by John Blaine
As they walked down among the departing guests and joined the girls, Rick said, “I’m beginning to believe in real magic. How on earth could they do that trick?”
Scotty grinned.“Rapidly and carefully.”
Rick turned immediately to Jan. “How did it go?”
“No vicious gremlins tonight, Rick.Only the nice feeling.”
They reached the edge of the stage. Rick turned and looked up. The forward wall of the ceiling, where it dropped into the wide channel, was a mass of lights, and the wall itself was scored in a double triangle pattern.
“See anything interesting?” Barby asked.
“No, only that there could be a dozen doors or openings up there from which someone could look down if there were room between the ceiling and the next floor. Know something? The most likely place for a secret room from which the stage could be controlled is between that dropped ceiling and the floor above.”
“Let’s suggest that to the Camerons,” Scotty proposed. “Then maybe we can all go up to the third floor and look around, just to see if there are any architectural anomalies.”
“Good idea,” Rick agreed.
Jan turned and met Rick’s eyes squarely. “Come on, Rick. What did you find out tonight? He’s holding out on us, Barby, stalling with his speculations about hidden rooms.”
“Being psychic again?” Rick teased.
“Well, I’ve heard about how the cat looked when it swallowed the canary, and I’ll bet it didn’t look any more smug than you do!”
“Better improve your poker face,” Scotty jibed.
“It won’t help,” Barby retorted. “He might be able to keep a secret from you and me, but Jan can read him easier than see Spot run.”
“Too true,” Rick sighed. “Jan’s right. Let’s go backstage and we’ll tell you all at one time.”
The Camerons were in the staff lounge having a post-show cup of coffee, and the three helpers were just Page 39
walking in with more coffee and a box of doughnuts. For a few moments the magicians and the girls chatted about how well the show had gone. Then Karen spoke up.
“Rick and Scotty were doing research,” she reminded the others, “and from their expressions, I think they found something.”
“We did,” Scotty said, smiling. “Tell them, buddy.”
“Okay.” Rick paused dramatically and dropped his bombshell. “The Mirella was built by Anthony Wayland, the Marvelous Mysto!”
For a moment there was shocked silence, then Archy, alias Hassan of Aleppo, said reverently, “Mysto the Master, the greatest of all! And we’re actually working in his house, on his stage!”
Derek whistled. “No wonder the stage was perfect.”
David added, “He’s a legend. Even the great ones, like Blackstone and Thurston, called him ‘the magician’s magician’”
“He pulled stunts no one ever duplicated,” Joe, the Hindu Swami, offered.“Like vanishing the elephant.”
“How did Mystovanish an elephant?” Barby asked.
“There was a gazebo over a lake, at the end of a pier. You could see the water under it, and you could see right through it with only supporting columns that held up the roof to block the view. Mysto had the elephant brought out, then he just closed a curtain around the inside of the gazebo for a few minutes.
When he opened the curtain, the elephant was gone. It didn’t go into the lake, and it sure couldn’t fly, but it wasn’t there any more. A squirrel would have been visible, much less an elephant.”
“But how could he do it?” Barby wanted to know.
Joe shrugged. “No one knows.”
“That’s not the only mystery,” Tom the part-time Mongol offered. “He oncevanished the mayor ofSan Francisco . He invited the mayor to help demonstrate teleportation, and put the mayor in a cabinet-one like ours-then said some mumbo jumbo. When he opened the cabinet the mayor was gone. Well, the mayor had a police guard with him, and the officer got pretty excited. He ransacked the cabinet, and then actually pulled his gun on Mysto and was about to arrest him when the mayor came walking down the aisle, looking like he’d seen a ghost. He said he’d gone into the cabinet, then the door opened and an assistant helped him step out—right in the middle of the theater lobby. He had no idea how he got there.”
“He was stooging for Mysto,” Archy suggested.
Tom shook his head. “Not a chance. The local reporters put the mayor through the hoops, but he stuck to his story. He honestly didn’t know what had happened.”
