The Illusion of Murder (21 page)

“Oh, no, I’ve forgotten the whole thing. All behind me, I’m feeling just fine. Should we join the gentlemen?”

I don’t give her a chance to answer because I need to get away from the cliff’s edge. I am too tempted to give her a shove over it.

A great ball of anxiety rises in my stomach, threatening to shoot up into my throat.

Frederick lied to me about being married.

What else is he lying about?

E
N
R
OUTE FROM
A
DEN TO
C
OLOMBO

Tonight we have a lantern slide
*
exhibition that is very enjoyable. The loyalty of the British to their Queen on all occasions, and at all times, has won my admiration, and it is once again apparent during the show.

Though born and bred a staunch American, with the belief that a man is what he makes of himself, not what he is born, still I cannot help admire the undying respect the British have for their royal family.

During the lantern slide exhibition, the Queen’s picture is thrown on the white sheet which evokes a warmer applause than anything else that evening.

We never have had an evening’s amusement that does not end with everybody rising to their feet and singing “God Save the Queen.”

I cannot help but think how devoted that woman, for she is only a woman after all, should be to the interests of such faithful subjects.

With that thought came to me a shameful feeling that here I am, a free-born American girl, the native of the grandest country on earth, forced to be silent because I cannot in all honesty speak proudly of the rulers of my land, unless I went back to those two kings of manhood, George Washington and Abraham Lincoln.

Nellie Bly,
Around the World in 72 Days
 

29

Magic is on the schedule tonight.

Magicians will take to the stage to perform their acts, and I will attempt some magic myself, in a more private location. I just hope the wizardry I have planned doesn’t come back to bite me.

I deliberately planned my scheme for tonight because the next port is Colombo, Ceylon, where I will change ships for the Far East leg of my journey. Since I will be getting off the ship anyway, the captain won’t be able to go through with his threat to strand me at a port. However, my plan is so audacious, I have to wonder if he might take punitive action while I’m still aboard. The captain’s wrath only comes into play if I am caught, of course.

The risk is worth it because I’m running out of time to search Cleveland’s possessions and unsure what Lord Warton will do with the materials once he has to change ships. The British mission at Colombo is much larger than the one at Aden; he has to take the items off the ship, so it seems Colombo would be an obvious place to dispose of them to officialdom unless he decides to hold on to them for some reason.

*   *   *

A
FTER THE LIGHTS ARE TURNED DOWN
in the entertainment room and up on the stage, a magic team comes out and introduces themselves: Carolina Magnet, a woman billed as the “Strongest Woman on Earth,” and her assistant, who we already know is her husband.

Her husband is the master of ceremonies for her act, informing us that she is the strongest woman in the world and will prove it to us with “tests of strength in which she pits herself against the strongest men aboard the ship.”

Quite a claim since the woman doesn’t appear to be a particularly large or muscular specimen of womanhood.

“Any volunteers, gentlemen?” the man asks. “We need three men true and strong from the audience for Carolina Magnet to test her strength against.”

Three large men, two fellow passengers and the ship’s second officer, are coaxed onto the stage.

Carolina Magnet grasps a cue stick, holding it up about neck level as the ship’s officer is instructed to also take hold of the stick by the master of ceremonies. “Carolina Magnet,” he bellows, “has the ability to use the mysterious power called ‘magnetism’ to create a force that makes it impossible to move her.”

The man steps to the side so the audience can get a full view of the woman and the ship’s officer facing off, each grasping the cue stick.

It is obvious to me that without a “trick” up the woman’s sleeve, the man will easily push her back. But, of course, watching her succeed is the fun of it.

“If this manly officer is able to push the strongest woman on Earth back a step, he will have accomplished a feat that no man has succeeded at.”

“The man will best her,” a well-boozed male shouts from the audience.

The tug-of-war begins and the officer can’t push her, no matter how hard he tries. It’s as if the woman’s feet are nailed to the floor. I lean forward, trying to get a look at her shoes, wondering if they bear some sticky material that keeps her from sliding back, but even if her shoes were nailed to the floor, the man would be able to push back her upper body, and he can’t do it.

There’s a hand of applause and the other two men attempt to push her back and fail also.

I’m really intrigued and my curiosity as usual is chomping at the bit for an answer. To ensure that I get one, I’ve placed myself at the same table as Von Reich and swore literally on a stack of Bibles beforehand that I would never reveal the secret of any conjuring he explained. I know his loyalty toward the world of magic evaporates whenever his ego is excited by a woman’s plea.

“How does she do it?” I whisper. “Please, I’ll die if I don’t know.”

He grins smugly as he leans close to whisper. “If she pushed toward the men and they pushed back at her, she would be easily defeated. Instead, she holds the stick high and as a man pushes forward toward her, she pushes
up
on the stick. It takes very little effort on her part to hold back the much greater strength of the men because she has deflected their force up, instead of against her.”

“It’s that easy?”

“We can do it with a broomstick later and you’ll see. If you push up, I won’t be able to push you backward.”

“Now the incredible Carolina Magnet will demonstrate her ability to use the mysterious power of magnetism again, this time by lifting more than twice her weight,” her husband informs us.

