“I believe you’re exaggerating our abilities.”
She tugged at the fingers of one of her gloves. “I doubt it, Mr. Hardeen. I was there when the lion escaped. I saw what your brother did—what both of you did.”
“That was Harry’s plan. I simply executed it.”
She touched her lips with a linen napkin. “Why do you hide your light, Mr. Hardeen? For a man in show business, you’re strangely unassuming. Silent Felsden seems to expect a government proclamation every time he figures out how to load a rabbit into a top hat. Malcolm Valletin once spent a good forty minutes showing me how he rigged the vanishing candelabra with two extra flames. But when you trap an escaped lion, you claim it was someone else’s doing.”
“I told you—”
“Yes. I know. I know how brave and clever your brother is. He’s told me so himself, three or four times. But your brother isn’t the one stifling an urge to be elsewhere while I drink a cup of tea, so let’s talk about you.”
“Miss Wynn, I—”
“It’s a hobby of mine, you see. Gathering life stories. But you strike me as a bit of a challenge. You’re a puzzle with a missing piece. Let’s try to solve it, shall we? Are you married, Mr. Hardeen?”
“I—I have not yet had that good fortune, no.”
“A handsome fellow such as yourself? You must surely have had your opportunities by now. Still, you’re quite young yet. A bit shy, are you? Or perhaps you just haven’t found the right girl.”
“I’m sure I’m no more shy than the next fellow. As for finding the right girl—”
She wasn’t listening. She had leaned forward to peer closely at my eyes, as though conducting a medical examination. “So that’s it,” she said softly. “Nursing a broken heart. I should have spotted it straight off.”
“Miss Wynn, I have no idea what—”
“There, there, Mr. Hardeen,” she said, reaching across the table to pat my hand. “Why don’t you tell me all about it?”
“I assure you that there is nothing to tell!” I gave a laugh that was meant to sound carefree and worldly.
She favored me with a luminous smile. “Dear boy,” she said, “you grow more intriguing by the moment! Now then, was it your childhood sweetheart? Yes, I think it must have been. Young Mr. Hardeen and his sweetheart.”
“This is growing absurd.”
“Humor me, Mr. Hardeen. In my own case, it was a childhood sweetheart. His name was Douglas Elliott, and he was as staunch and upright a young man as could be found in Yellow Springs, West Virginia. Of course, I was a perfect young lady. We never so much as took a stroll without a chaperone, and he came for dinner each Friday night with my mother and my brother. Afterwards we would sit on the back porch and drink lemonade. We were a perfect couple. Everyone said so.”
“And what happened?” I asked, in spite of myself.
“Oh, he ran off with my cousin.” She refilled our tea cups and replaced the cozy on the pot. “What about you, Mr. Hardeen? Did she run off with your cousin? No, I expect not. Was it a bible salesman, perhaps? Come along, Mr. Hardeen. I know a broken heart when I see it.”
“I assure you that there is no dark secret to be told. I have had my broken romances, of course. But so has everyone else.”
“All right, Mr. Hardeen. We’ll leave it at that, at least until I can ask your sister-in-law.”
“That won’t be—”
“Oh, look! Here she is now! How convenient!”
“Dash?” came the familiar voice from the doorway. “There you are! We wondered where you were keeping yourself.”
I turned to find Harry and Bess making their way toward us arm in arm. “Good morning, Miss Wynn,” said Harry, with a courtly bow. “You are looking especially radiant this morning.”
“You are kindness itself, Mr. Houdini.” Miss Wynn nodded pleasantly at Bess. “Won’t you join us?”
“Thank you,” said Bess. “We thought we might have a coffee before Harry left for the theater. He has been up—do sit down, Dash, I’m quite capable—he has been up half the night jotting down things in his notebook.”
“I’ve had a brainstorm!” cried Harry. “Dash, what do you think of this? While Princess Karnac is lying on the levitation banquette, Mr. Kellar reaches beneath his coat for a—”
“Please, Harry,” said Bess. “Can we spend a few moments discussing something other than the levitation of Princess Karnac?” She turned to Miss Wynn. “You’ve slept well. I trust?”
“Oh, indeed.”
“And your room is comfortable?”
