by Hayes, Steve
Houdini turned on Frances. ‘God dammit, woman—!’
‘I didn’t—’
‘Mr Houdini,’ Holmes said sharply, his tone forcing Houdini to face him again. ‘Miss Lane came to us genuinely desiring help. She has told us nothing more than she had to.’
‘Then how is it that you know they’ve taken Bess?’
‘That, sir, was deduction at its most elementary. Your close relationship with your wife is well documented … and yet she is conspicuous by her absence in what would appear to be your hour of need.’ Holmes paused briefly, then said, ‘That you have made no attempt to deny my reasoning confirms its veracity.’
‘That hardly matters now, does it?’ Houdini said. ‘The damage has been done – Frankie’s brought you here even though these snatchers, or whatever the hell they are, specifically demanded that I make no attempt to enlist the authorities or anyone else, for that matter!’
‘We did not accompany Miss Lane, but came alone and entered by means of the fire stairs,’ Holmes said. ‘We ourselves were not observed.’
‘You hope.
Holmes’s mouth thinned. ‘I have said so,’ he answered flatly.
Houdini turned and wandered aimlessly across the floral carpet, using his right hand to massage the nape of his neck. ‘OK, so you weren’t seen – maybe. But God help us if you were.
Frances Lane shook her head in despair. ‘Oh, Harry … why are you being so stubborn? Mr Holmes is only trying to help.’
‘Help, you say?’ Houdini snorted disgustedly. ‘You just better pray that your “help” hasn’t harmed Bess or jeopardized my chances of getting her back alive.’
His words had the same effect as a slap. Fresh tears spilled from Frances Lane’s green eyes, and she said throatily, ‘Oh, Harry … Harry, that’s the last thing I want to do!’
Unable to say more, she turned and walked hurriedly to the door.
Houdini, realizing he had gone too far, called after her. ‘Wait! … Frankie, I didn’t mean to—’
Ignoring him, she let herself out without a backward glance.
Again it grew quiet in the suite. Cursing himself, Houdini went to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of water; he never drank anything stronger.
‘The question now,’ said Holmes, ‘is how we should get your wife back safely.’
Houdini turned on him. ‘You, Holmes, do nothing. Oh, I appreciate your offer, but I’m not about to do anything that’ll put Bess at risk. I’m going to play it straight down the line. Still, I’ll tell you this much. Once I’ve got Bess back safe and sound, you see if I don’t make those crooks pay!’
‘Have they made any demands yet?’
‘No, damn them. They’re making me sweat.’
‘Can you tell us exactly what happened, then, when your wife went missing?’
‘What does it matter? She went shopping and never came back. I waited as long as I could, growing frantic all the while, but eventually I had to leave for the theatre. When I got there Ulrich – he’s the stage doorman – gave me a sealed note marked urgent. It said that if I wanted to see Bess again I had better do as they said – whoever they are. Their instructions included not contacting the police.’
‘They must have offered proof of their claim, otherwise you would not have been so ready to accept it.’
Houdini nodded. ‘There was a …’ He cleared his throat, then continued thickly, ‘a lock of Bess’s hair in the envelope. I’d have known it anywhere.’
‘Did Ulrich see who delivered the note?’
‘No. It was chaos backstage. It always is immediately before a performance. He found it on the counter where he couldn’t fail to see it.’
‘And so you cancelled the show.’
‘What did you expect me to do? The key to much of what I do lies in absolute concentration. After I read that note there was no way I could concentrate on anything but Bess.’
‘And you have been waiting here ever since, for them to contact you again.’
‘Yes. And before you get any ideas to the contrary, I’ll go on waiting, understand me? I’m not going to do anything to put Bess in jeopardy. Whatever they want, I’ll pay it.’
‘May I see the note?’
‘I told you, I don’t want your help.’
‘Nevertheless, there may be some clues to be found in their demand.’
