The Last Illusion

“No,” she said. “There is nobody of that name here. I’m sorry.” She went to close the door.

“Wait.” I attempted to put my foot into the closing door. “This is the address she gave me in her note. I was told her doctor wanted her to stay here and rest.”

The nurse was staring at me in that impassive way that only nurses can stare. Suddenly it dawned on me. Houdini wasn’t their real name. I tried to recall the conversation in the dressing room. Bess had laughed when I suggested that her husband was Italian. She had said that he was Jewish and Houdini was his stage name and his real name was . . .

“Weiss!” I said triumphantly. “Do you have a Mrs. Weiss?”

“We do,” she conceded, “but the doctor has ordered complete rest and I am under instruction to admit no visitors.”

I fumbled in my purse and produced the note. “She wrote this to me today and asked to see me.” As I handed it to her I wondered how Bess had managed to have the note delivered to me past this dragon.

She took the note and examined it. “Please wait here,” she said. Clearly I was not to be admitted. There was no shade on the sidewalk as I stood and waited, getting more annoyed by the second. Was she going to keep me waiting so long that I gave up and went away? Then I saw someone coming toward me and recognized the well-cut suit, the homburg, and neat blond beard at the same moment that the man recognized me. It was Dr. Birnbaum, an alienist from Germany whom I knew quite well.

“Miss Murphy,” he exclaimed, tipping his hat to me. “What an unexpected pleasure.”

“Dr. Birnbaum. How good to see you,” I replied.

“What brings you to this part of town?” he asked in his clipped German accent. “I hope you are not attempting another dangerous assignment?” He laughed at this, remembering, I presume, the time when he had helped to rescue me from an insane asylum.

“I am attempting to visit a friend who is a patient at this clinic,” I said. “My friend sent me a note this morning, asking to see me, but I seem to be unable to get past the dragon of a nurse at the door. She has left me standing in the hot sun for at least ten minutes.”

He stroked at that neatly pointed beard in a characteristic gesture. “It so happens that I am here to visit with Dr. Asher. Let us see what we can do, shall we?”

He rapped loudly on the door with his sliver-tipped cane. The same dragon nurse opened the door. When she saw who was standing there, her demeanor changed instantly. She was all smiles, almost coy. “Good morning, Doctor. How very good to see you again. Dr. Asher is expecting you—please do come in.”

“There is the small matter of this young lady who is about to expire of heatstroke if she is left in the street much longer.” Dr. Birnbaum looked back to me.

“I’m afraid Dr. Asher said no visitors today,” she said abruptly. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting out here. I got waylaid. A difficult patient trying to get out of bed.”

“Ah, that would be the young man that Dr. Asher has summoned me to see,” Dr. Birnbaum said. “The one who thinks he is a bird? Maybe you should take me straight to him. He sounds like a fascinating case.”

“Certainly, Doctor, if you’ll come this way,” the nurse said, glanced back at me once, then started to walk briskly across the foyer. Dr. Birnbaum motioned quickly for me to follow him into the building. I needed no second urging and slipped into the cool darkness of the marble foyer. The nurse continued up the stairs, her back to me. Dr. Birnbaum followed her. I waited just inside the front door, my heart pounding, not sure what to do next. Find out which room Bess was in, obviously. It wasn’t a very large building. It shouldn’t be too hard. There would probably be some kind of office or command center in which the patients were listed, but I ran the risk of bumping into another nurse there. It was also possible that the patients’ names were on their doors.

I crept up the first flight of stairs and saw plain wood doors adorned with no nameplates. The landing was pleasingly furnished with bright pictures on the walls, wicker rocking chairs, and a large potted plant—more like a hotel than a clinic.