The basket is empty. No horrific corpse, no lacerated remains. Thank God for that! Then a stir from the back of the auditorium and a boy in white clothing is running down the aisle and scrambling across the pit. He leaps nimbly on to the stage. It is the boy from the basket, unharmed. Such a relief! Even the Major seems pleased. A smile splits his stern features. He pats the boy on the head. The punkah-wallah claps his hands in delight. The audience applauds.
The trio on stage turn their attention to the basket once more. There is no sign of blood, no pool of red on the boards. But the basket is no longer empty for from within its depths Major Marmont now plucks a coiled rope. He takes one end and throws it up into the air. The rope seems to hover for a moment of its own accord before beginning a sinuous ascent to the renewed sound of flute music from the pit. It stretches in a quivering line from the ground to a point below the top of the proscenium arch, seemingly held aloft by nothing at all. The music stops. By now a gentle dusk is descending on the scene. The snow-capped mountains of the backdrop are bathed in a golden light.
Suddenly from out of the tree there leaps a monkey. The audience gapes. The creature bounces up and down, it howls and it gibbers. It bares its teeth. It bounces on all fours to the footlights and stares beyond them, as if trying to pierce the darkness of the house. It capers round the Major and his boys before seizing the sword which the Major is still grasping. This wretched monkey handles the sword with the dexterity of a fencer, darting in the direction of the others, daring them to come near. Then it makes a jump for the rope. The rope sways under the monkey’s impact as, grasping the sword with one paw, it scrambles up the cord, a tangle of black fur and long limbs.
Major Marmont snaps his fingers at the punkah-wallah. His meaning is obvious. Follow that monkey! The boy does not hesitate but seizes the bottom of the rope and proceeds to climb hand over hand, fast enough but with less nimbleness than the monkey. The creature meantime has reached the point where the rope appears to terminate. And then an extraordinary thing occurs. The monkey continues its climb through the empty air until it vanishes into the shadows, its long prehensile feet waving in mockery below the proscenium arch. Urged on by the Major, the punkah-wallah follows until he seems to be climbing through nothing, and his bare feet too are the last sight the audience have of him.
There is a momentary pause in the action. A silence. Then the rope stretching up from the stage and into the shadows slackens and falls down in a coiled clatter. How is the boy (and the monkey) to get back down to the ground again? Without the rope it is a dangerous even fatal drop, at least twenty feet. But there are greater dangers. The monkey has the Major’s sword while the punkah-wallah is unarmed. Grunting sounds and gasps come from the area out of sight above the arch. Swishing noises, as of a blade slicing through the air. Gibbering and howling too.
The audience fear the worst. They hope for the worst. They are not to be disappointed. A pale object falls from the skies and lands with a terrible soft thump on the stage. The Major and the remaining boy, who have been gazing up with fixed expressions, start back. It is – it looks like – yes, a limb. A leg severed above the knee, all gouty with blood. Not a monkey’s leg but a delicate brown one. The punkah-wallah’s. This is followed by a positive shower of limbs and parts. A foot, a pair of hands, an arm, something dreadful which might have been a torso. That monkey is as keen as a surgeon. The audience shriek as one. If they’d had time to think, they would have been worried for their own safety. What would happen if this dreadful monkey escaped from the stage and ran amok through the house? They have never seen anything so shocking. They are thoroughly enjoying themselves. It is ghastly. It is delightful.
Another Disappearance
Tom and Helen Ansell were sitting with Major Marmont in his dressing room at the Egyptian Hall in Piccadilly. He had sent them free tickets for the show, the wicker basket trick and the Indian rope trick. He insisted they join him afterwards, claiming that he wanted to speak to them. When the Ansells arrived after the show in the dressing room backstage, they saw an object they had not yet seen. It was, explained Marmont, the new disappearing cabinet he had been working on, a device even better than the Perseus. He called it the Goldoni.
‘Named after the famous Venetian magician of the eighteenth century. You’ve heard of him? No? Well, some say that he never existed.’
Tom and Helen were alone with the military magician. He had told Dilip Gopal to take himself and the boys to the nearest chop-house and to treat themselves to a slap-up supper to celebrate the end of the run. The Major lit a cigarette and poured a generous brandy for himself. He offered some to Tom and Helen but they refused, wanting to keep clear heads.
Like the rest of the audience, the Ansells were relieved to see the safe return of the punkah-wallah who’d ascended the rope. He appeared from the side of the stage, complete with all four limbs and quite unharmed. Tom recognized Alfred as the punkah-wallah (or perhaps Arthur) just as he thought it was probably Albert concealed inside the monkey costume. The monkey appeared from the opposite wing and he too took a bow.
The Ansells had been back in London for some weeks. Helen had horrified her mother all over again with a heavily edited account of what had happened up north, while Mrs Scott repeatedly blamed herself for despatching her daughter to persuade Aunt Julia against Eustace Flask. Tom gave a rather more detailed story to David Mackenzie and was pleased to see that even the sedate senior partner allowed his pipe to go out as he listened to the twists and turns of their adventures in Durham.
