“Why are you so concerned about Harry’s humbuggery?” I asked.
“I assure you that I mean no disrespect!” Lyman cried. “I’ve done a bit of humbuggery myself over the years. I’ve worked all sorts of angles—printer, crockery salesman, chicken farmer, small town newspaper man—I even sold axle grease at one stage. But I never thought of becoming a ‘self-liberator.’ That one got right past me!”
Harry smeared a bit of Tucker’s paste onto his cheeks, hoping to make himself look ruddy and virile under the hot lights. “It’s not an angle, Mr. Lyman. I am the world’s foremost escape artist. There is no bond on earth that can hold Houdini a prisoner. One day my name will be as famous as that of Mr. Kellar. You may be certain of that, Mr. Lyman.”
“Frank. Call me Frank.” He pushed his spectacles up on his nose and flipped back a sheet of his note pad. “You see, that’s just the sort of thing I wanted to know. ‘World’s foremost escape artist.’ That’s very good!”
I settled my cap onto my head and pushed the dangling balls away from my face. “May we ask which of your many professions you are pursuing at the moment?”
Lyman put a finger to his lips. “Can’t say! Bit of a secret! But it’s important that I come to know a bit about everyone who works for the great and powerful Kellar.”
“You mentioned that you’ve worked as a journalist,” I said. “Are you writing a story about Mr. Kellar?”
“Let’s suppose I were,” Lyman said carefully. “Let’s suppose that I were gathering information for a story such as the one you propose. I would have to be very careful to cast the material into a form that his many admirers might care to read, wouldn’t I? If I were writing a story about a politician, say, or a barrister, my path would be clear. I would take down the particulars of his accomplishments and the broad outline of his rise to the top, and then I would set it down on paper, largely without embellishment.”
I glanced anxiously at my pocket watch. “Mr. Lyman—”
“Frank.”
“Frank, the show is beginning. Harry and I are due on stage in a few moments.”
“How very interesting!” He made a note on his pad. “Now, in Mr. Kellar’s case there are a goodly number of events and happenings which would quite naturally make for interesting reading. Did you know, for instance, that he was once shipwrecked in the Bay of Biscay? He lost everything he owned—his props and costumes, his personal effects, and more than $20,000 worth of gold and silver!”
I glanced again at my watch. “A fascinating tale, but—”
“As fate would have it, Mr. Kellar was wearing a diamond ring when he struggled ashore on the island of Moleno. He sold the ring and managed to start over again from scratch! That is the measure of the man, wouldn’t you say?” He thumbed back a few pages of his pad. “But where I would run into difficulty is in describing the actual things that Mr. Kellar does upon the stage. It is all very well and good to say that he causes a fierce lion to vanish, or that he brings about the magical blooming of a rose bush, but the plain words do not convey the spectacle, the grandeur. I would need to know the details of how he manages to accomplish these feats. Like the levitation of Princess Karnac, for example.”
“You want to know how the tricks are done?” Harry asked.
“Well, yes,” said Lyman. “I suppose I do. Mr. Collins gets terribly agitated whenever I inquire, and I hate to trouble Mr. Kellar. I merely want to know for verisimilitude, you understand. It would help me a great deal.”
I put a finger to my lips. “Can’t say! Bit of a secret!” I cried, echoing Lyman’s own words. “Mr. Kellar is most particular about that!”
“But in this case couldn’t you—”
“It’s against the rules!” I continued. “The penalties are exceedingly harsh!”
“Rules? Penalties?”
“Dash, why didn’t you tell me that it had gotten so late?” Harry cried, snatching up his wooden caveman club. “Mr. Lyman, we shall be happy to speak with you after the performance, but right now Dash and I are in danger of missing the curtain.” He grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the door.
“Can’t have that!” he called after us. “Until later, then!”
“Harry, I’m quite capable of walking,” I said as he dragged me down the corridor. “You can let go of my arm.”
“That man is a spy!” he said in a fierce whisper. “Snooping around Mr. Kellar’s secrets! It’s just as bad as Collins said!”
