The Ectoplasmic Man by Daniel Stashower Read Free Book Online Page B

something.”
    “Mr Lestrade,” said Houdini, “I’m afraid your little spy story will have to continue without me. I have an audience. Let’s go, everyone! Mummy’s Asrah! Charlie! The house lights! Signal—”
    Two of Lestrade’s burly constables grasped Houdini by the arms. “No, Mr Houdini,” said the inspector, “not tonight. You will come with me. Now.”
    “Look, Inspector, don’t you understand? They think I’ve drowned.” Houdini spoke as if explaining algebra to a very dull boy. “I must undo Watson’s blunder. We can’t have the British public thinking the Great Houdini was drowned in that ridiculous Water Torture Cell. Think of my reputation!”
    “The British public may think what it likes. I wished to spare you the humiliation of being arrested onstage. We planned to make the arrest during the interval. But if you insist we shall announce to the public that you are being taken on suspicion of crimes against the Crown. Think of your reputation then, eh?”
    The colour drained from Houdini’s face and he leaned heavily on the arm of Franz, who was still at his side awaiting instruction. News that the sun had been extinguished could not have had a more profound effect. “Franz,” he said quietly, “announce... announce that the Great Houdini is unable to complete his performance this evening, but that he invites the public to return at his expense. And Franz” — the young American stared significantly at Lestrade — “tell them to watch the newspapers for news of my greatest escape yet.”
    With a slight smile, the only mirth I ever saw him betray, Franz bowed and stepped through the curtains. As we heard him address the audience in his clipped Germanic tones, Houdini writhed and grimmaced as if each word pierced his soul.
    “My performance!” he moaned. “My career! All because of some idiotic policeman!”
    “Inspector,” said one of the uniformed officers, “there’s a crowd of newspaper men out by the stage door. They must have gotten wind somehow.”
    “All right,” said Lestrade. “We’ll wait until the theatre empties and take him through the front.”
    “Harry! Harry, what is all this?” Bess Houdini had found her waybackstage and was clearly bewildered by what she found there. “Franz just cancelled the show! Are you all right? I thought you really had drowned! Who are these men?”
    Slowly, painfully, Houdini explained to his wife that he was suspected of espionage and had been arrested. Neither of them seemed to comprehend how this could have happened. “Bess” — Houdini took her small hands in his — “it is the end of my career! After all those years in the dime museums, all those years we waited to strike it big... now what’s happened? How can this be?”
    Bess Houdini cast a withering look at Inspector Lestrade. “You are the man who has charged my husband with this crime?”
    Lestrade nodded.
    “Do you believe that he is guilty?”
    “I do.”
    “Do you also believe in justice? That every man must be held accountable for his actions?”
    “Indeed I do, and there is no higher justice in the world than that of a British jury.”
    “There is one higher,” said Mrs Houdini, “and I would fear it if I were you, sir. Dr Watson?”
    “Yes, Mrs Houdini?”
    “Was my tale of this morning the prating of a deluded woman? I told you that some ill would befall my husband, and here we are. Where is the great Sherlock Holmes now?”
    “I assure you, Mrs Houdini, if I have anything to say about it, Holmes will devote his full energies to the matter.”
    “Thank you.”
    “Wilkins!” Lestrade called to one of his constables. “Escort Mrs Houdini to her hotel.” One of the large officers took Mrs Houdini’s arm and began to lead her off the stage. “Is the theatre empty yet?” Lestradecalled to another of his men. “Where is that music coming from?”
    “Wait!” cried Mrs Houdini, turning to her husband. “Harry! It will be all right! I