Chapter 17
Holmes woke first, and didn’t hesitate to wake me.
Giving me a shake, he said, “Rise and shine,Wiggins. We’re only two hours from Boston. I trust you had a good sleep.”
“Topping.” My first normal breath of the day brought me the aroma of Latakia tobacco. “Why did you wake me so damned early? I could have used those two hours. I was dreaming I was at my desk at the Free Press and writing my article. I was almost done, and now I’ve forgotten everything I wrote.”
“Lamentable, but we need to conference. It’s rapidly becoming abundantly clear that Becker is somehow involved in Houdini’s death. He is extremely dangerous, and whereabouts unknown. I sense a conspiracy, and not just one of angry mediums.”
“I agree. The fact that both Becker and Schmidt called you a Jew certainly screams anti-Semitism. And the fact that Becker has at least two men working for him worries me. There could be any number more.”
Holmes took another pull on his pipe before answering. “I’m also curious about why Becker’s hunting Rose. She was one of Houdini’s investigators, but only one of five. Is Becker pursuing them, too?”
“The only way to be sure is to contact them. Do you think Rose might know who the others are?”
“We’ll have to ask her. Speaking of Rose, I have no idea how long it takes a woman to get ready in the morning, but there are two of them, and I want to breakfast before the train arrives in Boston. Should I wake them now?”
“I expect they’re going to hate you for such a short night, but, judging from my years with Violet, it’s going to take them a while to get presentable. Just keep me out of it, and don’t tell them what I said. If you do, I’ll deny everything.”
“I’m a bachelor, and an old one at that. I can be excused for not knowing any better.”
“That at least has the ring of plausibility,” I said with a yawn. “Don’t be surprised if I’m kipping when you get back.”
“Indeed? Then don’t be surprised when I douse you with cold water to wake you up. We have no time for such luxuries, Wiggins.”
I knew he meant it, so I reluctantly climbed out of my berth. I desperately wanted to shower, but felt more than a frisson about leaving the room. If Becker could be anywhere, there was no reason he couldn’t be on the same train with us. Maybe even in the shower. I sensed a strange symmetry at work, with Becker balanced against Holmes and me, each mirroring the other’s actions. Somehow we were locked together with Becker the way Holmes and Moriarty were at Reichenbach Falls, and I certainly didn’t want to be the one to take the plunge.
I looked into the mirror and didn’t like what I saw. My grooming bag was in Violet’s room. Scowling at myself, I settled on washing my face with cold water and brushing my teeth with my forefinger. The day’s growth of beard dappled my cheeks with specks of gray. At least I didn’t have to turn my underwear inside out, or wear the same shirt.
I heard the door unlock, and Holmes stepped in. “They told me to come back in an hour. What could possibly take them that long?”
“You can be sure they’re both mortified they can’t take a shower—and to be honest, I’m with them on that—so they’ll take a bath in the sink. After that, they have to disguise their faces with make-up, fix their hair, find the right dress, then press and tug to make sure it looks just right. That all takes time.”
“Time that could be put to better use,” Holmes grumbled. “What do you make of the fact that Herr Schmidt is from Schenectady?”
“I don’t know what to make of it. It could be mere coincidence, but it surely puts him in the geographical area where Houdini may have been poisoned.”
Holmes sighed. “Becker’s reach seems to grow longer by the hour, doesn’t it? I feel I’m playing chess against myself.”
“That may be closer to the truth than you realize. It’s amazing how we keep crossing paths. I can understand how Moriarty felt with you dogging his heels.”
“True, and he was understandably unhappy with my interference. So is Becker, but there’s one big difference between Becker and Moriarty. As evil a person Becker is, and how low his motives when bilking his clients, he gave them what they paid for. They left believing there was a life after death, and the belief was comforting. Other than the opium addicts, no one ever left Moriarty happy.”
“But why are there so many spiritualists and so many people so easily duped?”
“War, dear fellow. Eight years is not nearly long enough to erase the misery of the nations involved in the Great War. Imagine a whole village of men going off to battle together so they could serve as comrades, and nary a one returning. Now multiply that by the hundreds of villages in Britain. Add in the millions of Frenchmen and Germans who died, as well as the thousands of Americans. The grief must have been transcendent for their survivors. Many literally had to believe a loved one was in a better place after they died to continue on themselves, so they went to the only people who could tell them they were right.”
I nodded. “That makes perfect sense.”