“That’s incredible,” Barby breathed. “Can such things really happen?”
“Only with Mysto,” Joe assured her.
“Were they really tricks,” Jan asked, smiling, “or real magic?”
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Joe grinned. “I’ve never seen real magic. Believe me, real magic would scare me to death. Mysto pulled tricks, but that’s all they were-great tricks.”
Rick asked the question that had been uppermost in his mind during the reminiscences. “Could Mysto have pulled the switch of the dummy with Karen and caused the shimmer?”
Derek and David sat upright and looked at each other, then at their helpers. The helpers nodded. “Yes,”
Derek said finally. “I don’t know exactly how, but he pulled tricks even more complicated. But you said Mysto is dead, didn’t you?”
“I’m going to check,” David moved to the lounge extension and dialed. “Hello, Cynthia? This is David Cameron. Is Irv at home?...yes, I’ll wait. Oh, how are you, Irv? David. Listen, do you recall an item about Mysto dying?...Okay. I’ll hang on.”
He turned to the group in the lounge. “Irving Reisman. He keeps a file for Stage Annual. His office is at home, so if he has anything on Mysto he can put his hands on it quickly.”
Derek observed, “Mysto would be an old man now, if he were still alive.Funny how he dropped out of sight.”
David spoke again. “Still here, Irv. What did you find?” He listened, thanked his informant, and hung up.
“That settles it. Variety carried an item about six months ago, and Stage Annual had it in the last edition.
Anthony Wayland died in aNew York sanitarium after being in retirement for several years. Does that check, Rick and Scotty?”
“It checks,” Scotty said, and Rick nodded.
“Did you find anything on why he was in the sanitarium?” Karen asked.
Rick hated to say it, but they had to know. “Mysto was put away because he was insane, as a threat to society.”
There was a shocked silence, then Joe spoke up. “I find that hard to believe. I saw Mysto at close range for about six weeks just before he retired. I was filling in for one of his people who had broken a hip when a line parted. Off stage, he was a quiet, humorous guy who really liked people. He just wasn’t the type to go bananas, believe me.”
“Unfortunately, his own psychiatrist testified against him,” Scotty told them. “And it was his nephew, his sole surviving relative, who had him committed.” He coughed apologetically. “Hey, this may sound a little weird coming from me instead of one of the two dreamers.” He grinned at Jan and Rick. “But was anything ever said about Mysto returning from the dead? I mean, Houdini promised to come back, didn’t he? Did Mysto?”
All hands looked at each other. Finally, Joe—who apparently had known him best- said, “I never heard anything like that about him.”
Karen laughed, “Scotty, are you suggesting that Mysto’s ghost is haunting us?”
“I’m not suggesting anything,” Scotty assured her. “I’m just asking.”
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“It isn’t a ghost,” Jan said positively. “Don’t ask me how I know, because I don’t know how I know.
Does that sound confused? Anyway, it’s not a ghost.”
“I agree with Jan,” Karen said. “So what do we do now?”
Barby had a sensible suggestion. “Let’s all go home and get some sleep. It’s late.”
David rose. “Smartest suggestion we�
��ve had all evening. Our act may look easy from out front, but it’s wearing. I’ll bet my child bride is tired.”
“You win,” Karen said. “Let’s you and me show the kids out while the others clean up.”
Barby asked curiously, “Were you really a child bride, Karen?”
Karen smiled. “That’s just David’s joke, because he’s two whole years older than I am. He was an elderly type of twenty when we were married.”
“The only reason she married me is because she knew I’d tell her how the tricks were done and she knew Derek wouldn’t,” David joked as the group walked to the entrance hall.
After thanks and goodnights, the Spindrift four started home, Scotty driving. While Scotty and Barby exchanged speculations in the front seat about how some of the tricks were done, Rick turned to Jan.
“Tell me how it was tonight.”
“The same as before.He’s still in the house. I didn’t feel that bad thing, but my friend was there.”