Irritably Houdini drew an envelope from his back pocket and thrust it out. Holmes took it by one edge, studied the envelope, sniffed it, then removed the note. He took out a small pocket glass, studied the top edge of the sheet, held it to the light, sniffed that as well, and then read its contents.
‘So what does it tell you?’ Houdini asked.
‘That the kidnapper is an educated man of somewhat more than middle age. He is a man of some standing, but is not in business. He is also …’ Holmes hesitated. ‘He has made no demand yet for money?’
‘No. I told you. Why?’
‘Because he is already at least moderately wealthy. This fact casts doubt on the obvious interpretation for his actions.’
Houdini took the note back. ‘And you can tell all that from one quick glance?’
Holmes drew a breath and explained patiently, ‘The letters are formed in a bold, masculine hand: we may safely say that our correspondent is male. Although he has tried to disguise his hand by writing his demand in capitals only, he has nevertheless employed a most distinctive curvature every time he uses the letters a, b, c and h, among others. This tendency was taught with most prevalency some forty years ago, when he would have been at school and first learning how to write.
‘The sheet of paper itself is of a most unusual dimension – I should say approximately eleven inches by eight and a half. I know of no standard paper size that matches it, but the width implies that it is actually a sheet of foolscap which has been cut down. Indeed, if you inspect the top edge closely, you will see that roughly two and a half inches have been neatly removed with a pair of scissors of medium blade – medium because they have spanned the sheet in just two cuts.
‘There can be only one logical reason why our correspondent has done this – to remove an address with which the original sheet was embellished. Since the paper is of the type known as ecru, and thus of a very pale cream colour, we can assume this is personal stationery. Had he been in business, it would almost certainly have been white. That the address was embossed is confirmed by the very faint odour of resin powder, which has effectively been baked into it during the process known as thermography. It also suggests that he is a man of means, for who else could afford such stationery?’
Houdini snorted. ‘All very captivating, I’m sure. But it doesn’t do much to get Bess back, does it?’
‘Perhaps not. But we begin to build a picture of who has kidnapped her.’
‘I don’t want a picture of who’s kidnapped her,’ Houdini snapped. ‘I just want her back! And the only way to guarantee that is to do what this guy says, when he says it. So … with respect … keep your nose out of my business, Holmes. And keep your mouth shut about what you’ve learned here tonight.’
‘Very well, Mr Houdini, you must do as you will,’ Holmes said stiffly. ‘However, before we take our leave, I would ask you to show some compassion for Miss Lane. She merely attempted to enlist our help for the best of reasons – a noble gesture, given that she would have much to gain if anything were to happen to your wife.’
‘What?’
‘Come, now. It’s obvious that she is in love with you, as you yourself very well know. But such is the depth, and indeed the purity, of her love that she still wants to do whatever she can to reunite you with your wife. I must say, she has made me revise my opinion of the fairer sex.’
‘But … how do you—?’
‘Even a confirmed bachelor such as I can tell when a woman is hopelessly in love with her employer,’ Holmes said. ‘And in this case she has my sympathy, for the burden of unrequited love is a heavy one indeed.’
‘She’s the tops,
it’s true,’ Houdini murmured, hating himself for the way he had behaved to her.
‘Then if you are even half as decent and honourable as I believe you to be, she will have your apology and thanks sooner rather than later.’
‘She will,’ Houdini replied. ‘And I’d like to thank you, too. But like I say, I’ll handle this business their way: no tricks.’
‘I understand,’ Holmes said. He removed his glove and they shook hands. ‘And now,’ he continued as they went to the door, ‘we shall leave as discreetly as we arrived, and look forward to a happy resolution to your troubles.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
A Change of Heart
WHEN WATSON WOKE the following morning he didn’t immediately see the note that had been thrust under his door. He lay there for a while, feeling bleary-eyed and content, vaguely aware by the watery light filtering in through a gap in the closed curtains that it was still early.
He allowed himself a jaw-cracking yawn and then snuggled back down, luxuriating in the warmth and comfort of the bed, and reflecting sleepily upon the events which had brought him to this moment.
