Harry Houdini Mysteries (30 page)

“My God, Mr Holmes!” Lestrade cried impatiently. “Do you really think me such a fool as all that? The cells are nothing! That was only the beginning! But if he can get in and out of our gaol cells he can get in and out of anything! Anything at all! Some of the men even suspect... well, they suspect...” He paused and looked down at his notebook.

“Yes?”

“It’s nothing.”

“There, Lestrade, you were on the point of saying something.”

Lestrade cast a wary eye at Holmes and then at me. “I don’t believe
any of it, mind you, but some of the men say that Houdini is a... a spirit medium.”

“Oh, come!”

Lestrade held out his palms in a gesture of disavowal. “It’s not my theory, I assure you, but it has to be taken into account. I’ve done a bit of research on this fellow and the results are very surprising. Very surprising indeed. Just consider the facts for a moment, Mr Holmes, and see what you make of them. Every night, on stages all over the world, Houdini allows himself to be tied up, wrapped in chains, nailed into packing crates, and I don’t know what all, and he always gets free! Now what does that suggest to you?”

“Great skill and technical proficiency?”

“Perhaps, but don’t you find it in the least strange that he never fails? Not once? Can you say the same?” Here Lestrade was referring, rather indelicately I thought, to the theft of the black pearl of the Borgias, an affair which even Holmes had been unable to penetrate. Though he would soon recover the pearl in a case I have recorded elsewhere,
^*
the matter weighed heavily on him at present. I realised then how great was Lestrade’s sensitivity over the issue at hand, for he was never one to open old wounds.

Holmes reached into the scuttle and threw a lump of sea coal onto the hearth. “Occasionally my methods fail me,” he observed quietly, “but then, I receive no assistance from the other world.”

Lestrade looked away quickly. “I didn’t mean to give offence, Mr Holmes, I’m simply asking you to keep an open mind to this thing, as I’ve done.” He flipped through the pages in his book. “Now, there’s a group in America that calls itself the Society for Psychic Research. These aren’t witch-doctors in this group, they’re scientists and doctors, reasonable sorts like you and me. This society swears up and down that Houdini achieves his effects through psychic means. They say no other explanation is possible.”

“And what of Houdini himself? Does he claim to traffic with the spirits?”

“No, he’s denied it repeatedly. But don’t you see? Even that fits the theory. If he were using special psychic powers to make a living as a
magician, he’d have to conceal his gifts in order to protect his livelihood!” Lestrade gave a nervous laugh. “I know that what I’m saying sounds incredible, but two days ago this fellow walked out of one of our tightest cells without turning a hair. No one has ever done it before, and frankly I doubt if anyone will ever do it again. A thing like that sets me thinking maybe we are dealing with... well, with the unknown. Now I’m not saying I hold with all of this psychic claptrap, but after Houdini was at the Yard I went down to the Savoy to see one of these performances of his. What do you suppose I saw?”

“Do tell.”

“It was astonishing. I’ve never seen anything like it. During the course of his magic show, Houdini had his workmen construct a solid brick wall on the stage behind him. There was no trickery about it, I’m certain. The wall was put together brick by brick; it was absolutely solid. And he had it positioned so that he couldn’t get around it in any way, but somehow he managed to travel from one side to the other, right before my eyes! Right through the wall! Now how could he possibly have done that?”

“He was assisted by elves?”

“According to the Society for Psychic Research, Houdini can only do this trick by reducing his entire body to ectoplasm.”

“Ectoplasm?”

“It’s the substance of spirit emanations. What ghosts are made of. I know that sounds ridiculous, but how else could a man pass through a solid substance? At least at Scotland Yard there was a door in the cell, but this was a solid brick wall. So naturally when the theft occurred—”

“Theft?” Holmes was instantly alert. “Would this theft be the crime of the century you mentioned earlier?”

“The same. I can’t give you the details just yet because the matter is highly confidential and involves certain highly placed individuals. But I’m convinced that the crime can only have been committed by someone who can walk through walls. Mind you, I’m not saying he actually does walk through walls, but he certainly manages to convey that impression. So if you would just come down to the Savoy with me and have a look—”

“Lestrade, this crime—”

The inspector held up his hands. “I’m sorry, I’ve told you all I can.
You are not an official detective, Mr Holmes, and this matter is absolutely confidential.”

“Then I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

“What!”

Holmes threw another lump of coal onto the fire. “I am clearly out of my depth, Lestrade. Men made of ectoplasm, thefts of such high confidentiality.” He shook his head. “No, no. It’s too much for me. Watson, would you care to take a stroll in the botanical gardens?”

Lestrade’s mouth fell open. “But — but you don’t understand! All I’m asking is that you come down to the theatre with me and see this Houdini for yourself! Now where’s the harm in that? It’s not so much to ask, is it?”

“I’m afraid it is, inspector,” Holmes said evenly. “You are asking me to enter into a criminal investigation with no knowledge of the actual crime. You are asking me to entertain a theory which accommodates men who walk through walls. I am not an official detective, as you have so conscientiously reminded me, but neither am I a haruspex. Should you need my services in matters pertaining to the corporeal, my door will be open. Until then, good day.”

Lestrade let out a long sigh and moved towards the door. “It’s just as well, I suppose,” he said, taking down his hat and ulster. “We were given specific orders not to consult you on this case. I just thought—”

“Orders?” Holmes whirled about, his features drawn tight. “Orders from whom?”

“Why, the government, of course!”

Holmes stiffened. “What branch?”

“The message came from Whitehall. It was unsigned.”

A high colour crept into the gaunt cheeks of Sherlock Holmes. “Lestrade,” he said, his voice rigid with emotion, “either you are the most devious man at the Yard or you are an unpardonable lummox.”

“What—?” The inspector stammered, but Holmes was already gone, running down the steps to Baker Street, blowing two shrill blasts on his cab-whistle.

Daniel Stashower is a novelist and magician. His works include:
Elephants in the Distance
,
The Beautiful Cigar Girl
, the Sherlock Holmes novel,
The Ectoplasmic Man
and the Edgar-Award winning Sir Arthur Conan Doyle biography,
Teller of Tales
. He is also the co-editor of two Sherlock Holmes anthologies,
The Ghosts of Baker Street
and
Sherlock Holmes in America
, and the annotated collection
Arthur Conan Doyle: A Life in Letters
.