The Last Illusion

Again a quick glance from Daniel told me I had outstayed my welcome. I rose to my feet. “You gentlemen must excuse me. I only came to leave the food for Captain Sullivan. I shouldn’t have interrupted your discussion.”


Wilkie stood up too. “No, no, it is I who should be taking my leave. I think I’ve made the position clear, Sullivan. As a matter of fact this meeting was fortuitous. I only came to New York in person to meet with a man about something entirely different. But having set up the meeting, he’s nowhere to be found. Gone without a trace, you might say. And I have no time to stick around and hunt for him. President Roosevelt made it very clear that he wants me back in Washington later today. So I must be on my way back to the railway station if I’m to catch the ten-forty-five train.” He held out his hand to Daniel. “I can’t thank you enough for your assistance, Sullivan.”

“As yet we’ve nothing to show for it, sir, but we’ll keep trying,” Daniel said.

“And as for you, lovely lady”—Wilkie took my hand and clasped it between his—“should this bounder not come through with his offer of marriage, then you tell him I’d hire you like a shot.”

“You’re very kind, sir.” I laughed uneasily. “I’ll keep your offer in mind.” I gave Daniel a cheeky smile. “But I think that Captain Sullivan can be trusted to make good on his offer to me.”

“In which case I expect to be on the guest list at one of your dinner parties,” Wilkie said. “Until we meet again, Sullivan.”

He gave a polite nod to both of us. “I can find my own way out,” he said and we heard his footsteps going down the stairs.

“I’m sorry, Daniel,” I said, because he was still looking a trifle annoyed. “I had no idea I was going to be barging in on a meeting. I hope I haven’t spoiled anything for you.”

He smiled then and came over to me, slipping one arm around my shoulder. “You’ve nothing to blame yourself for, Molly. How could either of us have known that Mr. Wilkie would pay a surprise visit at this hour?”

“Who is this Mr. Wilkie exactly?” I asked.

“You don’t recognize him from his pictures in the newspapers?”

I shook my head.

“Well, then remember his face for future reference. He’s the head of the United States Secret Service. A very powerful man.”

“Secret Service? He’s in charge of spies?”

“Daniel laughed uneasily. “I don’t know about spies, but his jurisdiction is anything that affects our national security.”

“He mentioned the counterfeit money that you’d told me about. Is that a matter of national security then?”

“It may well turn out to be,” Daniel said. “Enough counterfeit money flooding certain key cities at the same time might be enough to send a financial system crashing and bring a country to its knees.”

“But who would do that?”

Daniel shrugged. “There are still plenty of powerful anarchist groups in Europe. Japan and Russia have recently showed their aggressive tendencies, as has Spain.”

“But the United States, Daniel. Who would have the might to take on such a powerful country?”

“Nobody has the might, that is clear,” he said. “Whoever is doing this is working through subterfuge—agents infiltrating false dollar bills into the system faster than we can detect them. And who knows what other little tricks they may have up their sleeves.”

“Speaking of tricks,” I said, “I wondered if you’d had any news about Scarpelli and his assistant.”

Daniel frowned. “None. I had men looking into it, but so far they’ve come up empty-handed. The man has gone to ground—or at the very least moved well away from our jurisdiction. He could be in Canada by now, for all I know.”

“It’s strange that Lily’s body has not appeared in a morgue somewhere, isn’t it? Surely he can’t have gone far with a body. How would he transport it, for one thing?”

“It’s my belief that he’s buried her somewhere she won’t be found—maybe out in the marshes, so that we’ve no body and thus no chance to charge him with murder.”

“You still think he killed her deliberately?”

“I think it’s a strong possibility. My men did investigate the rest of the performers and crew at that theater and could find no link or possible motive for wanting the girl dead.”

“Or to put Scarpelli out of business?”

He looked at me, then nodded. “As you suggest, to ruin Scarpelli.”

“So you’re not inclined to believe it was mere equipment failure?”

He shook his head. “I was willing to consider that option until Scarpelli disappeared and the body with him. Why hide a body when her death would almost certainly be ruled accidental? And now we’ve had to drop the whole thing. With no body and no equipment to prove tampering we’ve hardly got a case, even if we find him again.”

I leaned closer to him. “So how did the illusion work? Did you get him to divulge his secret to you?”