Events had brought about a kind of resolution to the double mission that Tom and Helen had been carrying out in the north. Sebastian Marmont never did complete the affidavit business since there was no chance of his recovering the Lucknow Dagger, the murder weapon used on Eustace Flask. The Dagger had been given by the Durham police for safe-keeping to Inspector Traynor (who brought it back to the Yard with the intention of donating it to the museum, whose delights he had promised to show to Rhoda Harcourt). And Aunt Julia’s infatuation with the medium was over – although no one apart from Septimus Sheridan was aware of her new interest in Madame Blavatsky.
Now, in company with Sebastian Marmont, they surveyed the whole business of the Durham Deception. The Major, however, seemed uneasy. After they had complimented him on the Indian rope trick, Helen said, ‘But it seems a rather ruthless departure for you, Major, that pretended killing in the basket, the limbs falling from the sky. My flesh crept.’
‘It was meant to, my dear,’ said the magician. But he spoke without his usual relish. ‘You would prefer me to do disappearances and read minds? You don’t like to think of me killing people?’
‘But that is what you did, isn’t it, Major?’ said Tom, sensing the time had come for a final explanation. Helen and he had talked about this moment before they arrived at the theatre, wondering how to get round to the subject. Now Marmont was giving them an opening, perhaps deliberately, by his talk of killing people.
‘It was you and not Anthony Smight who killed Eustace Flask.’
Marmont nodded.
‘I was present when he was killed. It was an accident, if you can believe me. On that morning after I’d called at his house I did indeed go in pursuit of him, though I didn’t intend to. By chance I glimpsed his bright green coat as I was crossing the Elvet Bridge. He was walking down below on the river path. He saw me coming and turned aside. I confronted him in a kind of clearing in the woods and demanded he return to me the cursed Dagger. I was not frightened of Flask but I believe he was frightened of me. He drew out the Dagger and brandished it before my face. I moved to defend myself. It is many years since I was in the army, many years since my life has been in danger, but there are things which you learn and never forget. We tussled. Somehow in the struggle he was slashed across the throat. I have mentioned the dark history of the Lucknow Dagger. Lal had killed his own brother with it. It was why he fled his home. I have described before how the implement seemed to have a malign life
of its own. And so it seemed in my struggle with Eustace Flask. I did not mean to kill him but he died nonetheless. I leaped back, horrified, as he tumbled to the ground with his fatal wound. I am afraid to confess that, in the heat and confusion of the moment, I did not do the honourable thing . . .’
‘Which was . . .?’
‘I should have stood my ground and waited for the arrival of the law. Instead I seized the Dagger and wiped at it with a handkerchief which Flask had dropped. Then I ran, taking both Dagger and handkerchief. I made some feeble amends to Flask later by paying for the mourners at his funeral. But I had no idea you were anywhere near the scene of his death, Helen.’
‘Smight was also nearby,’ said Helen. ‘He knew or suspected you had done it. He was going to meet Eustace Flask. He told me so when he was keeping me prisoner in the Palace of Varieties.’
‘Anthony Smight was a rival of mine from the Lucknow days. He maintained I had stolen his girl from him. That girl, Padma, became my beloved wife and mother to my boys. Smight had always nursed a grudge against me. If he was having a rendezvous with Flask it was no doubt to help the medium in his strategy of revenge. But he arrived too late. Although he did steal Flask’s cravat-pin, perhaps thinking to use it in an attempt to blackmail me.’
‘I understand now why you sent the box with the Dagger to the police station,’ said Tom.
‘I was appalled when I heard that you, Helen, had been apprehended,’ said the Major.
‘Though you pretended not to know about it.’
‘There was a good deal I pretended not to know. I sent the Dagger and the bloodstained handkerchief to Harcourt together with the note proclaiming your innocence. I thought it would be sufficient to exonerate you without incriminating myself. I resorted to the childish trick of penning a nearly illiterate note—’
‘Which you knew was anonymous,’ said Tom. ‘I remember you told us it was anonymous yet neither of us had said it was.’
‘Not very conclusive, I should think,’ said the Major. ‘Most notes of that style sent to the police are likely to be anonymous.’
‘But the box smelt of those cigarettes which you are smoking at the moment,’ said Helen. ‘It made me think of you at once.’
‘Ah, the Luxor. Produced by the Alexandria Company of Artillery Lane, you know. Well, it was decent of you not to pass on your suspicions to Harcourt.’
‘And then the hunt switched to Smight,’ said Tom. ‘Because he had carried out several murders already and intended to do more, it was natural that he should be thought responsible for Flask’s. Whether you intended it or not, it was a piece of distraction like a conjuring trick. People stopped looking in the right direction.’
