The Last Illusion

“Then why not the new Ansonia building?” I said flippantly. “Or I gather that the Dakota is still very much in fashion. Or a mansion on Fifth Avenue would do at a pinch.”


He frowned. “Not that much prestige,” he said. “I still only have a policeman’s salary.”

I reached out and put my hand on his lapel. “Daniel, please let’s not rush into things.”

“Are you getting cold feet?”

“About marrying you? No, of course not. But you keep talking about children and servants and I’m not sure that I’m ready to give up my own life yet.”

He scowled. “Molly, we’ve been through this a hundred times before. A man in my position can’t have a wife who works, especially not as a private detective. It simply isn’t done. It would go against our whole code of ethics. And I’d be a laughingstock—nasty little jokes about getting my wife to solve my cases for me.” He took my hands in his. “I make enough money, Molly. I can support you. We will live a good life together.”

I stood there, looking up at him, not knowing what to say next. Because in truth I didn’t know what I wanted myself. I wanted to marry Daniel, but I didn’t want to become a wife—not in the way that was accepted for wives to behave—a submissive adornment only good for dinner parties and having children. I wanted to be Molly Murphy, free to come and go as she pleased, free to make her own friends.

“You don’t want to live here because you don’t approve of my friendship with Sid and Gus,” I said.

Daniel flushed. “I must admit that—that their views and behavior could be detrimental to my career,” he said. “But of course I’m not going to forbid you to see them.”

“That’s big of you.”

“But neither do I want you under their constant influence.”

“I’m not under anybody’s influence,” I said hotly. “You should know that better than anyone, Daniel Sullivan.”

“Molly,” he said calmly, “I just want our marriage to get off to a good start. I don’t want to live where you can run across the street to your friends every time we have an argument.”

“You must think little of me if you imagine that I’d do that,” I said, breaking free of his grip. “Anyway, this conversation is going nowhere, Daniel. I am not ready to look at houses yet and I have an appointment with a client for which I must get ready soon.”

“Then I guess that’s that,” he said grumpily. “Very well, Molly, perhaps you’ll be good enough to tell me when you are ready to set a date for our wedding and to start making concrete plans for our future. I’m over thirty, Molly. I want a home and a family. I love you but I’m not going to wait forever.”

He started to walk away.

“Daniel!” I called after him. “Don’t be like that. I do want to marry you. And we will set a date, just as soon as we get our current cases settled. I promise.”

He turned back. “Really? That’s a promise? This will be your last case?”

“I didn’t exactly say that.”

“Then think about it Molly. Think which is more important to you, a life with me, or this constant striving to prove your independence.” He pulled out his pocket watch. “I must go. I’m already late.”

Then he stalked off without kissing me. I let myself into the house feeling sober and a little scared. I didn’t want to lose Daniel, did I? But I didn’t want to lose Sid and Gus and my independence either. Why did women have to settle for one or the other? It just didn’t seem fair.



An hour or so later I was on my way to Miner’s Theatre, dressed in the black-and-white two-piece, which still managed to look smart, in spite of a few stains and rips. My hair was more or less tamed into a bun with the jaunty black hat perched on top. I was also wearing rouge and lipstick, which felt strange. But I had to look the part. As I rode the trolley southward I had time to reflect upon what I had undertaken. I had seen a girl killed onstage in what appeared to be no more than a horrible accident. I had witnessed Bess Houdini’s attack of hysteria on seeing that girl, and her nervous disposition. And there was really nothing she had told me that fully convinced me that someone was out to kill her husband. But I had a well-developed sixth sense myself. If she sensed danger, then I couldn’t completely dismiss it. Besides, it was a challenging case and if nothing else, I dearly wanted to get to the bottom of the Scarpelli accident before the police did. If I was going to leave my profession, then I was going out with a bang!

I went around to the stage door of the theater. The doorkeeper recognized me instantly. “You back again? Lost another shawl?” he asked.