Escapade

Chapter Thirty

I swallowed some egg. “Why’s that, Harry?”

His brow was furrowed. “Bess.” He let the door swing shut and he walked into the room. “I spoke with her on the telephone just now. She rang from Paris. She intends to leave tonight. She will be in London tomorrow morning. Tomorrow morning, Phil. I must be there when she arrives.”

I looked at Inspector Marsh. He was smiling pleasantly up at the Great Man. “Forgive me,” he said. “Mr. Houdini?”

The Great Man turned to him, frowning impatiently.

Marsh said, “Who might Bess be, exactly?”

I kept eating. I had a feeling that breakfast would be over pretty soon.

“My dear wife,” said the Great Man. “She has been deathly ill in Paris. Her stomach. That awful food, all those sickening French sauces. She is better now, thank goodness, well enough to travel now. It has been a huge pleasure to meet you, Inspector, and I am sorry we shall have no opportunity to talk. But Mr. Beaumont and I must leave Maplewhite.”

I finished off my egg.

“Yes,” said Marsh. “So you said. You do understand, don’t you, Mr. Houdini, that this is a police investigation?”

Sergeant Meadows was pouring himself a cup of coffee. It looked like a good idea, so I did the same thing.

The Great Man was frowning. Impatiently. “Of course I understand. But I am merely a guest here. The investigation has nothing to do with me. Phil, will it take you long to pack?”

I sipped at my coffee. “Well, Harry,” I said.

“I imagine,” said Marsh, “that it shouldn’t be difficult for you to arrange for someone in London to meet your wife. I-”

“Impossible,” said the Great Man. “Bess expects me to be there.” He raised himself fully upright. “In all our married years together, I have never disappointed my wife, Inspector.”

Marsh smiled. “That does you great credit, Mr. Houdini,” he said. “But I regret to tell you that no one will be permitted to leave Maplewhite until such time as the preliminary investigation has been concluded.”

Impatience had become disbelief. “ Permitted?”

“Harry,” I said.

Marsh said, “Sergeant Meadows and I-”

“Inspector,” said the Great Man. “You fail to understand the situation. My wife is arriving. In London. In the morning. I will be there.”

“Mr. Houdini,” said Marsh.

The Great Man spoke slowly, to make sure that Marsh understood. “Inspector, do you know who I am?”

“Oh yes,” said Marsh, smiling brightly. “I could hardly fail to understand that, could I? Not a day goes by that I don’t admire those colorful advertisements of yours. They’re posted all over London, aren’t they? Ubiquitously, one might say.”

“Then perhaps it has occurred to you,” the Great Man pronounced, “that I am not without influence, even here in England.

I feel I must warn you-”

“ Harry.” I stood up. “Come on, Harry. Outside. Let’s talk.

We’ll be back in a minute, Inspector.”

He turned to me. “But Phil-”

“Come on.” I took him by the arm. He resisted, his muscle bunching under my hand. He held his head up, his gray eyes glaring at Marsh. Marsh was smiling up at him, pleasantly.

I tugged at the arm. “Harry, come on. We’ll get this straightened out.”

Reluctantly, his head high, he came along.

“The man is insane, Phil!”

“He’s a cop, Harry.”

“He is an imbecile!”

“I don’t think so.”

“But you heard me explain. He refuses to listen!”

“Harry, he’s just doing his job.”

“But permitted! How dare he? Bess will be in London tomorrow!” We were in the hallway outside the library. The Great Man was pacing up and down the parquet floor, waving his arms. I was leaning against the wall. My own arms were crossed.

“Why not call her back?” I said. “Ask her if she can take a later train. Tomorrow, maybe.”

He stopped pacing and turned to me and put his hands on his hips. “I refuse. Absolutely. I have given my word.” He stood upright again. “And Houdini never goes back on his word.”

“Harry, you’re just being stubborn. You’re angry at Marsh.”

“I have every reason to be angry.”

“Marsh needs to talk to everyone. He needs to figure out what’s going on.”

“ What?” He leaned toward me. “ What, Phil? What is this oh-so-important thing he needs to ‘figure out’?”

“Harry, I told you.” You had to be patient with him. “Someone tried to stab Miss Turner last night. Maybe it was the same person who fired that shot yesterday. And maybe he’ll try again-Miss Turner is in danger, Harry, until someone finds out what’s happening. And maybe all that-the rifle shot, the knife maybe it’s all connected to the Earl somehow. To the Earl’s death. I still don’t like the idea of suicide.”

He shook his head. “We have discussed this, Phil. It must have been suicide. No one could possibly have opened that door. I examined it with the utmost care.”

“And what was going on with the Earl? Why was he wandering around, playing ghost in the middle of the night?”

He shook his head. “The Earl was paralyzed, Phil.”

“He said he was paralyzed. He acted like he was paralyzed. But I told you, Harry, Miss Turner found those things in his room.”

“Someone placed them there, of course.”

“Why?”

“To discredit him.”

“She found them by accident. And what’s the point of discrediting the Earl?”

“I have no idea.”

“Yeah. Neither do I.”

He opened his mouth and then shut it. He took a deep breath. He looked out the casement window and he frowned. He cocked his head to the side. “I could simply leave,” he said suddenly. He was talking more to himself than to me. “Who would stop me?”

“Marsh would,” I said. “He’d call ahead, he’d set up roadblocks. That Lancia is a hard car to miss, Harry. You’d be arrested. And then you’d be in jail. Bess would love that.”

He turned to me, his back stiff. “No jail in the world can hold Houdini.”

“Swell. You escape from jail. Then they shoot you. And then you’re catching bullets, like Chin Soo. But not with your teeth.”