“I think you’re jumping to conclusions,” I said as we slipped into our places behind the curtain. “After all, Mr. Kellar seems to be cooperating with him. If he were after secrets, he’s had plenty of chances to dig around backstage.”
“But he doesn’t understand what he sees,” Harry answered. “He needs someone who can explain the workings to him.” He hefted his club as the orchestra music reached its crescendo. “I’m keeping my eye on Frank Lyman,” he said, turning to face front just as the curtain began to lift.
I suppose there must be half a dozen or so of us left who were privileged to share a stage with Harry Kellar. More eloquent voices than mine have spoken of his grace upon the stage, his charming manner, and his consummate skill. I may only add that his presentations were no less miraculous when viewed from behind the curtain, and that the repetition of many nights of performance—together with matinees on Wednesdays and Saturdays—did nothing to diminish the wonder I felt each time the lights went up. “Once I gain the full attention of an audience,” Mr. Kellar was fond of saying, “a brass band playing at full blast can march openly across the stage behind me, followed by a herd of elephants, yet no one will realize that they have passed by.” He always spoke this maxim as a jest rather than a boast, but I would not be surprised if it were literally true.
Although Mr. Kellar was skilled at the presentation of large illusions, I must confess that I greatly preferred the effects he called his “one-handers”—the smaller-scale platform effects that relied on pure sleight of hand. Many years have passed since Kellar held a stage, and we have grown accustomed to bigger and more dramatic spectacles in our entertainments. In an age when it has become commonplace to see a gigantic gorilla cavorting across a movie screen. it is difficult to convey the excitement that a single man was able to produce with a few everyday props. If there was one effect that may be said to have captured the quiet glamor of Mr. Kellar’s magic, I suppose it would be “Coffee and Milk,” a trick of uncommon charm. The spectacle began as Mr. Kellar displayed a pair of nickel-plated containers that looked rather like cocktail shakers. Turning each container toward the audience, he rattled a magic wand around inside to prove that they were empty. Setting them aside, Mr. Kellar dipped his hand into a wooden box containing brown paper scraps, bringing out a handful and letting them drift back down into the box. He then filled one of the containers with scraps and set it on a stand some feet away. He repeated the procedure with a second box containing white scraps. At this, an assistant came forth holding a tray and two empty glass jugs. Mr. Kellar recited a few magic words as he tapped each of the two metal containers with his magic wand. Instantly, the brown shavings were transformed into steaming hot coffee, which he poured out into one of the glass jugs, while the second container was found to contain a great quantity of frothy milk. As applause filled the air. the coffee and milk were promptly served out to members of the audience. This effect, and a great many others, passed in a smooth procession of wonder that night at the Belasco. From backstage, however, one could sense a perfunctory haste about Mr. Kellar that night, as though he were impatient to reach the new centerpiece of his act—the Floating Lady effect.
Harry and I watched from the wings as Mr. Kellar concluded his penultimate effect, in which an audience member’s watch was borrowed, ground into useless bits with a mortar and pestle, and then miraculously restored. Acknowledging the applause with a deep bow, Mr. Kellar stepped forward into the footlights to introduce the levitation. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began in the crisp, familia
r tones, “this evening’s performance marks the culmination of a life’s ambition. Since my earliest days on the stages of vaudeville and the burlesque halls, I have dreamed of presenting the effect you are about to witness. I ask for complete silence as the illusion begins, for even the slightest disturbance may disrupt the delicate atmosphere we are endeavoring to create.”
As he spoke, the heavy front curtains closed behind him to allow for the final change of scene. Harry and I fell in with the rest of the stagehands to dress the stage. A scenery flat depicting a wizard’s castle dropped down from the braces; the dragon-footed levitation banquette was rolled out on casters; Miss Moore’s costume was checked by the wardrobe mistress; and various Indian-themed artifacts and pottery pieces were placed into position.
From the front of the stage, muffled by the heavy curtain, we could hear Kellar bringing his remarks to a close. “... And so it is my pleasure to offer you the crowning miracle of my career—my finest hour upon the stage—the Levitation of Princess Karnac!”