“There’s another aspect, too, that’s a sign of our times. Women have been especially susceptible. Many didn’t like it that only their husbands could vote, so they changed the law. The same went for their view of religion. They didn’t want to be told what and how to believe by a male cleric. They wanted to get to the source on their own terms.”
I couldn’t help breaking into a grin. “Then along came Houdini proving the bearers of good tidings were liars. I’m sure the mediums weren’t the only ones who wanted him dead.”
“Very astute, Wiggins. But enough of that. I procured a newspaper whilst I was out. I’ll be more than happy to share it with you.”
I hadn’t read the Boston Globe for years. Holmes generously gave me the sports section. Despite finding little to interest me, I was delighted to note that Michigan’s basketball team had won its opening game, with star forward Richard Doyle scoring an amazing eighteen points. I wished I had seen it. Everyone was excited about Big Blue’s prospects for the year. Otherwise there wasn’t very much else for me to read.
After a brief scuffle, I wrested the front section from Holmes.
Before I could read about Belgium’s Crown Prince Leopold’s wedding to Princess Astrid Bernadotte of Sweden, he got to his feet.
Irritated, he proclaimed, “We’ve waited long enough. It’s time to send some electricity into those feminine circuits.”
“It won’t do any—” was all I could get out. Holmes had already stomped into the hallway and was rapping on the door to compartment D. This time he rapped three times after four. Ever cautious, he had changed the code again.
A frightened Violet opened the door. “Thank goodness you’re here. After you left, someone knocked on the door using the old code.”
Holmes turned to me, eyes wide. “This is very serious, Wiggins. Someone, Becker most likely, must have overheard me when I knocked on the door the previous time and tried to gain entry the same way. Worse, he’s much closer to us than I could ever have imagined.”
“He read your notes when he broke into your room and knew we’d be traveling to Boston tonight. It isn’t too surprising to discover we’re on the same train.”
Holmes put his finger to his mouth and whispered. “Our opponent must be in another compartment within earshot. This is more serious than I imagined.”
“What do we do now?” I whispered back.
Holmes’s silence spoke volumes. He had no idea, either. Finally he turned to the women and said, “If he knocked on your door, there’s no doubt he intended to do you harm. That also indicates he has the means. We have to keep together. Groomed or not, dear ladies, gather up your belongings. We’ll bring them to the dining car. I don’t know to what lengths Becker’s willing to go, but we should be safer there.”
Violet sighed and unplugged her curling iron from the outlet. It sizzled as she wrapped it in a wet towel. In what I considered to be remarkable time, both women were packed and ready to leave in ten minutes.
Holmes led the parade carrying Rose’s bag, followed by Rose and Violet, with me taking up the rear carrying Violet’s luggage. We left ours in the room for the porter to pick up and deliver to us. Violet reached behind her to grasp my right hand, and stretched forward to hold Rose’s with the other. The car’s constant shifting made it difficult to walk, but our little train within the train soon crossed into the dining car. I was very happy to see that several of the tables were already occupied. It was a form of protection. Or at least I thought it was.
We met a porter in the hallway.
“Good morning,” said Holmes, handing him our cabin key. “Would you kindly gather up our bags for us, please.”
“Of course, sir.”
After we entered the dining car, a white-coated porter led us to a table at the far end of the diner and set menus on the table before us.
“I’m curious why Becker’s so intent to find you, Rose. Do you have any idea?”
“I expect it’s because I was a threat to expose him, although I understand you’ve already finished that job for me.”
“Then it doesn’t sound like he’s trying to protect his reputation. It could be revenge if Becker thought you had something to do with our raid.” Holmes paused. “Are you Jewish, perchance?”
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
“We suspect anti-Semitism may be his motivation. I’m sure he must have been livid that Houdini should threaten his operation. He would be explosive if he knew you were Jewish, to boot.”
“Or Rose may know something she isn’t supposed to know,” I said,” even if she isn’t even aware of what it is.”
“Excellent point. It could very well be a combination of both.” Holmes turned back to Rose. “How long did you work for Mr. Houdini?”
“Four years. I contacted him when I heard about his campaign against spurious mediums. I was as angry about what they were doing as he was. I still am and will do everything I can to carry on the work.”
“Do you know how Mr. Houdini began his relationship with Mr. Conan Doyle?”
