The Last Illusion

On the floor above me I heard a door open, and men’s voices: Dr. Birnbaum had obviously met Dr. Asher. Then the door closed and I could hear the voices no longer. They were both safely occupied in a patient’s room. That left only the dragon woman to be outsmarted. Sure enough, I heard light tapping of feet coming across the floor above me, then starting to come down the stairs. I ducked behind the potted plant. The nurse passed me, her starched skirts almost brushing my bare arm. I held my breath but she continued down to the ground floor, then I heard the sound of a door closing. I was safe for a moment. Cautiously I opened one door after another. Some rooms were empty, some contained sleeping patients. One contained an old lady who sat up excitedly as I came in. “For heaven’s sakes!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing on this train, Mabel?”


I gave her an encouraging wave and hastily retreated again. Then I tiptoed up the next flight of stairs to the third floor. There was a broad skylight in the middle of the ceiling, sending rainbow colors onto the polished wood floor below. If Mrs. Houdini was supposed to have quiet, then her room would surely be at the back of the building. The second door I tried revealed a small, dark head curled up amid white sheets. What’s more, she was alone. I heaved a sigh of relief, slipped inside, and closed the door behind me. Bess didn’t stir. Then, of course, it occurred to me that sedation means sedation. She might remain asleep all day and I was wasting my time.

It was a pleasant room, with a more homey feel than a hospital. The window was open to admit any breeze and looked out onto a small back garden with a big sycamore tree. Birds were chirping and the city seemed far away. I went over and stood beside the bed. Her eyes were closed and I watched the sheet rise and fall with her rhythmic breaths. Now that I was here I didn’t like to wake her; in fact I reasoned that trying to wake her from an induced slumber might do more harm than good. But she’d asked to see me as soon as possible, hadn’t she? She had taken the trouble to write that note from a hospital bed when she was in a most distressed state. I paced the room uncertainly. If I made it successfully down to the front door without being caught, the chances of my gaining reentry were nil.

At that moment the whole thing was decided for me. Heavy footsteps came up the stairs, tapped across the marble foyer, and straight to the door of the room. I looked around for somewhere to hide, but there was nowhere, no curtain, no closet. I half considered trying to slide under the bed, but there was no time. The door was flung upon and Houdini himself entered. He saw me standing beside Bess, obviously looking guilty, and with a roar of rage he leaped at me.





Thirteen


What are you doing here?” Harry Houdini grabbed my wrist with a grip of such strength that I thought he’d snap my bones. “Who are you? If you are some damned reporter, you’ll be sorry you tried this stunt.”

“Of course I’m not a reporter,” I said. “I came because I got a note from your wife this morning, begging me to come and see her. We are old friends.”

“So how come I never met you before?” His grip on my wrist still hadn’t lessened. “I know all her friends.”

“But we have met before,” I said. “The other night at the theater, remember? I had come to see Bess, and I was the one who took her up to her dressing room when she became so upset.”

“So how do you know her? How come she has never mentioned you?”

“We met through the theater,” I said, trying to think of something plausible while not telling an outright lie.

He eyed me critically. “We’ve been together for almost ten years in the theater, and I don’t recall ever seeing you before.”

“Why, we’ve had a couple of lovely talks this very week,” I said. “In fact, she invited me to watch the show from the wings last night. You didn’t see me but I was sitting just a few feet from that trunk. I witnessed the whole thing.”

“Is that so?” His eyes narrowed. “That kind of thing has never happened to me before, you know. Harry Houdini’s equipment doesn’t let him down.”

Without warning he grabbed me again, this time by the throat. He was only a small man, not quite as tall as I, but he was lifting me off the floor with one hand. “Okay, so who sent you? And you better tell the truth because I can crush your windpipe with no problem, trust me.”

“Nobody sent me,” I croaked, because he was already putting considerable pressure on my throat. I tried to pry his hand away. It was like trying to remove an iron bar. “Your wife sent me a note to come and see her at the clinic. It’s downstairs with the nurse. You can check the handwriting.”

“So Sie haben nichts mit Deutschland zu tun, gelt?” he asked.

I could feel the blood singing in my head. “Whatever language that is, I don’t speak it,” I croaked. “Let go of me, before you kill me.”

I don’t know what might have eventually happened but there was a shriek from the bed behind us. “Harry, what in God’s name are you doing? Let go of her this instant!”

He released the hold on my neck. I collapsed onto a nearby chair, coughing and rubbing at my throat.

“I found her in here, poopsie,” he said. “She was standing over your bed. I thought maybe she’d come to finish you off.”

“Don’t be silly, Harry. She was the one I wrote the note to. You know, that note I asked you to deliver for me?” Bess said, “Is that the way you treat my friends?”

“How was I to know she’s your friend?” Houdini looked sheepish now. “I never set eyes on her before.”