Harry and I darted back to the wings as the curtain slowly rose. The lights had fallen to one-third to create a suitably portentous atmosphere, and the musicians in the orchestra pit struck up a somewhat sinister melody. As he walked upstage, Kellar snatched up a flowing buckram cloak and threw it about his shoulders, assuming the role of the powerful wizard.
The playlet unfolded much as we had outlined it with Collins and Valletin. Mr. Kellar was seen experimenting with a beaker of some powerful unguent while his apprentice, played by Mr. Valletin, attended in the background. We heard the sounds of a disturbance as Miss Moore, her eyes flashing behind a heavy veil, rushed onto the stage.
A brief exchange of dialogue established the dark intent of the evil Pasha, whose men were immediately heard to be hammering upon the door of the castle.
“Kind sir!” Miss Moore cried. “I beg of you! Hide me from the Pasha’s minions!”
“You shall be safe, my child!” answered Kellar, waving his hands before her face. Miss Moore’s eyes appeared to grow heavy and her head dropped forward. Kellar and Valletin gently eased her onto the ornate banquette.
“Summon my guards!” Kellar called to Valletin as the sound of hammering at the door grew louder. “Be quick!” With this he took off the heavy cloak and threw it over Miss Moore’s recumbent form, hiding her from the view of the audience.
Harry tugged at my sleeve. “Perfect,” he said in hushed tones. “It’s working perfectly.”
On stage, Kellar stepped behind the levitation banquette and began moving his hands in slow passes above Princess Karnac’s sleeping form. The music increased in intensity as the sounds of splintering wood were heard. Silent Felsden, wearing an embroidered tunic and gold sash, rushed onto the stage in the guise of the evil Pasha. He brandished a scimitar while a pair of his henchmen rushed toward the banquette.
“Here we go!” Harry cried, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. “This is it!”
The Pasha and his men were momentarily staggered by a brilliant flash of light from Kellar’s outstretched hand. Then, as the music reached a fevered crescendo, the shape beneath the buckram cloak began to stir.
“Please,” Harry whispered, “don’t let anything go wrong.”
Slowly at first, then gathering a strange momentum, the draped figure rose from the platform and hovered in empty space, as though lying on an invisible palette. Silent Felsden and his henchmen dropped to their knees and averted their eyes, too overcome to look upon the spectacle. By now the form of the princess had risen just to the level of Kellar’s head. He moved underneath the floating figure and swept his hands back and forth, urging the figure to rise higher still.
“Excellent,” Harry murmured. “There can be no possibility of any supports or props beneath her. Not with his arms flailing around like that.”
“So far so good,” I agreed.
Just then, the evil Pasha appeared to gather his resolve. With a shrill cry, he charged forward, waving his scimitar high over his head. Kellar thrust out his hands and a second burst of flame shot forth.
“Now!” Harry cried, caught up in the moment in spite of himself.
The stage lights fell dark, replaced by a circle spotlight showing Kellar at center stage. Felsden lay at his feet, stunned into submission. Reaching upward, Kellar brushed the trailing edge of the cloak that covered the floating form of the princess as a pair of smudgepots erupted at the foot of the stage. When the flash subsided, Kellar stood alone at the edge of the stage, his arms raised toward the empty space above his head. The princess had vanished in mid-air. Thunderous applause greeted this miracle, but Kellar did not acknowledge it. Instead, he shielded his eyes like a sailor on lookout, fixing his gaze on a point in the middle distance.
Harry’s hands were clenched with excitement. “Now! The smoke column!”
Above the heads of the audience a sudden burst of flame erupted. Shrieks of alarm and surprise could be heard as a thick column of white smoke drifted upwards, highlighted by the glow of a tracking spotlight. Kellar’s voice filled the hall. “Cast your eyes heavenward, my friends, and watch as she rises... rises...rises... Now she flings aside the high-flown theories of gravity and science like so much useless chaff. See how she floats, as though on a gentle zephyr, borne aloft by the hypnotic force of animal magnetism.”
The sounds of astonishment rose like steam from a kettle. There flickering amid the billows and curls of smoke was the draped figure of Princess Karnac floating high above the crowd, still lost in the grip of Kellar’s trance. For a moment she seemed to waver and undulate, then she vanished as the light dimmed.
