The Floating Lady Murder Page 7

  “What happened?” Bess asked. “Why didn’t he show the effect?”

  A dark cloud seemed to pass over Kellar’s face. “He—he never got the opportunity. Mrs. McGregor passed away suddenly, and Mac couldn’t bring himself to go on. The performance had been all set. The theater was booked, and the tickets sold, but Mac— he simply couldn’t carry on. This coming Saturday night will mark the twenty-fifth anniversary of Mrs. McGregor’s passing. I can’t imagine a more fitting tribute than to perform the Floating Lady at long last.” Kellar raised his glass to McGregor’s portrait and threw back the rest of his bourbon. “I really think I’ll get there this time,” he said. “I’ve been so close so often, but now I’ve almost perfected it. I’ll make John Nevil Maskelyne look like a circus tout! If only—” his face darkened. “If only Le Roy doesn’t beat me to it. Damn clever fellow, for a Frenchman.”

  “I believe Mr. Le Roy is Belgian,” said Harry.

  “Whatever. All I know is that he’s smart as blazes, and he’s let it be known that he plans to introduce a ‘Lévitation Mystérieuse’ by the end of this season. If Le Roy beats me to the finish line, he may well take the bulk of next year’s bookings out from under me. A magician is only as good as his latest miracle. I started out doing shadow puppets and producing cakes from a hat. Do I do those tricks any more? No, sir, I do not. Quaint. That’s what those tricks are. And when one reaches my age, there is little distinction between quaint and antiquated. I’m going to be first with the Floating Lady, and there’s nothing Le Roy can do to stop me.”

  “Mr. Kellar,” I said, “you’re not suggesting that Mr. Le Roy had anything to do with the sabotage of the lion cage?”

  “I don’t know, young man. I wouldn’t rule it out. Not with a million dollars at stake.”

  “Yes,” said Harry, considering the possibility, “he could have bribed a member of the company. If Boris had gone on a rampage, Le Roy’s only true competitor would have been forced to withdraw.”

  “What you’re suggesting is outrageous!” I cried. “That lion could easily have killed someone! I can’t believe that anyone would sink to such a depth, not even for a million dollars!”

  “Someone did,” Kellar said, picking up the broken lock from the lion cage. “Someone filed these pins. Maybe Le Roy is responsible, maybe not. When I find out who did it, I’ll have my answer. That’s where the two of you come in.”

  I gripped the arm of the divan as the train clattered over a series of points. “You want us to find out who did this?”

  “I suppose I could hire a private detective, but he wouldn’t be able to mingle with the company as freely as the two of you can. He wouldn’t know what he was looking for, in any case. You two are new to the company. I know I can trust you. You can keep your ears to the ground in a way that I cannot.” He paused and laid a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Young man, you showed a remarkably cool head when Boris escaped. I could use a man like you just now.”

  As Kellar spoke, my brother’s face lit up like a penny pumpkin. The older magician had not only appealed to my brother’s titanic ego, but he had also placed him in a role he had come to relish—that of the amateur sleuth. Harry stood up and laced his fingers behind his back, pacing the parlor car as though considering whether or not to accept the request. “Your case is not without features of interest,” he said.

  “Harry—” I began.

  “If it is a question of payment,” Kellar said, “I would be willing to compensate you for whatever added burdens are placed upon you.”

  Harry frowned. “My fees are on a fixed scale, save when I remit them altogether.”

  “Harry,” I said. “For God’s sake.”

  I must explain something. Over the course of his lifetime my brother would acquire some 70,000 volumes relating to magic and its history, and he even found time to author one or two of them himself. Despite his vast library, however, my brother could not have been called a great reader, and many was the time I pressed a volume of Dreiser or Tarkington upon him, only to come across it some months later with the spine unbroken and the pages uncut. Even so, there was one type of book that he dearly cherished, and this was the detective novel. He especially enjoyed the adventures of Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who at that time was believed to have perished at the hands of Professor Moriarty. There were at that stage only two collections of short stories detailing the cases of Sherlock Holmes, and I can say with confidence that both of them were in my brother’s travel grip that day. When Harry made his curious remark about remitting his fees, as well as the comment about the unusual features of the case, he was actually quoting from the great detective, heedless of how inappropriate these utterances were to the situation in which we found ourselves. Mr. Kellar had handed him an opportunity to play detective, and my brother dearly loved to play detective. Despite my sympathy for Mr. Kellar’s position, I knew that if I did not make some effort to rein in my brother’s enthusiasm, Harry would soon be making obscure references to Wilson, the notorious canary trainer, and the giant rat of Sumatra.