“Exceedingly so.” Miss Wynn’s voice was bright but distant. “Quite remarkably comfortable.”
“Perdita?” said Bess. “Are you all right? You have the strangest expression on your face!”
Miss Wynn gave a start. “Do I? You must forgive me. I have only just noticed that you bear the most startling resemblance to an old friend of mine, Mrs. Houdini. It really is quite extraordinary!”
“How very strange,” said Bess, laughing.
“With respect, Miss Wynn,” said Harry genially, “I don’t see how your friend could possibly be as lovely as my wife.”
“How very gallant,” she replied. “Perhaps you and your brother are more alike than I imagined, Mr. Houdini.” She bestowed another incandescent smile upon me. “It was so kind of him to sit with me this morning.”
“I assure you that the pleasure was mine,” I said, rising from my seat, “but I fear that I must now leave you in the capable hands of my sister-in-law. Harry, we really should be getting to the theater.”
“Quite right,” said Harry, leaping out of his chair. “A very good day to you, Miss Wynn.”
“Mr. Hardeen?” she called after me.
“Yes,” I said, pausing at the door.
“I’m so glad we had a chance to work on that little puzzle.”
“Fascinating woman,” said Harry, as we walked along Main Street toward the theater. “Quite attractive, as well.”
“Harry...”
“Mama thinks you’re getting too set in your bachelor ways.”
“I’m not sure Mama is ready for Miss Perdita Wynn,” I said. “I’m not sure any of us are.”
Harry chuckled. “I hate to see you mooning over that Francesca Moore when there’s a far more—how shall I say it?—a far more realistic possibility on the horizon. I think Miss Wynn is a peach. Did you see the way she and Bess hit it off?”
“I haven’t been mooning over Francesca,” I said, petulantly.
“No? I don’t suppose that’s a new necktie, either? I don’t suppose that’s a fresh collar and cuffs?”
I adjusted my collar pin. “I needed a new tie.” I said.
“Oh, certainly, And I suppose you also needed to spend the better part of yesterday lounging in a chair near Miss Moore’s dressing room, searching for occasions to strike up a conversation.”
“It’s a comfortable chair.”
“As you wish, Dash.”
“She said good morning to me yesterday.”
“My dear fellow!” cried Harry. “My warmest congratulations! Have you selected a date yet?”
I ignored him. “Small steps, Harry,” I said, echoing a favorite phrase of our mother’s. “Everything in small steps.”
We arrived at the theater to find Collins, Vallelin and Silent Felsden huddled over the fragile-looking levitation banquette. “Houdini!” called Collins, as we made our way through the empty house. “Hardeen! I think we may have something here!”
Harry and I climbed onto the stage. “We think we may have been going about this from the wrong angle.” said Valletin, gesturing at the banquette. “We’ve been trying something new with Matilda here.”
“Matilda?”
Valletin indicated a wooden mannequin, dressed to resemble Francesca Moore in her Princess Karnac costume, lying atop a thin padded surface. “Watch this.”
Collins rolled the banquette to the front of the stage on its dragon-foot casters. “Here’
s how it will appear to the audience.” he said, rolling back his cuffs. “Mr. Kellar will set the scene, speaking of the ancient miracle of levitation and so on. Miss Moore will step from the wings and allow herself to be placed into a hypnotic state.” Collins waved his hands over the mannequin’s face, as though placing it into a trance. “Next, we cover her with this large buckram cloth—”
“Why the cloth?” Harry asked.
“To hide the wires, of course.”
Harry folded his arms. “I know that, Mr. Collins. I meant, what’s the sell?”
“Harry’s right,” I said. “There should be a reason why the Princess is being hidden from view. Otherwise, when the audience sees her being covered up, it may break the spell. They’re likely to ask themselves why she’s being hidden. They’ll assume that it’s part of the secret of the trick. If we could—”
“There must be a story,” Harry insisted. “If we could suggest a reason for the cloth without interrupting the story—”
“I see what you mean,” said Collins. “All right. What about this? The beautiful Princess Karnac is fleeing from an evil Pasha who wants to make her his bride. You should like that, Houdini. It’s just like your Substitution Trunk.”
“A Pasha?” asked Harry.
“Why not?”