“When Mr. Houdini first began performing magic on a full-time basis, he knew of Mr. Doyle’s interest in spiritualism and the supernatural. That gave him a perfect reason to send him a copy of The Unmasking of Robert-Houdin. Mr. H. took on the name for himself and added an ‘I’ because Houdin was considered to be the greatest magician Europe ever produced. The book also deals with the Davenport brothers. You probably have never heard of them, but they were very well-known and high on Mr. Conan Doyle’s list of prominent spiritualists. The book showed their fraud. C.D., as Mr. H. called him, was impressed with the book and Mr. H’s interest in spiritualism. They became friends.”
“Do you know what caused their break up?”
“It started in 1922. Conan Doyle’s wife’s a medium, and C.D. wanted to show off her skills.”
“I remember reading about that in the Free Press,” I said. “Doyle and his wife were in Atlantic City to view some new radio transmitting equipment and invited Houdini to meet them there.”
“Yes. They had been corresponding for years and Mr. Conan Doyle hoped a séance would convert Mr. H. to Spiritualism. Mr. H. was more than happy to agree and they met on the 17th. That evening Lady Jean put on a séance purportedly to help Mr. H. contact his mother. Cecilia had just recently died, and he really was heartbroken. He never once smiled except when he was on stage for weeks. “
She stopped and cleared her throat. “Lady Jean practiced automatic writing, which meant the spirit communicated by guiding her hand. In the course of the séance, Houdini’s mother supposedly wrote notes of condolence and encouragement. Instead of converting Mr. H. to belief, the séance left him doubting C.D.’s competence. The words in the notes were in English, and Cecilia couldn’t write anything but Hungarian.”
Unable to control myself, I broke out laughing. Violet glared.
“It isn’t funny. It eventually brought on a sad ending to their relationship. After that, Houdini’s suspicions seemed to grow stronger every time C.D. endorsed another fake. C.D. got angrier at every denunciation. By the end, they were attacking each other as sworn enemies.”
“It does seem very sad, doesn’t it?” Holmes said. “They both wanted to believe in contact with the dead but came up with different conclusions.”
“I discovered I was a lot like Mr. H.,” Rose said. “I have always wanted to believe, too. That’s why when I travel the country to expose the fakers, I always hope I’ll someday find someone who will prove me wrong.”
The porter returned. “Are you ready for breakfast now?”
“We’ve barely glanced at the menu yet,” Holmes said. “Please come back in a minute or two.”
Holmes ordered the boiled partridge eggs, baked Lincolnshire sausage with quince sauce and white toast. I barely noticed Violet’s order of French toast, but did hear Rose order breakfast beef with her eggs. I had never heard of that before.
I gave my order last. Instead of eggs and toast, I settled on the medley of raspberries, papaya, and dark cherries; rye toast with whiskey marmalade—undoubtedly illegal—and a cup of espresso. I also ordered freshly squeezed Florida orange juice, which was a rare treat.
“Have you ever been in a situation where you or Houdini were attacked for being Jewish?” asked Holmes.
“Every once in a while, but only once of any significance. Earlier this year we were shouted down on the floor of the United States House of Representatives. We were trying to get a law passed to outlaw the telling of fortunes for pay in Washington, D.C. While we were testifying, spiritualists arrived by the hundreds to heckle us. I testified that the wife of one of the representatives in the House was a Spiritualist, and I had evidence that President Coolidge had attended at least one séance in the White House. All involved denied the charges of course, and our bill never even reached the House floor. The hecklers furthered my education. I learned some derogatory terms for my religion I had never heard before. Did you know I’m a registered Spiritualist myself?”
We all laughed.
“It’s true. I paid my twenty-five dollars to the Christian Spiritual Union and I’m now a registered medium known as Frances Raud. My business cards read F. Raud. Apparently no one in the society ever noticed that until I started passing out the cards to them.”
Our laughter was cut short when Holmes suddenly sprang to his feet. “Good morning, Herr Becker. I’m pleased to see you. Did you have a pleasant night?”
Startled, we all turned to look. Becker stood five feet away with open mouth and eyes smouldering in hatred.
“I’d ask you to join us, but the table’s too small,” Holmes continued.
“Even if you were alone, I would not willingly come within ten yards of a Jew,” Becker said in a voice dripping with venom. “You have been lucky so far, but we’ll meet again. You have dealt me a blow, but my cause is just, and you cannot escape me. I have a particularly interesting treat waiting for you, Miss Mackenberg.”
Rose flashed a wide grin. “That sounds delightful. I can hardly wait.”
“You missed a great show when you left the Hudson in such a hurry last night,” I said. “You can claim the property you left behind from the Manhattan police. They’re very anxious to talk to you.”
I cringed as Becker’s right hand moved to his jacket pocket. Had we pushed him so far he would shoot at us in front of witnesses?