  “Harry,” I said, “I suspect that Mr. Kellar simply wants us to keep our eyes peeled. I don’t think we shall be required to fight off any poisonous swamp adders.”

  Harry’s face colored. “I only meant to say that we would be honored to give any assistance that we can.”

  “It’s very good of you, Houdini,” said Kellar. “You too, Hardeen. I really don’t know what to make of this, and frankly I’m feeling a bit hard pressed.”

  “Is there anyone within the company who has given you cause to be suspicious in recent weeks?” I asked.

  “I wouldn’t say so. I’m embarrassed to say that I really don’t know the members of the company terribly well. People come and go in an outfit such as mine. I take it you met Collins this afternoon?”

  “Your head stagehand? He seemed a very solid type of person. You don’t mean to say you suspect him?”

  “Far from it. But Collins ought to be able to introduce you around and let you know if there are any rum characters in the bunch. Eva and I—” he paused, choosing his words carefully, “Eva and I have not been terribly familiar with the company for the past year or so.”

  “We shall start with Collins, then,” Harry said.

  “It might be useful to know the names of the most recent additions to the company,” I said. “Perhaps Mr. McAdow might be able to provide—”

  Mrs. Kellar, who had been sitting quietly with a bag of knitting through much of this exchange, now spoke up, having evidently anticipated the question. “There are only four who have joined us within the past year,” she said. “First there is Francesca Moore, who is to be our floating lady.”

  “A wonderful acrobat,” Kellar remarked. “A great ornament to the stage.”

  “Then there is Mr. Malcolm Valletin,” Mrs. Kellar continued, “our new head carpenter.”

  “I hired him away from Maskelyne,” said Kellar with a wink. “He—shall we say—he brought along some useful ideas for us. He’s a clever performer, as well, though I must say he is quite possibly the worst juggler I have ever seen. We’re badly in need of a juggler, as it happens. Does either of you gentlemen happen to—?”

  “We are both quite adept at juggling,” Harry said.

  “Excellent!” Kellar cried. “When all else fails, a man can always fall back on his juggling.” He turned to Mrs. Kellar. “Who else is there, my dear?”

  “Miss Perdita Wynn came aboard in Chicago. A lovely girl.”

  “We needed a singer,” Kellar explained. “The last one ran away with a tuba player.”

  “And finally there is Mr. Collins himself,” added Mrs. Kellar. “But you’ve already made his acquaintance.”

  “Mr. Collins has only been with you a short time?” I asked. “I thought I understood you to suggest that he was above suspicion.”

  “He is,” said Kellar firmly. “I’ve known him for years. He spent some time working for the Herrmann show, but it was only this past March that
I was lucky enough to hire him. I trust the man completely.”

  I marked the names down on my note pad. “Who was the gentleman we saw sitting with Mr. McAdow this afternoon? The dark-haired man with a moustache?”

  Mr. Kellar raised his eyebrows. “Not sure I know who you mean.”

  “He seemed to be jotting down a great many notes. We didn’t catch his name.”

  “Ah! Old Lyman! He’s a newspaper man who has been spending some time traveling with us. You needn’t pay any mind to him. He’s helping me with a bit of a project I have in mind. I’m afraid I can’t say anything more than that, but he’s a harmless fellow, I assure you.” He glanced at the ormolu clock. “We’ll be in Albany shortly, gentlemen. I hope that I may count on you to keep your eyes open?”