It was remarkable how one’s fortunes could change so swiftly, he thought. So many highs, so many lows. He had returned to medicine and found great joy in the experience. But then he’d discovered the true nature of a woman he had convinced himself he was coming to love, and the knowledge had threatened to thrust him back into the deep despair he had suffered following the passing of his beloved Grace. And yet here he was now, warm and snug in a soft feather bed in quite probably Vienna’s finest hotel, having already met the likes of Sigmund Freud and Harry Houdini.
Abruptly he remembered that not everyone was quite as lucky as he. Poor Houdini: his world, his livelihood and his reputation turned upside-down by kidnappers! And poor Bess … being held somewhere by ruthless criminals, unable even to guess at her fate.
He wished that he and Holmes could have helped the escapologist, but Houdini had been determined upon that point. Still, he and Holmes had dealt with abduction before – that business with Melas, the Greek interpreter, for example, and the messy affair of the Priory School – and he considered it among the most heinous of crimes.
But he also found himself wondering what Holmes could have done to help the American. There seemed to be little enough to go on in the way of clues. And even if they did unearth anything of use, they were in a foreign land, dealing with people of a different culture and language.
Of course, Holmes would have seen those as minor inconveniences. Even now he seemed as quick-witted and indefatigable as ever. But like it or not, they must respect Houdini’s wishes.
Watson finally threw back the sheets and got up. The hot-water radiator ticked and gurgled, making the room pleasantly cosy. And that was when he saw the envelope standing out in stark contrast against the wine-red carpet.
With a mystified scowl he bent and picked it up.
He recognized Holmes’s handwriting at once; this time his friend had made no attempt to disguise it. He tore open the envelope and read:
I have had to go out. I do not know how long I will be. Holmes
Watson scowled. Why had Holmes gone out so early? And for what purpose? Had he decided to take a hand in Houdini’s problems after all? He didn’t really believe Holmes would go against Houdini’s wishes, but there had been many times in the past when he had taken matters into his own hands, regardless of the consequences …
No. Holmes had always exhibited a flair for the dramatic and, therefore, the truth of the matter was probably far more prosaic. There was in all likelihood some perfectly ordinary reason for his absence.
He refolded the note and slipped it back into the envelope. He would doubtless receive confirmation of this in good time.
The Renault cab pulled up outside the Theater an der Burg’s stage door. Houdini climbed out and shoved a handful of change at the driver. He was probably handing over far more than was required, but at that point being too free with his money was the least of his concerns. For just when he’d thought his situation couldn’t get any worse, it had … and that’s why he’d decided to telephone Holmes at his hotel.
‘Hello, Holmes?’
‘Mr Houdini,’ Holmes had replied, recognizing his voice at once. Over the wires Holmes had sounded sharp, alert; if Houdini’s pre-dawn call had woken him, he showed no sign of it.
‘Holmes, I’ll come straight to the point. I’m at my wits’ end.’
‘What is the problem?’
‘It’s Frankie … Miss Lane.’
‘What about her?’
‘She’s vanished!’ Houdini said wretchedly. ‘I went to see her right after you left last night. You were right, of course, and I wanted to apologize for my behaviour and tell her I knew she was only trying to look out for me. But her room was empty. So I went down to the lobby and asked the desk clerk if he’d seen her. He said she’d gone out.’
‘Alone?’
‘What? Oh, yeah, yes. Alone.’ Houdini sighed. ‘It was pretty obvious she was mad at me, and with good reason, so I just sat tight right there in the lobby, waiting till she came back so I could set things right between us, but somewhere along the line …’
‘Please, Mr Houdini. Slow down, if you will. I have little enough experience with telephones as it is, and even less patience.’
‘I’m sorry, but … well, I guess this thing’s taken more out of me than I realized. I haven’t slept a wink since Bess … Anyway, the short of it is, I fell asleep, right there in the lobby. Can you believe that?’ He sounded furious with himself. ‘I woke up in the small hours. The lobby was like a ghost town. I figured Frankie had come back while I was dead to the world and not seeing me there, gone straight to her room. So I went up to my own suite, slept for a couple more hours, then put a call through to her room. There was no answer.’