A large dumbbell atop a wheeled cart is rolled out on a platform. The dumbbell, an iron bar with a large ball of iron on each end, indeed looks hefty—each ball is the size of a large round melon. It’s obvious from the squeaking of the wooden stage that a heavy weight is being rolled.

Once again three men are invited up on the stage. None of the men is able to lift the big dumbbell off the cart.

With a roll of drums from the ship’s band, the woman who claims to be able to manipulate the powers of magnetism, a secret which confounds the greatest scientists in the world, steps up to the dumbbell and lifts it, to the amazement and applause of all except Von Reich.

“Child’s play,” he snorts. “The dumbbell is very light, but the cart holding it is very heavy. There’s a hidden latch that keeps the dumbbell stuck to the cart. When the men pulled up on the dumbbell, they were actually attempting to also lift the cart, which weighs several hundred pounds. When it’s her turn, she releases the latch and easily lifts the fake dumbbell off the cart.”

In some ways, it’s better not to know the secret of how it’s done. But from my point of view, the most interesting conjuring was about to be performed—my own.

I slip out of the entertainment lounge when the next magician billed as a master of Chinese rings comes on stage. I’ll find out later from Von Reich how the magician manages to loop what appears to be solid rings in and out of each other.

The ship is rocking a bit from a tropical blow and people are leaving with me, some already queasy, making my own exit natural.

The interior corridor of the main deck is deserted as I hurry down it. Passengers are either watching the entertainment, or in their cabin, while the service crew has retired to get some shut-eye before their early morning chores.

The assistant purser is on duty behind the counter, looking bored and sleepy.

“How is the show going?” he asks.

“Amazing. A small woman bested three large men at shows of strength.”

“How does she do it?”

I lean across the counter and whisper, “Mirrors, it’s all done with mirrors.”

“Amazing what they can do, making it look so real.”

“Incredible, isn’t it? I want to make sure the rug I purchased in Aden made it into the passenger storage compartment.”

He removes a clipboard that hangs next to the key to the storage area on the wall behind him. He sets it on the counter and I put my hand on it.

“One more thing. You keep a record of cablegrams passed to passengers, do you not?”

“Yes, ma’am. We have a board in back on which we post all cablegrams sent over to the ship from cable offices along with the time and date delivered to passengers.”

“I believe a cable has fallen through the cracks some time since I boarded at Brindisi. Would you please check?”

“That will take a moment, ma’am.”

That’s the idea.
“Thank you. I’ll wait. I’ll check on my rug while you look at the cablegrams.”

The moment he disappears into the back room, I unhook the clawed back-scratcher that I have hidden beneath my dress and belly up on the counter in a very unladylike pose.

Extending it as I lean across the counter, I hook the Passenger Luggage Compartment key ring and bring it back, sticking it in my pocket and then quickly flip through the luggage manifest, turning immediately to Port Said.

Lord Warton checked in three boxes the evening Mr. Cleveland was killed. I had been with him and his wife for almost the entire time they were in the city and had never seen them make a purchase.

The log shows the boxes are stored at
B
5-3.

The assistant purser returns, shaking his head. “Everything has been delivered to you, Miss Bly.”

“Thank you, that’s a relief.”

“Did you find your rug?”

“No, but I just remembered it might still in my room. I’ll give it to my steward in the morning.”

A passenger is coming up to the desk and I quickly move away, leaving the ship’s officer a bit perplexed and still sleepy-eyed. I’ve already decided how I will get the key back to him after I search the luggage compartment. I’ll come up to the desk, suddenly stoop down, and rise up, holding the key ring in hand, exclaiming I found it on the floor.

A bit of sleight of hand.

I’d be in awe of my own cleverness except that my stomach is tied in knots because I’m scared half to death by the realization of what I had done—I stole a ship’s key to enter a restricted area and am about to search boxes belonging to a peer of the British realm.

Completely batty, that’s what I am, no doubt about it. My ten days in a madhouse must have turned me into a real lunatic. Why in God’s name would I put myself in harm’s way again?

The real question is why I have these moments of remorse only after I have done something completely insane.

30

My nerves are still on fire as I quickly go down flights of stairs to the utility deck.

Opening the door to the luggage hold, I fumble with my hand until I find a switch on the wall. I turn it and a single naked lightbulb hanging in the middle of the storage area goes on.

Thank God they have installed a newfangled electric light, a single dim bulb, but one that at least takes the edge off of the darkness. Too bad it doesn’t take the edge off of my jangled nerves.

Slipping inside, I leave the door open just a hair and place the key on the inside of the lock, rather than take the risk of losing it.

“This is not going to be easy,” I mutter, staring at the walls of luggage and boxes.

Storage areas are on both sides of the aisle, three tiers, with luggage and boxes stuffed four or five high in compartments of each tier. Each compartment is screened in by a floor-to-ceiling netting that keeps the items on the shelves in heavy seas. When I find the correct section, I will have to release its netting in order to get access to the items piled on the shelves.

Getting close enough and squinting, I quickly learn the numbering system. The two lines of storage areas split by the center aisle are
A
and
B
, respectively, with
B
being the one on my right. It begins with storage compartment labeled
B
1-1.

Going down the narrow, claustrophobic passageway, with luggage and boxes on each side straining back and forth against the netting like a great beast’s innards as it breathes, makes me feel like Jonah inside the whale.