  Harry stood up and thrust his index finger into the air. “Rest assured, the Great Houdini is on the case! I shall not cease my efforts until these evil-doers are apprehended! I shall—” He broke off momentarily as Bess, smiling sweetly, looped her arm through his and gently pulled him toward the exit. “—I shall hunt down these varlets wherever—”

  “—We’ll keep our eyes open, sir,” I said, following Harry and Bess to the door. “And failing that, we can always fall back on our juggling.”

  5

  I CHARM THE LADIES

  “LET US BEGIN THE INVESTIGATION AT ONCE!” HARRY CRIED AS THE train pulled into the Albany station.

  “Harry,” said Bess, “you must try not to arouse suspicion. Mr. Kellar wants you to stay alert, nothing more.”

  “Very well,” he answered. “but I shall be ready to pounce in an instant! Dash, we must make it our business to make the acquaintance of our suspects!”

  “The other members of the company, you mean? I really don’t think we should refer to them as suspects.”

  “Ah, yes! I see what you mean!” He gave a broad wink. “Mustn’t put them on their guard! Very good—I shall seek out Mr. Valletin.”

  “I’m sure we’ll meet him soon enough in due course, along with Francesca Moore and Perdita Wynn.”

  “I shall leave them to you. The fair sex is your department, Dash. I should be foolish indeed if I did not avail myself of your natural advantages.”

  Bess, pulling on her winter gloves, regarded her husband with a curious expression. “Just what do you mean by that, Harry?”

  “Frankly, I’m not entirely certain,” he admitted. “It was a remark of Sherlock Holmes.”

  We stepped onto the station platform just as a heavy snow began to fall. Harry and I fell in with the others as the heavy work of unloading the baggage cars began. Nearly two tons worth of magical equipment—some of it quite fragile—had to be transferred onto horse-drawn wagons for delivery to the theater, an operation that required a coordinated effort from every man in the company. Jim Collins directed the operation with the cool precision of a battle general, striding up and down on the platform as he barked out instructions and positioned the loading ramps. Harry’s remarkable strength and agility quickly won the respect of the others, as did his willingness to shoulder the heaviest crates and swarm up to the top of the baggage cars to release the support nettings. I may say that I was scarcely less useful; I never possessed the raw power of my brother, but I compensated with a certain wiry puissance.

  After the first car was emptied, Collins dispatched me to load a set of Chinese painted screens onto the forward wagon, instructing me to take care with the seal-cloth covering so as to protect the delicate material from the elements. I loaded the screens safely and lashed them into place, but as I turned to jump down from the wagon I somehow contrived to put my foot through a brittle Japanese paper lantern. Pulling my foot free, I lost my balance and pitched forward over the edge of the wagon, sprawling face first into the snow at the foot of the platform.

  “Are you all right, sir?” came a woman’s voice.

  “How the devil do you think I am?” I snapped, wiping snow from my eyes as I pulled myself from the ground. “I’ve just made an absolute—good lord!”

  It was perhaps the most beautiful face I have ever seen. In those days, I confess, my head was easily turned by a dewy cheek or a well-turned ankle, but this woman was quite beyond my experience. Even now I find it nearly impossible to describe the effect that her dark, exotic features had upon me. It was as if, in the words of a popular novel of the time, she possessed the power to cloud a man’s mind. I felt my heart quicken and my limbs grow numb. An unsettling tightness gripped the base of my neck and began radiating outwards.

  “Sir?” she repeated, in a voice accented with Italian rhythms. “May I assist you in some way?”

  Too late, it occurred to me that I should perhaps bring myself to a standing position and venture a few words of conversation, but I found that the power of speech had fled.

  “That was quite a nasty fall, sir. Shall I fetch Mr. Collins?”

  “I—I’m quite all right,” I managed to say, rising from the ground. “Quite all right.”

  “You’re sure?” A sense of alarm was plainly evident on her features. “You’ve gone the most appalling shade of red.”

  “Er, yes. The snow, I expect. Very cold. Snow generally is.”

  “Yes,” she said cautiously, apparently finding signs of dementia in my reply. “I believe that is an absolute rule.”

  “Well, just so. Very true.”

