The Last Illusion

“Are you sure it’s murder?” the theater manager asked. “Not just a stunt gone wrong?”


Daniel gave me a brief glance as he knelt to examine the body. “Help me get him out of this thing,” he ordered the men standing around him. “Gently.” Willing hands pulled away the bag from the body. It was a young man wearing a brown suit—a very ordinary, respectable-looking young man with light brown hair and the beginnings of a mustache. Daniel opened the jacket. There was an ugly red stain across the front of the shirt.

“Hardly a stunt gone wrong,” Daniel said dryly, undoing the shirt buttons. “Stabbed through the heart. Very efficient. Very professional.” He examined the body more thoroughly. “And it doesn’t look as if he’s been dead very long. Rigor mortis hasn’t set in yet.” He looked up at those around him. “Anybody know who he is?”

Blank faces stared at him.

“Never seen him before in my life,” one of the stagehands muttered.

“So he doesn’t work here at the theater?”

The men shook their heads.

Daniel now looked up at me. “You were apparently part of this act. So none of this was prearranged?”

“A murder? Prearranged?”

“I meant that it might have been part of the act for Houdini to change places with someone.”

“Absolutely not,” I said. “Usually his wife performs the Metamorphosis act with him, in which they do change places. But tonight’s trick was a simple escape. Houdini was just supposed to free himself from the ropes and emerge from the trunk. Yesterday it took him less than a minute to do so.”

“I see.” Daniel’s eyes held mine, as if he wanted to ask more, then he turned his attention back to the body and started going through the young man’s pockets. “Interesting,” he said. “He seems to be carrying no form of identification. No keys, no wallet, no money. Nothing. But if someone didn’t want him to be identified, why place him here, where everyone can see him? Why not just dump him into the river?”

The words were said more to himself than to anyone else.

“And if he is here, then where the devil is Houdini?” Daniel looked up at me again. “Presumably you have some idea how this trick was supposed to work. How could the body have been placed here?”

“Houdini didn’t share his secrets with me,” I said. “I was merely the assistant.”

“There were other acts on the bill,” Daniel said. “Where are they?”

“Probably still in their dressing rooms,” someone suggested.

“Then go and bring them down here. I’ll want to question them.”

The manager looked at his stage crew, then shrugged and went himself. At that moment there was the sound of raised voices, a woman screaming just offstage behind the curtains to our left.

“What now?” Daniel demanded, getting to his feet. “I thought I instructed everyone to remain in their seats.”

Bess came running onto the stage. Her eyes were wild and her mouth was open in pure terror. “Where is he?” she screamed. “What have they done with Harry?”

“Who is this?” Daniel demanded. “How did she get up here?”

“This is Mrs. Houdini,” I said, over the loud, gasping sobs coming from Bess. “She usually performs with her husband, but I was taking her place after the accident that happened the other night.”

“I see.” Daniel put his hands on Bess’s shoulders. “Just calm down, Mrs. Houdini. This isn’t going to help us find your husband.” He turned to the stagehands who had now gathered around the body and were staring as if dazed.

“You men, go and search the backstage area,” he said. “Every inch, every closet where someone could be hiding.”

“Hiding?” Bess screamed. “You don’t think my husband did this, do you? Harry would never hurt a fly.”

Daniel held up his hand again. “And if you come across a body,” he said in a low voice, “stay well away. Don’t disturb anything but come and get me.”

“He’s dead. I know he is.” The words came in great gasps. I went over to Bess and put my arm around her. “We don’t know anything yet. Maybe he’s quite safe. Why don’t you sit down?” I pulled up a chair for her. She collapsed onto it, her face in her hands, her body convulsed with sobs.

Daniel again went toward the audience, who had been sitting and standing in horrified fascination. “Does anybody out there recognize this man? Did he come with anyone here? If you know him, please come up to the stage now. And ushers, I’d like you to take a look at him and see if anyone remembers admitting him.”

The requests brought no response, except for one of the ushers, who commented, “He’s not exactly the sort of man who would stand out in a crowd, is he? I don’t know if I’d remember if I’d shown him to his seat.”

This was true enough. He was the sort of man you’d pass in a crowd and not notice. The first police constables arrived, presumably those patrolling the street outside the theater. They hurried up the center aisle and began to mount the steps to the stage.