“Your friend?”
“Yes, Rick. While we were watching the show, I had the clear impression of an old man who needs help of some kind, a very nice old man. There was such a feeling of...of wisdom, I guess you’d say. And there was warmth that I’m sure is directed at me.”
Rick thought about it for a moment. “Jan, have you ever had such feelings from other people?The same kind of warmth?”
“Yes,” Jan didn’t hesitate. “I feel it from people at Spindrift. I felt it that first night when we landed. I knew you weren’t just taking us into your home because the government asked you and you couldn’t very well refuse. You were genuinely glad to have us, and within a day or two it was as though we were almost in our own home.”
“But wasn’t that because all of us in the Brant household were acting pleased about your arrival because we were pleased? We could tell at once that you were our kind of people.”
“Of course that was a lot,” Jan agreed. “You were all so wonderfully nice that we couldn’t help feeling wanted.” She paused for a long moment, then asked, “Barby and Scotty, are you listening?”
“Yes, Jan. Do you mind our tuning in?” Barby asked.
“No. I want you to hear this. Maybe it will help you to understand why I’m so interested...no, that’s not the word...why I’m so deeply involved in the feelings I get from the estate.”
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She took a deep breath. “All my life I’ve been able to sense most other people’s feelings. Not everyone’s, and not always with the same intensity. There are people now and then that I can’t read at all, and others so open to me that I know practically all they’re feeling. It doesn’t depend on whether I like or know the people, either. I feel emotions from complete strangers.”
“You’ve never even hinted at this before,” Barby said in wonder. “I thought we’d talked about everything either of us ever knew. I think it’s a wonderful talent to have, Jan.”
“It isn’t that I wanted to keep a secret from my dearest friends, it’s just something that I don’t talk about. When I was little I talked about it and told people what they were feeling, or tried to be sympathetic, but when I grew older, I realized people would look at me funny-like, and some would be angry. Once I told a boy in sixth grade. He had a crush on me, and I liked him. I could feel him change almost instantly, and he said that I was cute, but a freak. When I cried to my mother, she explained that many people-maybe even most people-fear what they can’t understand, and it would be better if I kept it to myself, except with her and dad. So I have, ever since. I would have told the three of you, but it never came up.”
“It must be a useful talent to have,” Scotty observed.
Rick took her hand. “And painful sometimes,” he said gently. He knew from the quick pressure of Jan’s hand that she was grateful for that bit of insight.
“Yes, Scotty. Useful, and sometimes painful.”
“Can you control it at all?” Rick asked.
“Some. I’ve learned to push bad feelings or painful ones from strangers to the back of my mind, sort of, but I can’t shut them off completely. The talent or gift, whatever you call it-is useful because I usually know when people are sincere, and I can tell their reactions to me or what I’m saying. It’s why I could fit in so well into Spindrift.”
“You would have fit just as well even without the talent,” Barby stated.
“I think so, too, but it would have taken longer because I would have been shy and unsure. But it took just about zero time, for my folks, too.”
Jan laughed. “The second week we were there I was in my folks’ room, and mom said to dad, ‘Isn’t it wonderful? We feel as though we’ve known the Brants for years and years.How about you, dear?’ I told them I now had a friend who was even closer to me than the sister I’d always wanted, and Scotty was already like a dear older brother.”
Barby said mischievously, “You didn’t mention Rick.”
“Oh, they asked about Rick.” Jan chuckled. “I told them we hadn’t had a chance to play a game yet, but I thought I’d finally found someone I could beat at chess.”
Rick groaned loudly. “That’s terrible.”
“Next time I checkmate you, just throw your king at me,” Jan offered.
“I will, inside a tomato!Seriously Jan. When people are hurting, you can’t help feeling it? That must be Page 43
very hard.”
