The Last Illusion

“I didn’t feel like food.”


“You should eat. I’ll ask your mother-in-law to make you something nourishing. I’m sure she’d like to be busy at a worrying time like this.”

“Okay.” She nodded, then seemed to realize that I was kneeling beside the bed with the suitcase in front of me. “What are you doing?”

“I was wondering if we might find any clue to Harry’s disappearance inside this suitcase,” I said. “Are you sure you have no idea where we might find the key?”

“But Harry wouldn’t want anyone going through that suitcase,” she said in a shocked voice. “He’d never let anyone see the diagrams for his illusions.”

“Look, Bess, do you want your husband found or not?” I demanded. “I’m not interested in his illusions. I’ll make sure nobody sees his diagrams. But it’s just possible he kept other personal things in there while he was traveling. So where do you think we’d find the key?”

“I really have no idea,” she said. “Honestly.”

I rummaged through the drawer where I’d found the passport. So that was why his passport showed him as a natural-born citizen, rather than as a European Jew. I thought—so that he could pass more easily into countries like Germany and Russia. Very useful for Mr. Wilkie. Then I looked in his stud box, and all the places where one keeps keys.

“Of course he could have carried it on his person all the time,” Bess said. “The police parceled up his suit and delivered it to me this afternoon. It’s hanging up.”

“And you didn’t go through the pockets?” I asked, marveling at this lack of curiosity.

“The police said they were keeping the contents of his pockets as evidence for now,” she said. “You’d better ask them if they’ve got the key.”

Then suddenly it came to me. Of course. How thick could I be? There had been two keys in the inside pocket of his tailed coat. One was presumably for the trunk, but the other . . . the other could well be the key to this suitcase. It was small enough. And what’s more, I still had them in my possession. I remembered now that I had kept them clutched in my hand after I had picked them up onstage, and then I had—I tried to recall. Everything had been so chaotic. Bess had been screaming. Police everywhere. I had tucked them into the waistband of my costume—and promptly forgotten about them. There they would still be, unless they had fallen out.

“Bess, I’m going down to see if your mother-in-law will make us supper,” I said. “Then I have to collect an overnight bag from my house and I’ll spend the night here with you.”

Of course I already had the overnight bag sitting in the hall downstairs, but it was a good excuse to go home. She accepted it, at any rate.

“Thank you, Molly. I really appreciate all you’re doing for me.”

Houdini’s mother agreed to make a good chicken soup with dumplings for Bess. “About time that one ate something,” she said. “She’s so thin, you’d think the wind would blow her away. A girl should have meat on her bones—like you.”

I wasn’t sure if this was a compliment but at least she wasn’t scowling at me. I told her I’d be back within the hour and caught the El down to Greenwich Village. I let myself into my house and stood for a moment, relishing the quiet security of my front hall. My own little haven away from the craziness of the world outside. Then I noticed a letter caught in my mail slot. I took it out and saw Daniel’s forceful black scrawl.

Molly—where are you? I went to question Bess Houdini, expecting to find you there, but she didn’t know where you were. I hope you have not disobeyed my orders and tried to go to interview Hardeen! Please get in touch with me the minute you read this! Can you find a telephone and call me at Mulberry Street or at home (depending on the hour). I need to know you are safe.



I decided that Daniel could wait until I had carried out my primary mission. I went upstairs. My costume was lying across the back of a chair, where I had left it when I came home exhausted last night. With trembling fingers I felt inside the waistband and there they were—two small keys. Triumphant, I went across the street to find Sid and Gus getting ready to go out to an early supper before the theater. I never failed to be struck by the differences in other peoples’ lives. Their biggest concern was whether the feather in their headdress matched the green of their gown, whereas it always seemed that I carried an enormous weight of worry on my shoulders—either for myself or for one of my clients.

“Molly, I thought you were off to Atlantic City,” Gus said as she opened the door to me. “That was a flying visit.”