He frowned again and turned away. He took another deep breath and then he pounded his fist against the stone of the window sill. “I refuse to be trapped here.” Shoving his hands into his pockets, he glared out through the panes of glass at the grounds of Maplewhite. In the sunlight, the lines around his mouth seemed deeper and darker.

“Harry,” I said, “it probably won’t take all that long. Let Marsh poke around, ask his questions. Let him get a grip on all this.”

He snorted. “If we wait for Marsh to get a grip, we will be here until the snow falls.” He shook his head. Absurd, he told the windowpane. “Houdini, imprisoned.”

“Give him a chance, Harry. Maybe it won t take more than a couple of hours.”

He turned back to me, his eyes narrowed. “Aha,” he said.

“Aha?”

He nodded sagely. “Now I understand.”

“What?”

“You wish to ‘get a grip’ on this yourself, do you not, Phil? He slid his hands from his pockets and he crossed his arms. “You are curious, are you not? As a Pinkerton, you are intrigued. And you are concerned, perhaps, about Miss Turner.”

“Naturally I’m curious, but-”

“But Phil. You were not hired to be curious about Maplewhite. Is that not the truth?”

I sighed. “Yeah.”

“Nor to be concerned about Miss Turner.”

“No.”

“Tell me this, Phil. Let us say that I was allowed to leave. Permitted to leave. Within half an hour, let us say. Would you come with me? Back to London?”

“Yeah.”

“Even though, by leaving, you might never ‘get a grip’? Even though Miss Turner might remain in danger?”

“I signed on to do a job.”

“But-and be honest with me, Phil-you would not be happy about leaving now.”

“I’m not paid to be happy.”

He shook his head. “Honestly now, Phil.”

“Honestly, Harry?” I shrugged. “I’d try to talk you out of it.”

“As you are doing now.”

“Yeah.” I smiled. “A lot like that.”

He nodded gravely. “I appreciate that, Phil. Your honesty. And your personal loyalty to me. I am grateful.”

He reached out and put his left hand on my shoulder, like a priest about to bestow a blessing. “Very well, Phil. I will get to the bottom of this. For your sake, I will discover what has been going on at Maplewhite.”

He let go of my shoulder and pulled out his watch. “Eight-thirty now.” He looked off, thoughtful. “It may take me a few hours. I have many questions to ask, of many people.” He turned to me. “But if we leave, let us say, after tea time, we shall arrive in London before midnight. Time enough for us to get some rest before we proceed to the station and meet Bess.”

“This is for my sake,” I said.

He slipped his watch back into his vest. “For both our sakes, Phil. And for the sake of Bess, as well.”

“How do you plan to do all this, Harry?”

“I shall ferret out the truth. I agree with you, Phil. Something is happening at Maplewhite. Yes. You have, just now, clarified my thinking. Something mysterious is going on here. It will take a very special mind to penetrate this. A subtle mind, a mind trained since childhood to recognize chicanery and sleights of hand. Inspector Marsh obviously has no such mind. But as you know, Phil, Houdini has. Trickery, deceit, bamboozlement, they are as wisps of straw to me.”

“Uh-huh.”

He gave me the wide, wild, charming smile. “By tea time, Phil,” he said, and he clapped me on the shoulder and then he turned and strode away.

Inspector Marsh lowered his coffee cup and smiled at me as I came back into the library. “Mr. Houdini has left?”

“For a while,” I said.

I sat back down. Sergeant Meadows picked up his notebook. “He won’t be wandering off the grounds of Maplewhite, I trust.” said Marsh.

“No. He's decided to solve the case for you.”

Marsh raised his eyebrows. “Which case would that be?”

“Both of them. All of them.”

“How exceedingly kind of him.”

“That's the sort of guy he is.”

“And how, dare I ask, does he intend to do that?”

“No idea.”

“And how much time does he expect he'll need to accomplish this?”

“He figures he can get it done by tea time.”

“Indeed. Well then. Onward. You were speaking about the guests who were present on the lawn when the shot was fired.”

I told him that. I told him everything. Chasing after the sniper. Explaining my job to Lord Bob in his office and then later here in the library, to Sir Arthur. The tea party in the afternoon. The news about the Earl’s door being locked. Breaking down the door, finding the body. Lord Bob grabbing the Smith amp; Wesson, then setting it back down on the floor. My finding out, in the Great Hall, that the Winchester had been fired. My talking to Carson, the Earl’s valet. Talking to Superintendent Honniwell about the ash on the floor.

“It sounds,” said Marsh, “as though the Superintendent wasn’t as appreciative of your help as he might’ve been.”

“He probably had a lot on his mind.”

“Doubtless,” said March dryly. He waved a delicate hand. “Please. Carry on.”

I told him about my conversation with Briggs and my learning about the nighttime visits of Darleen, the kitchen maid.

Inspector Marsh raised his eyebrows. “Briggs?” He smiled. “The faithful footman? Served without grudge or grumblings. The Tempest. And have you consulted with the peripatetic Darleen?”

“Not yet.”

He nodded. “Please. Continue.”

I told him about dinner. About the seance and Lord Bob’s arrival there. About going to Mrs. Corneille’s room.

“You went to her room, of course, solely to discuss the events here at Maplewhite.”

“Right. And then Miss Turner showed up.”

“Miss Turner of the apparition?”

“Yeah.”

I’d just finished telling him what Miss Turner had found in the Earl’s room, the stolen knickknacks, the beard and wig, when someone knocked at the library door.

“Come in,” Marsh called out.

A servant stepped in and held the door stiffly open. Lord Bob and Lady Purleigh paraded into the library.