‘Go on.’
Houdini sighed again. ‘I freshened up a little, went along and knocked at her door. I still didn’t get any response. So I went down to the lobby … and learned that her key was still on its hook. She’d stayed out all night! That … that’s when I started to panic.’
At the other end of the line there was only a crackling, hissing noise.
Houdini continued, ‘Well, what with the mood she was in the last time we all saw her, and everything that’s happened since we arrived in Vienna … I’m worried, Holmes. It’s not like Frankie. If anything’s happened to her—’
‘Let us not jump to any hasty conclusions, Mr Houdini,’ Holmes said firmly. ‘However, we certainly cannot discount the fact that Miss Lane’s disappearance is in some way connected with that of your wife.’
‘That’s what worries me. I figured I’d just pay their damn ransom and get Bess back …’
‘You have still not heard anything from them, then?’
‘No.’
‘Am I to take it that you would now like me to take a hand in the matter?’
‘Absolutely. All I ask is that you be discreet.’
‘Of course,’ Holmes replied a little testily. ‘It seems clear that you are indeed being watched by your wife’s abductors, and for that reason we cannot afford to be seen together lest we tip our hand. But I will meet you at the Theater an der Burg in forty minutes.’
‘I’ll be there.’
‘Make a point of telling the desk clerk where you are, in case your watchers make enquiries after you leave. Tell the clerk that you are going to check on your props and equipment which, I assume, is presently occupying space in the theatre’s basement.’
‘Correct.’
‘Then that is where I will meet you, and where we may discuss your case in relative secrecy.’
‘Sure, but what—’
‘Good morning, Mr Houdini,’ said Holmes and hung up.
The cab turned around and slowly drove away, leaving a trail of exhaust smoke billowing in the chilly air. Houdini surveyed his surroundings. He had the distinct impression that he was being watched, but if h
e had been followed he could find no evidence of it.
He crossed the narrow pavement to the stage door. Even though it was still early, the door was unlocked. In the stage doorman’s office, a dark-haired man was rummaging through a stack of old newspapers, his back turned toward the door. Houdini cleared his throat to get the man’s attention, and the fellow turned as if startled.
‘Oh, du hast mich erschreckt!’ he said in German. He came closer, walking with something close to a swagger, his shoulders squared and his generous belly pointing ahead of him. He was in his forties, with a full, tanned face and a long nose with flared nostrils. He wore a baggy three-piece suit tailored from sackcloth, the waistcoat buttoned incorrectly so that it hung lopsided on his portly frame, and he had what appeared to be a homburg hat squashed flat and shoved into one jacket pocket. He regarded Houdini through a pair of round spectacles and then, switching to heavily-accented English, said, ‘It’s Herr Houdini, isn’t it? I am sorry, sir. I was just saying, you gave me a fright.’
‘I didn’t mean to,’ Houdini replied, his mind elsewhere. ‘Where’s, uh, what’s his name – Ulrich?’
‘He has the afternoon and evening shift,’ said the man. ‘I am Marius, sir. I watch the place overnight and through the mornings.’ He cocked his head at Houdini and scratched idly at his dark, trimmed beard. ‘Can I help you, Herr Houdini? There is no one else here at the moment.’
‘It’s all right. I, uh, I just want to check on my props.’
‘Very good,’ said Marius. ‘I will escort you downstairs.’
‘There’s no need.’
‘There is every need,’ the other replied, reaching out toward a jumble of hooks from which hung keys of every size and shape. ‘Your props are the tools of your trade, and as such are almost beyond price. We like to ensure that such valuables are safely locked away … which means that even you cannot get to them until I unlock the door for you.’
Houdini relented, but he was feeling so tense it was difficult. ‘Oh … OK.’
Marius swaggered out of his little office and led the way deeper into the theatre and then down a flight of narrow stone steps.