Kellar spoke again from the stage. “Now she is almost beyond our earthly grasp, ascending like Icarus himself toward the sky. Surely the gods themselves must watch in wonder as she floats up toward the vault of heaven.”
More shrieks were heard as a second geyser of flame burst forth. “There she is!” came a cry from the balcony, in a voice that sounded suspiciously like that of Connell, the theater warden. “I see her!”
The audience craned to get a look as a second column of white smoke hovered in the air. Once again the spectral image of Princess Karnac could be seen—more distant this time— nearing the high dome of the theater. “Can we believe our eyes?” came Kellar’s voice from the stage. “Can we trust our senses when they behold that which is plainly impossible? Still she rises...higher and higher...borne aloft by a power we mortals cannot begin to comprehend.”
Again the lights went dim. “This is it!” Harry whispered, as we peered through a gap in the curtains. “Miss Moore has had time to get into position! They will see that she has really been transported to the very pinnacle of the theater! I made this happen!” His face was shining with excitement. “It is all due to Houdini!”
From the stage, Kellar’s voice took on a sepulchral tone. “Prepare to disbelieve the evidence of your own eyes, for now the lovely princess has neared the end of her strange journey. Soaring to the heavens, lifted by forces we cannot fathom, she completes her wondrous ascent. Behold!” Kellar thrust his hands up toward the dome.
“Now!” Harry cried. “The lights!”
To my dying day, I shall never forget what I saw when the lights came on. For the briefest moment, it appeared as if all was well. The draped figure of Miss Moore could be plainly seen suspended at the very apex of the dome. Slowly, as we had rehearsed, the corners of the buckram cloak lifted so that we would be able to see the recumbent form of the princess sleeping peacefully beneath. The effect had been magnificent in rehearsal that afternoon. “It is the best finish to any illusion I have ever seen,” Kellar had said. “It will be the talk of New York!”
Indeed, the great man had been correct, though not in the manner he had foreseen. As the corners of the cloak lifted upward, we heard a strange creaking sound, punctuated by a tremulous scream.
“Good lord!” cried Harry. “That sounds like—”
His words were cut short as the figure of
the princess suddenly twitched and writhed beneath the cloak. Another scream was heard. I glanced at Kellar. His face was ashen.
“No!” Harry shouted. “She’s going to—”
It happened too quickly for action. As we watched in horror, the hovering form of the princess dipped and tossed, as though it were a marionette whose strings were being snapped one by one. My God! I thought to myself. Seventy-two and a half feet!
Harry burst through the curtains and made for the center aisle, with me close on his heels. “Hurry, Dash!” he shouted, racing to the forward lip of the stage. “Hurry!” Harry took a running leap off the forward edge of the stage, barely clearing the orchestra pit as he landed in a heap at the feet of the front row of the audience. He regained his footing in an instant, while I followed as closely as possible down the side steps of the stage.
Cries of alarm could be heard from every corner of the theater, but the audience melted into a faceless blur as Harry and I raced up the center aisle. We had travelled only a few yards when our path was blocked by panicked audience members rushing toward the exits.
“Please!” cried Harry, squeezing between a pair of beefy tuxedoed gentlemen. “Let me pass! Let me—!”
A long quavering scream cut through the tumult. We froze in our tracks and looked upward. For a moment it seemed as though she might right herself as the gyrations beneath the cloak ceased.
“Dash!” cried Harry. “Look!”
Then she fell, hard and fast, with folds of fabric billowing outward like a useless sail.
I suppose everyone in the theater must have looked away at the moment of impact—everyone except me and Harry. We watched in open-mouthed horror as she fell, perhaps hoping for some last-minute miracle. There was none. The falling figure struck a brass railing with a sickening thud, then caromed into a null space behind the seats.
The entire theater had fallen silent now, and all movement ceased. Harry and I picked our way through the patrons standing stock still in our path. Harry’s face was pale and grim, and I suppose my own must have reflected the dread feelings churning within me.
The Floating Lady Murder Page 11