I mentally sighed in relief to see his hand was empty when he took it out of his pocket. Turning on his heels, he stomped away. Before exiting the dining car, he stopped and glanced over his shoulder. I had never seen a look of such abject hatred before, and it frightened me.
Every eye in the dining car was watching him.
Holmes broke into laughter, and soon nearly everyone joined him.
Becker turned an apoplectic red and left, roaring in indignation.
The porter in white coat came to our table. “Who was that, sir? Did he bother you?”
“Yes,” Holmes said. “He’s a very dangerous fugitive from the law who tried to murder my friends. You will need to alert security to look for him and tell the rest of the passengers about him, especially the ones in the Pullmans. Tell them not to open their doors until the train reaches the station. He will undoubtedly be one of the first ones to get off and will be gone by the time the authorities have been notified.”
“Then I’ll alert security now and see you have an escort when you leave the train,” the porter said. “Where are you staying?”
Not wanting to be heard, Holmes wrote out “The Boston Park Hotel” at the top of the menu and handed it to the man.
The food arrived. None of us was as hungry as before our run-in with Becker, but I enjoyed the fruit medley, especially the cherries.
Instead of eating, Violet and Rose started a spirited conversation about Houdini’s illusions and escapes.
“His shows were always in three parts,” Rose said. “He’d start with some of the usual magician’s tricks, then he’d do the Chinese Water Torture. After that he’d have me come on stage, and I’d reveal the newest fakers we’d discovered in the area where we were playing.”
“I heard he swallowed sewing needles.”
Rose laughed. “He certainly did. He’d down a dozen of them, and then swallow a spool of thread. Women actually fainted when he pulled the thread from his mouth with the needles dangling from it.”
“How on earth did he do that?”
“He could hide things in his cheeks and knew how to swallow the needles and regurgitate them so they didn’t cause any harm. He told me once that he felt a sneeze coming on and was afraid he’d wind up in the hospital or worse. The needles could have killed him.”
“How exciting,” Violet said.
“One time,” Rose said with a big smile, “a man challenged Mr. Houdini to escape from a lock he had worked on for a year. Mr. H. always took a dare. On stage, he performed his act in formal wear with the curtain open to make the escape more exciting. He disappeared from sight into his stand for a moment, then suddenly reappeared on front stage in his shirtsleeves. He walked to the judge and asked if it was all right to open the lock with his jacket off.
“People started to giggle. When the judge said ‘Absolutely not,’ the audience broke into loud laughter. ‘Very well,’ Mr. H. said and went back to lock himself in again. Seconds later he returned to the judge with his jacket on. Everyone got to their feet. I’d never heard such cheering, laughing and clapping before.”
Even Holmes laughed. “He knew it was easier to fool someone when you first get them to laugh. No magician wants an audience staring at his every move.”
“You understand magic very well,” Rose said with a trace of admiration in her voice.
“Is it true he made an elephant and its rider disappear?” I asked.
“Oh, yes. And there even was a huge swimming pool directly beneath the stage. Everyone in the audience gasped. When asked by a reporter how he had done it, Mr. H. said, ‘Not even the elephant knows the answer to that.’”
That brought another laugh. Houdini had come up with the perfect answer to the reporter’s question, and I felt a greater sense of loss with every new revelation. How could a man who lied with every movement he made on stage be so intent on telling the truth about the Spiritualists?
I took a second look at Rose. Her wan smile, the warmth of her speech and the look in her eyes made me suspect my original thoughts about their relationship was correct. Rose may well have wished Houdini wasn’t just her employer.
“He never implied that any of his magic was anything more than an illusion, did he?” Holmes asked.
“No. Only to himself. He forced himself to believe he had supernatural powers so he could perform effectively. On stage he always took great pains to make sure everyone understood that everything he did was an illusion and explainable by natural means. He thought it inconceivable that some people, including Conan Doyle, could be convinced he was actually able to dematerialize himself.”
“All very interesting,” Holmes said in a stern voice. “Now you two stop your gabbing and eat. We’ll be at the station in just a few minutes.”
As if to verify Holmes’s statement, the train slowed, then stopped.
“Are we in Boston already?” I asked.
“Westchester Station,” the porter called. “All ashore who are going ashore.”
Holmes and I jumped to our feet and ran across the car to peer out of the window. As suspected, we were just in time to catch sight of Becker running across the platform and ducking into the station.
“Good riddance. Now we can enjoy the rest of our breakfast in peace,” Holmes said.