‘I admit that Smight’s arrest sat on my conscience,’ said the Major. ‘If he had been tried for the murder of Eustace Flask, I am not sure what I would have done. But he was sentenced for quite a different offence. And so everyone assumes that he did for Flask too. Except you, my dear friends.’
‘Yes,’ said Tom.
‘Are you going to inform on me?’
‘You are a client of Scott, Lye & Mackenzie. I suppose this counts as a privileged communication. As you say, a man has already been executed. It is difficult to mourn for Flask. He was an unscrupulous man.’
‘That is hardly cause for a death sentence. But I thank you for . . . for a kind of absolution. In any case, I and my troupe are not intending to remain in England. This was our last, positively our last, performance. We are returning to India. My brother-in-law Mr Gopal will be happy to see his homeland once more. And I cannot tell you how much I long to go back to the country of my earlier days. I have been considering exploring further. They say that in Tibet there is a sect whose members live until they are two hundred years old. That would be some trick, eh?’
Their conversation was interrupted by the return of Dilip Gopal and Alfred, Albert and Arthur from their supper in the chop-house. The immaculately suited Indian shook hands with Tom and Helen and the boys stood in a dutiful line.
‘Now, how should we end the story?’ said the Major.
He glanced towards the Goldoni Cabinet. It was rather larger than the Perseus Cabinet, and decorated in black and gold. It was surmounted with a kind of prow which suggested a Venetian gondola.
‘I would appreciate it very much if you were to be the first witnesses to my latest creation. Please . . . examine it.’
He opened the double doors. Tom and Helen together inspected the interior of the Goldoni Cabinet. There was a gas lantern burning in the interior but there were no mirrors as far as they could see. The walls were lined in rich paper but there was a lack of hidden compartments, of secret doors. They walked round it and, again, it seemed to be a solid construction.
When they had finished their inspection, the Major said, ‘It’s a piece of work. I tell you, this will set the world of magic by the ears. People will talk about this trick for years to come. Now, boys, I think that there is room for all of you to fit in together.’
And, obediently, Alfred and Arthur and Albert filed into the Goldoni Cabinet, and Marmont closed the doors upon them.
‘Usually, of course, you would be hearing some distracting music at this point to mask . . . well, whatever it is that needs masking. But there are no distractions here.’
He waved his arms in the direction of the cabinet. Mr Gopal opened the double doors to reveal the interior, empty. The boys were nowhere in sight. Tom and Helen were stuck between bewilderment and admiration. They had been standing only about a dozen feet away. How had the trick been accomplished?
‘Now, Mr Gopal, if you please.’
The Indian stepped into the cabinet and shut the doors upon himself. The Major allowed a few moments to pass before opening them again. Mr Gopal too had vanished. Helen gasped. Tom rubbed his eyes. He wondered if they were the subjects of some mesmeric process.
As if he could read their minds – which perhaps he could – Marmont said, ‘There is no mental manipulation here, Mr and Mrs Ansell. No hypnotism or forced hallucination. What you are seeing is real. Real but a trick. Like all the best tricks it is clever and simple at the same time. Now it is my turn.’
He put on his solar topi to signal his departure.
‘Wait a moment, Major,’ said Helen.
‘At least call me Sebastian once, my dear.’
‘Are we going to see you again, Sebastian?’
‘You might if you visit India. But I don’t think you’ll see me again in the Egyptian Hall or in Piccadilly – or Regent’s Street or Lambeth, for that matter.’
‘You sound as if you are going off on an expedition,’ said Tom. ‘A voyage.’
‘The voyage of illusion,’ said Sebastian Marmont. Then he laughed. ‘There, isn’t that the kind of thing you would expect a stage magician to say? A good example of professional patter. Now –’
He bent forward and gave Helen a peck on the cheek. He stuck out a manly hand for Tom to grasp. Then he stepped up into the empty Goldoni Cabinet. ‘I shall close the doors. Allow me, oh, say five seconds to make my dispensations. Then you may have a look.’
The doors clicked to. The lights in the preparation room flickered, as if blown by a draught. Aloud, Helen and Tom counted to five. As one they moved towards the cabinet. They opened the double doors. They peered inside.
The gaslight within burned as bright as ever.
But the Major had gone.
Table of Contents
Cover
Recent Titles from Philip Gooden
The Durham Deception
Copyright
Dedication
Act One
67, Tullis Street
Abercrombie Road
The Mission
Death by Water
Penharbour Lane
Act Two
On the Train to Durham
Colt House
Flask’s Family
By the River Wear
The Cathedral Precincts
The Military Magician
The House in Old Elvet
Before the Performance
Act Three
After the Trick
The Medium Departs
Durham Gaol
The Perseus Cabinet
The Police-House
The Return
Teatime Confession
The Visitor from the Yard
The Lucknow Dagger
Visiting the Chemist
Act Four
The Railway Station
The Palace of Varieties
Levitation
The Trial
Execution
What About the Others?
Act Five
Another Disappearance
The Durham Deception Page 27