  “You’re sure I shouldn’t fetch Mr. Collins? I’m sure he has the name of a physician...”

  “No. No, indeed.” I clapped my hat upon my head, only to send a wet dribble of melting snow down my nose. I brushed it away, hoping she hadn’t noticed. “Beastly weather here in Albany, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Yes, quite,” she said, warily. “Well, if you’re certain that you’re not injured, I’ll continue on my way.” She moved off to join the other female members of the company, who were being shown into a pair of carriages by Mr. Kellar and Mr. McAdow. I watched helplessly as she stepped onto the running board with an anxious backward glance at the tall, crazed fellow wearing a hatful of melting snow.

  “ ‘Beastly weather here in Albany,’ ” I muttered angrily to myself. “Of all the utter codswollop!”

  “I see you’ve met Miss Francesca Moore,” said Collins, coming up behind me.

  “Oh, indeed,” I said. “Made quite an impression on the young lady, I’m sure.”

  Collins gave a hoarse, rumbling laugh. “You’re not the first to make an ass of himself over that one, Hardeen. Every man in the company is sweet on her.”

  “She’s extraordinary!”

  “Noticed that, did you? Mr. Kellar wanted a real stunner for the floating lady. She’s supposed to be a princess, he said, so by God she should look like a princess.” Collins stepped back and raised his hat as the two carriages rolled past. “Miss Moore has been working the small-time up to this point, but once those New York managers get an eyeful, we’ll be lucky to hold onto her for the run of the season. Come on, Hardeen, we’ve got another car to unload. Why don’t you grab that bundle of tent poles?”

  “Of course,” I said. “Sorry about the lantern.”

  “Happens all the time,” he replied. “Oh, one more thing...”

  “Yes?” I turned back toward him.

  “I agree with you completely. The Albany weather is beastly.”

  After two hours, the baggage cars had been loaded onto a series of seven wagons. While Kellar’s train was diverted onto a side spur, the procession of wagons started along a snowy track for the theater. Harry and I rode with Collins atop a pile of bundled costume trunks on the rear wagon, and after a distance of some five or six miles we arrived at the darkened theater. Another hour of hard labor saw the wagons unloaded into a backstage holding pen, where the equipment would wait until early the following morning for the unpacking and set raising. Once Collins had satisfied himself that the crates were dry and secure, he left them under the watch of Sergeant Danbury—a stocky older man with a military brush moustache—while the rest of
the crew made its way to the hotel.

  It must have been past 10 o’clock by the time we checked into our rooms at the Blair-Kendricks, a stately if dark establishment not far from the train station. Harry immediately joined Bess to retire for the night, while I repaired to a small attic room that had been reserved for me at the last moment. I found that I was not in the least bit sleepy, and a volume of Bret Harte stories I had brought with me on the train offered little distraction in my agitated frame of mind. After half an hour or so, I threw on my jacket and tie and made my way downstairs to the gentlemen’s lounge.

  I saw at once that Jim Collins was already seated at the bar, along with a pair of my fellow stagehands. Collins looked up as I came through the doorway and waved me over. “Hardeen!” he called. “I was wondering where you’d gone! Did you have a chance to meet the others at the train platform? I thought not. Allow me to present the other members of the illusion crew— Casper Felsden and Malcolm Valletin.”

  “A pleasure,” I said. “Is that seat empty, Mr. Felsden?”

  “Sit down, Hardeen,” Valletin answered when Felsden made no reply. “Don’t bother about him, he doesn’t say much. They call him Silent Felsden. Me, I’m quite the opposite, I’m afraid.”

  Malcolm Valletin was a broad-shouldered, bulky man of perhaps thirty years of age. His plump cheeks and toothy grin gave him the aspect of an overgrown, mischievous cherub. Casper Felsden, by contrast, was small and rail thin, with a serious and brooding cast to his pale features. His eyes, when he looked up at me over his beer stein, might have been cast of cold steel.

  “Have a cigar, Hardeen,” Collins said, pushing an ash-wood humidor towards me. “The selection is quite good.”