The Last Illusion

“I see.” I looked from one of them to the other and a suspicion went through my head. Could this also have been some kind of stunt—some way of heightening the drama? But then Bess’s passing out was absolutely genuine. I was close enough to see how horribly pale she was, and how she regained consciousness gasping for breath. And her subsequent hysteria was genuine too.

I eased forward on the chair. “So do you have any idea who might have done this? Has anybody threatened you at all?” Of course I was thinking of the overheard conversation in the theater and the neat young man with blond hair who had pushed past me in the dark hallway. I wondered if he was the same young man who had made what sounded like threats to Bess when he had shown up at their front door and Houdini wasn’t home. He’d be back, he had said.

I looked at Houdini, but I didn’t detect any reaction as I said the words. Of course I suppose illusionists must have to master their expressions, and if he was being threatened by gangs, he certainly wasn’t going to divulge this to a strange woman, or to his wife. So I switched to another tack. “Is there someone in your world you can think of who carries a grudge or is out to get illusionists?”

Harry laughed. “I can name a whole lot of guys who’d love to see the end of me. But none of them was in that theater last night.” He perched on the bed beside Bess and took her hand.

“Are you sure? What about the other illusionists on the bill?” I asked.

“Marvo and Robinson? Nah. They’re lightweights. They’ll never be headliners. And that sword swallower guy they brought in to replace Scarpelli—Abdullah? He was a carnival showman. Nothing to do with us.” He paused, and ran his tongue over his lips. “Now Scarpelli—he could have been a threat. We were in Germany together earlier this year and he said some pretty cutting things about me—how my handcuffs were a fraud and how I bribed people from the audience. I had a couple of my guys go over and straighten him out.”

“You mean you sent men over to rough him up?” I asked, surprised.

“Something like that. Just to give him a friendly warning.”

“Harry, you never told me that!” Bess said.

“I don’t tell you a lot of things, sweetie pie. I don’t like to worry you. But I’m not having fellow illusionists slandering me. What I usually do is send them a challenge—in public. The same handcuffs, the same stunt—let’s see who gets out first. I always win and they’re always sore losers. So in answer to your question, yes there are plenty of guys who would like to get even with me.”

“Including someone called Risey, from Coney Island?”

Houdini laughed. “That old guy? He was pathetic. I locked him in a box and I had to rescue him when he started hollering for help. He was in a real panic, I can tell you. Talk about egg all over his face.”

“But I heard he is a powerful man on Coney Island and he had sworn to get even with you.”

“Maybe he had, but that was a while ago. He’s all talk.”

It suddenly struck me how dense I had been. “The sword swallower they brought in at the last minute. He came from the carnival on Coney Island. You don’t think there’s any connection, do you? You don’t think that Risey sent him to get even with you?”

Harry frowned. Clearly he hadn’t considered this before. Then he shook his head. “Couldn’t be. The guy just got here and you know what? Whoever did this would have to be familiar with my act. How would an outsider know where the key was kept in my jacket? I’ve never had to use it until last night. Had to be one of us.”

“And yet you don’t suspect the other performers?”

“Nah.” He shook his head again and patted Bess’s hand. “They’re both decent guys. I’d trust my old mother with them.”

“Speaking of your old mother, I went to your house looking for you. I hadn’t realized she lived with you.”

“She’s just visiting,” Bess said quickly. “Usually she lives with Harry’s sister, Gladys, or sometimes she stays with his brother Leopold, the doctor.”

“You have a brother who is a doctor?”

Harry nodded. “That’s right. Lives on the Upper East Side so he’s come to visit us a couple of times. And my younger brother came up from Atlantic City, where he was performing to be with us too,” Harry said. “Did you meet my brother Dash? We’re a real close family, Bess can tell you that.”

“They sure are. Harry treats his mother like a queen.”

“She deserves it,” Harry said proudly. “She had to raise us kids alone in a new country when my father died. I promised him I’d look after her and I have. When I come back from this next tour in Europe, I’m going to buy her a house—a real fancy place, just like this clinic. In a good neighborhood in New York.”

“My, you must be doing well,” I said.

“Oh, we are,” Bess said, gazing at Harry adoringly. “Harry gets paid a fortune over in Europe. He only came home to see his mother, didn’t you, Harry? Otherwise he’d have stayed over there.”