“Isn’t that Turkish? I thought the Princess was Indian.”
Collins sighed. “A travelling Pasha, perhaps. In any case, the princess is forced to flee to preserve her maidenhood, and seeks the protection of the powerful wizard—Mr. Kellar.”
“Good,” said Valletin. “He’ll like that.”
Silent Felsden nodded his agreement.
“We’ll build the whole effect around it,” Collins continued. “No sooner does the princess arrive than we hear the Pasha’s men banging at the door. What does Kellar do? He throws his cloak over her, hiding her from view.”
“Excellent!” cried Harry.
“But the Pasha’s men storm in, and just as they are about to discover the hiding place of the Princess, the wizard waves his hands and causes her to float away to safety.”
“Leaving the Pasha’s men astonished and fearful,” added Harry. “Very good, Mr. Collins.”
“I’m sure Mr. Kellar will improve upon it,” said Collins briskly. “He generally does. Now, have a look at what Silent Felsden has for us.” Collins lifted the mannequin to show an intricate harness fashioned from leather, metal and whalebone. It looked like a cross between a corset and a suit of chainmail.
“How does it work?” Harry asked.
“Watch,” said Collins, as Felsden threaded a thin hemp rope through the harness and ran it to a support beam at the back of the stage. “Silent has a wooden pulley back there. We’ll run it through so that the rope forms a continuous loop. Of course, if this works, we’ll lengthen the rope and run it into the dome.”
Harry and I exchanged an incredulous look. “You mean to say that someone off stage will be lugging on the rope?” he asked. “Princess Karnac will be hoisted from the stage to the dome on a rope pulley?”
“Like a clothes-line?” I added.
“That’s the general idea,” said Valletin. “Of course, it will take two or three of us pulling at once to manage her weight.”
“It’s very ingenious,” I said cautiously, “but has any provision been made to keep the audience from seeing the rope?”
“Yes,” Harry put in. “It seems a bit conspicuous.”
“We’ll dye it black and keep the lights low,” said Valletin.
“But still—” Harry began.
“Let’s just try it,” said Collins. “We’ll worry about concealing the rope once we’ve satisfied ourselves that the harness works.”
Collins bent over Matilda for a moment, fastening the harness into place and adjusting the angle and tension of the rope. “Pardon me, old girl,” he said, patting the mannequin on the shoulder, “I just need to secure this one last—there we go! All right, Silent. Get into position.”
Felsden scrambled up a ladder at the back of the stage and grabbed hold of the far end of the rope, which was cleated onto a pulley near the fly curtains.
“Right.” Collins walked around the front of the banquette, talking himself through the sequence of events. “The curtain comes up to show Mr. Kellar in his wizard’s lair. The princess arrives and begs for his protection. He places her under a protective hypnosis. She will begin to topple backward, but a pair of assistants will catch her before she falls.” Harry and I stepped forward and went through the motions of easing the hypnotized Matilda onto the banquette.
“Very good,” Collins continued. “Now Mr. Kellar hears a noise in the distance—it’s the evil Pasha’s men.” He moved beside the banquette, snatching a tarpaulin from a nearby crate. “There’s hammering at the door. Mr. Kellar hides Princess Karnac with his cloak just as the door flies open and the Pasha’s men rush in. Mr. Kellar is undaunted, he gives a magical incantation, and the princess miraculously begins to rise into the air.” Collins waved a hand. “Now, Silent.”
At this, the wooden representation of Princess Karnac was meant to rise from the banquette and float gracefully through the empty space above the stage. Sadly, this was not precisely what happened. Matters got off to an inauspicious start when Matilda lurched down the length of the banquette with a sudden start, banging her head against the forward edge as she passed. The wooden figure then bounced up and down in the manner of a hooked fish while Felsden struggled to control the movements.
“Uh, Silent—?” Collins looked up at the top of the ladder.
“Give him a minute,” said Valletin. “He’s almost got it.”
But Matilda had now turned head-down so that her legs were pointing to the heavens. As the covering cloth slipped to the stage, we could see her skirts slipping earthward in a most indecorous manner.
“I knew a girl like that in Paris once,” said Valletin.
