feel sure you can eliminate any thought of foul play! Harry was a God-fearing man, always kind to others and so respectful to women and his elders. He was fond of animals and worshipped his mother. He was in fact a saintly man, Mr Holmes; why on earth would anyone want to harm him?'