“Especially when it’s people I know. But airports are what I hate most. People are separating, some are hurrying home because of sickness or death in the family, businessmen are worried about failing, or losing, and lots are terribly afraid of flying but can’t get there any other way. It all presses in on me so I want to run and scream. Any crowd is usually rough, but airports are the worst. Kids, I’m glad I told you, but let’s talk about something else now.”
“In a minute.”Rick hesitated. “I know what you receive isn’t a message in the usual sense, but can we call it that? What I’d like to know is whether you’ve ever felt messages at a distance before, as you did from the highway the first time.”
“No, Rick. That’s why it’s so unusual. If I concentrate, I think I can even feel it just a little now, although it’s hard to separate feelings sometimes. Another odd thing is that it gets stronger and clearer every time I go to the Mirella estate.”
Jan squeezed Rick’s hand, then leaned forward and touched Scotty and then Barby on the cheek. “I was pretty sure how you would react when I told you about my weird side, only I was scared, too, a little. But after I told you, what I felt was strong interest and loving affection just as usual. I wish you all had my odd talent so you’d know how I feel about the three of you.”
“I think we do know. At least I do,” Barby told her.
“So do I,” Scotty swung the car toward Whiteside Landing.
“I know you’ll be fond of me so long as you keep beating me at chess.” Rick kept a tight grip on her hand. “Before we leave the subject, my dad told me to talk this over with Dr. Winston. Can we tell him about this talent of yours?
“Of course.I don’t mind close friends knowing when it would be helpful. But let’s do like the government does and keep it need-to-know.”
Scotty laughed. “I’ve been thinking that it’s no wonder Jan knows you better than you know yourself, ol
’ buddy.”
Barby agreed. “We’ve always known she was usually a jump ahead of you, but we didn’t know how until tonight, because this business of an old man in the Mirella estate came up. Who is he, Jan?”
Jan chuckled. “Rick knows.”
“Do I?” Rick was feeling a bit dazed at the implications of Jan’s hidden talent.
“Of course you do. What old man would be in that house?”
The name popped out unbidden. “Anthony Wayland, alias Mysto. But he’s dead.”
“Does the report of his death make sense? Or do the data fit Mysto better than any other possibilities?”
“Come on, Rick,” Scotty urged as he
swung into a parking slot. “You know she’s right.”
“Okay, let’s spell it out. Jan is sure it’s an old man, and Mysto is old. We have the fantastic switch last Page 44
night, which Mysto could have made. Mysto built the house. Now, if someone is in the house, it has to be in hidden rooms or passages, and who would know about them better than the man who built the place?
Who could move around the house unseen, even steal the dummy, and override the control panel?”
The others exclaimed, “Mysto!”
Rick laughed. “Four votes for Mysto. Okay, we have a new hypothesis: Mysto lives. But that leaves us with a handful of big questions. If it’s Mysto, why doesn’t he show himself? Whose death was reported?
Jan says part of the feeling is one of need, but what does he need her for? If Mysto wants to remain hidden, why did he switch Karen and the dummy? What’s the bad thing Jan has felt?”
“And we have to remember this,” Scotty added. “Mysto was locked up for being dangerously insane.”
Jan stated positively, “The old man in that house is not insane. He’s someone I’d like to know, a kind, wise person.”
Rick had a thought. “Could the badfeeling be a crazy Mysto and the nice feeling a different old man?”
“No, Rick. The bad feeling isn’t in the house. It’s a puzzle because I can’t tell where it is, except nearby.”
“We’ll sleep on it,” Rick said as they walked to the boat. “Maybe tomorrow will bring more light.”
CHAPTER VII
Blood on the Floor
Rick did nomidnight pondering about the questions, or about Jan’s unusual talent, instead he fell at once into a deep sleep. He came out of it at the sound of his mother’s voice calling from downstairs. He glanced groggily at his alarm clock. It was not yet seven. “What is it?” he called.
“It’s Derek. He wants you or Scotty.”
Rick was out of bed in an instant, shivering in the sudden chill. He hurried to close his window and saw that Scotty was already coming through the connecting door, pulling on a robe.