By now the creaking of the pulley-cleat could be plainly heard, and with each tug of the rope the mannequin seemed to strike a new and increasingly lurid pose. After a moment, by which time Matilda had succeeded in traveling only two feet into the air, Collins motioned for Silent Felsden to cease his exertions. “I think that will do,” he said, unhooking the mannequin from its leather harness. “I guess we need to go back to the drawing board.”
“We could always grease the pulley,” said Valletin.
“Why bother?” asked Collins dejectedly. “Even if we could figure out a way to hide the ropes, we’ll never manage to stabilize that harness. Miss Moore would be gyrating like a top.”
“The gentlemen in the gallery might enjoy it,” Valletin offered.
Collins ignored him. “Two days,” he said. “Mr. Kellar wants to be ready to debut the Levitation of Princess Karnac in two days.” He pushed a lock of hair from his eyes. “Houdini, if you have a suggestion, I’d be very happy to hear it.”
“I’m afraid my brother and I are at something of a disadvantage,” Harry said. “We’ve never seen any version of the Floating Lady.”
“You’ve never seen the Maskelyne version?”
“We’ve never been to London,” I said.
“Of course, I keep forgetting.” Collins said. “Wait a moment.” He darted into the wings and returned a moment later with a large tube of rolled broadsheets. “This is how Mr. Maskelyne’s presentation appears to the audience,” he said, displaying a colorful theatrical poster. It showed a gentleman in a riding jacket and breech leggings rising horizontally from a bare stage. Nearby, a pair of performers in Japanese garb were waving a pair of fans, as though creating a gentle breeze to lift the floating figure higher into the air.
“Impressive,” I said.
“Indeed,” said Collins. “Read what it says there.” He pointed to a small box of text in the lower corner.
“ ‘Trapped By Magic,’ ” I read. “ ‘Mr. Maskelyne’s latest illusory sketch, introducing the most astounding mysteries ever witnessed, in one of which a perfo
rmer rises into space in full light, and a solid steel hoop, which is examined by the audience before and after it is used, is passed completely over him from head to foot.’ ”
“How is that possible?” Harry asked.
“I’ll show you,” said Collins, unrolling a second broadsheet. “Here, as you can see—”
“Mr. Collins!” Harry cried. “Those are the blueprints for Mr. Maskelyne’s effect!”
Collins looked up from the page with a bemused expression. “So they are, Houdini.”
“But—but—how do you come to have them?”
“Professional secret, Houdini.” He glanced at Valletin, who was whistling and glancing heavenward in a showy display of innocence.
“I take it Mr. Le Roy isn’t the only one who has spies about?” I said.
Collins grinned. “You may be right about that, Hardeen. In any case, these plans aren’t of much practical use. Take a look.”
“Wondrous,” Harry murmured, scanning the intricate markings. “The man who created this must be a genius.”
“But it’s even bigger than we imagined,” I said. “The hoisting apparatus is the largest winch I’ve ever seen. I haven’t seen such a device since the Brooklyn Bridge was completed!”
“Totally impractical for a touring magician,” Collins agreed. “There’s no possible way that this device will ever leave London. Even if we could recreate it here, the presentation would never satisfy Mr. Kellar.”
“But why not?” Harry asked. “It seems to have done very well for Mr. Maskelyne.”
“Mr. Maskelyne is content merely to present the spectacle,” Collins said. “Mr. Kellar wishes to be the featured player. Look at this illustration—” he pointed to the two Japanese men crouched beneath the floating figure “—which one of them is the magician? Is it one of the two men waving the fans, or is it the one who’s floating?”
“I see your point,” Harry said.
“Now look at this,” Collins continued. “It’s Mr. Kellar’s poster—just off the presses.” He unrolled a large tube of paper and spread it across the stage. The image showed Mr. Kellar standing upon a curtained stage with his arms outstretched. The figure of Princess Karnac, draped in her loose-fitting Indian garb, hovered in empty space just beyond the magician’s fingertips. In the foreground, a trio of men whispered excitedly to one another, presumably about the miracle unfolding before them. The single word ‘Kellar’ was splashed across the bottom of the illustration, in the familiar, upward-sweeping block letters that he had used for many years.
The Floating Lady Murder Page 9
