The Last Illusion

I gave a nonchalant laugh. “No, tonight I’m here to see the show as guest of Mrs. Houdini,” I said. “I helped her the other day when she became upset after seeing Scarpelli’s assistant lying there with blood all over her. She was grateful and when she heard that the show was sold out for the rest of its run, she invited me to come and watch it from backstage.”


“I see.” He was staring at me hard. He started to say something, then he shrugged his shoulders. “Well, if you’ve been invited by one of the performers, then I guess there’s nothing more for me to say. I’ll have the callboy send up a message to them that you’re here.”

“I’m sure I can find my way,” I said.

“I’m sure you can but it’s more than my job’s worth to have an outsider wandering around backstage when illusionists are setting up their acts. They are so cagey about their secrets that they wouldn’t even allow their own mothers anywhere near them.”

At that moment a reporter showed up. “So what’s the news on Scarpelli, then?” he asked. “Has he been found? Has the girl’s body been found?”

“No good asking me anything, son,” the doorkeeper said calmly. “I’m just the guy who guards the door. Nobody tells me anything. If you want to know that, you’d better ask the police. All I can tell you is that his name’s not on the bill tonight. Now beat it.”

While they were talking I had moved down the little passageway that led to the backstage area. I wasn’t intending to make a run for it, but I thought I might just be able to see what was going on back there. As I came near the end of the hall I heard voices. Two men talking. One of them said, “I don’t know what you’re doing here. I told your boss I’d get it to him and I will.”

“He just wanted to make sure that it reached him safely,” the other voice said. “If what you’ve hinted is true, then this is serious stuff.”

“It sure is. Very serious.”

“Then we’ll be watching your back,” the second voice said. “You can’t be too careful. I’d hurry up and hand it over, if I were you.”

“Not until I can deliver it to your boss personally,” said the other voice. “This is too important to take any risk.”

Before I could move back to the doorkeeper’s booth a man came past me. He was slim, well dressed with neatly parted blond hair, and carrying a silver-tipped cane. He pushed past me arrogantly, not pausing to apologize when he knocked my arm.

“Who was that gentleman?” I asked the doorkeeper as he disappeared into the night. “He didn’t look like a theater type.”

“Never seen him before in my life,” the doorkeeper said. “I don’t know how he got in here either. Must have come from front of house.”

“So you can get backstage from the front of the theater, can you?” I asked.

“There’s the pass door, isn’t there? Every theater has a pass door.”

Of course, I realized that I knew that. I’d used one myself before now. So all those theories about the backstage area being carefully guarded were wrong. Anyone could have gotten through the pass door if they were willing to take that risk. And it might have taken only a second or two to tamper with Scarpelli’s equipment.

The callboy appeared then and was instructed to tell Mrs. Houdini that I was waiting down by the stage door. A few minutes later he returned, breathless.

“Mrs. Houdini says she’ll meet you in the wings, on the dressing room side,” he said. “Come with me.”

He set off again at another lively trot. I tried to keep up, while avoiding the normal hazards of the backstage. It was still poorly lit back there, although chinks of light shone through the closed curtains and the excited murmur of the audience could be clearly heard. I noticed that the locks and tarpaulins had been removed from those mysterious heaps and boxes beside the stage. A tall man in a long black cape, lined with scarlet, was standing beside one of the big crates, extracting glass trolleys, birdcages, velvet drapes. I remembered him as the opening act on the bill: Marvo the Magnificent. He looked up in annoyance as he heard our footsteps approaching.

“What’s she doing here?” he demanded.

“Guest of the Houdinis,” the callboy said.

“Then keep her away from me,” Marvo snapped, waving me away as if I was an annoying fly.

“I saw your act the other night,” I said, giving him my winning smile. “I was most impressed. I still can’t imagine how you make those birds appear and disappear.”

“Magic, my dear,” he said smoothly. “Now keep out of my way, like a good girl. I have to prepare in peace.”

“I was here the other night when that awful accident happened to Scarpelli’s assistant,” I said. “I bet that has upset all of your magicians.”

“Illusionists, if you don’t mind. We are all illusionists. And if you want my opinion, Scarpelli was asking for trouble.”