Bess’s seat was on a sofa in the front, next to Mr. Roosevelt. He rose to greet her when she entered, remarking on her dress—a long blue gown, carefully chosen for the occasion. The man was not handsome in the slightest, but he was imposing. What struck Bess immediately about him, besides the thick walrus’s mustache that drooped over his mouth, was the softness of his eyes, not nearly as serious as in the photographs she had seen. They reminded her of her late father’s eyes—shrewd but kind.
When Harry entered the room, he was greeted with loud applause. He looked around at the filled chairs, pretending bewilderment. “I was told this was to be an informal reading. I suppose I was wrong.” Everyone laughed.
Harry began with some card tricks, and then, per his request, the room was dimmed to near dark. The audience was quiet, leaning forward in the shadowy light.
“I would like to ask you, President Roosevelt, to write a question on this slip of paper—a question to which I shall obtain the answer.”
Roosevelt chuckled and took the paper, trying to balance it on his knee as he wrote.
“I beg your pardon,” Harry said. He reached into the bookcase behind him and handed the former president a book to use as a writing board. Roosevelt thanked him, then turned his back, concealing even the motion of his pencil so Harry couldn’t deduce what he was writing. He then sealed the paper in an envelope and inserted the envelope between two blank slates, which were tied together.
“You see,” Harry said, “that I will now attempt to make contact with my spirit control, who will answer your question, through me, by writing on these slates.”
“Who is your control?” someone called out.
“My control,” Harry announced, “is Mr. W. T. Stead. I shall be communicating with him throughout this process.” There was a murmur among the crowd. W. T. Stead was a well-known spiritualist writer who had died on the Titanic. Bess knew of this control; Harry had practiced using it on her at home. She had warned him it was audacious of him to choose someone who had passed so recently, in such a terrible manner—especially while they were on a ship—but he was committed to the character. Harry closed his eyes and sat in meditative stillness, his palms flat on the knees of his pants.
Roosevelt turned to Bess. “Does this man not terrify you?”
Bess smiled at him. “Sometimes,” she replied honestly.
Harry was completely “possessed” now, by his spirit control. The room was hushed. With glazed eyes, he inserted a pencil between the slates and started writing. After a few minutes his body began to quiver violently, and he dropped the slates on the floor at the president’s feet, then “emerged” from his unconscious state.
Mr. Roosevelt picked up the slates and examined them. He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, very softly, “Remarkable.” He turned to the crowd. “My question was ‘Where was I last Christmas?’ And he has drawn a map of my entire itinerary in South America! My God, how did you know all this? The papers haven’t even published it yet!”
The announcement was met with cheers and great applause. Roosevelt turned back to Harry, who sat calmly in his chair, fully himself now.
“How did you do it, Houdini?” Roosevelt demanded, grinning. “Was that real spiritualism?”
Harry smiled slyly. “Of course not. It was just hocus-pocus.”
“Impossible. It must be telepathy.”
Harry only laughed.
“Remarkable,” Roosevelt said again, standing to shake Harry’s hand. The grin had disappeared from his face. Bess could sense the growing unease she had seen time and time again, when one began to doubt all rational certainties about science and magic. If there was one thing Harry’s tricks did, it was to make people wonder whether they should be believing in something else.
Later, as they were lying in bed, she rested her head on Harry’s chest. “You impressed him, you know.”
Harry kissed the top of her head. “And did I impress you, Mrs. Houdini?”
“I have to admit, I’m not sure how you did this one.”
Harry sat up on his elbow. “Truly?”
“Truly. Will you tell me?”
He grinned. “You couldn’t figure it out because most of it was due to blind chance. The book I handed him to write on had been prepared ahead of time with a hidden carbon sheet inside the front cover. As I replaced the book on the shelf, I snuck a peek at the question, and it was one I had prepared for; when I found out Mr. Roosevelt was going to be on the ship, my man at the London Telegraph telegraphed me a copy of the article he was publishing about the South America trip.”
“That’s incredibly coincidental. What would you have done if he had asked a question you had not prepared for?”
Harry shrugged. “Answered it the best I could, I suppose. Perhaps the spirits really were looking out for me.”
“Don’t say that. Not if you don’t believe it.” Bess closed her eyes, taken over by sleep. “Do you believe you’ll see me after we die?” she murmured.
Harry ran his fingers through her hair. “Mrs. Houdini, if I die first, I believe you’ll see me while you still live. In fact, I promise it.”