Who Done Houdini by Raymond John Read Free Book Online Page B

bridge. You’ll be arrested for theft for certain.”
    â€œGood point indeed. I hadn’t considered that.”
    â€œI’ll loan you the money. I haven’t shared with the needy for quite some time.”
    A quick walk brought us to Bond’s Department Store where I outfitted him with a flannel shirt, trousers, suspenders and an earflap cap for two dollars. A heavy fleece-lined jacket set me back an additional ten.
    Arms bulging with my purchases, I led him to the dressing room and waited for him to come out.
    I was more than happy to see him without his tweeds and told him so. Mr. Holmes had nothing to say about that but was less than enthusiastic about the cap. I told him it helped him fit in with the local population.
    Jaw set, he nodded and put it on his head. Earflaps dangled.
    I kept a straight face, but I pictured Mycroft falling over laughing.
    Our next stop was 321 West Lafayette Avenue and the top-floor office of Edward W. Scripps. Though Mr. Scripps was busy in conference, his secretary handed me a letter confirming that, as Mr. Holmes had told me, I was indeed on special assignment for the paper and promised a thousand-dollar bonus if the results were as newsworthy as expected.
    I began planning a trip for two to the Bahamas as I read it.
    My boss, Harold Mitchell, came to wish me luck, ignoring Holmes. He had been the managing editor for only a short time, replacing my one-time drinking mate Phil J. Reed, but we got along well. He had an affinity for me as a devotee of true crime stories and envied me my position.
    â€œMr. Scripps told me to do whatever you need to get your story. He wants to keep everything under wraps.”
    â€œI understand,” I said. “It would be a great help if I could use you personally as a clearing house for messages. We can have messages sent here and pick them up by telephone for response.”
    â€œGreat idea. No one else would need to know.”
    Mr. Holmes was anxious to get to the bank and left me at my desk. I used the time to fill in Charlie Hoffman on my routine. When he asked why I would be gone, I answered, “Violet and I are taking a vacation. I haven’t been away from my desk for two years. I’ve always heard Nassau is smashing at this time of year.”
    â€œThen I take it you’re still together.”
    â€œYes. I’ve got a sore leg though.”
    â€œYou got off light. I would have thought you’d be wearing a truss for your whirlygigs for the rest of your life.”
    â€œYou’re the cat’s pyjamas, Charlie.”
    Holmes returned and I handed Charlie the key to my desk. “Feel free to help yourself to anything except the cigars. They’re Cuban, and I counted them so I’ll know if any are missing.”
    When he answered “Yes, m’lord,” Holmes threw me a puzzled expression.
    In the street I stopped to take a long look at the many windows of the Free Press Building glistening in the sunlight. Albert Kahn had created a marvelous work of art when he designed the structure, and I could almost see myself sitting at my desk, third window, fourth floor from the corner on the west side. Why did it seem as though I never would be coming back?
    Holmes patiently waited until I turned away. “Shall we go to Dr. Cohn’s office now?”
    â€œNo. The Downtown Grill. You seem to forget I haven’t eaten yet.”
    Â 
    Daniel Cohn, MD , had a small office above a Kosher delicatessen on Woodward Avenue just north of downtown. I passed the building every day on my way to work. The doctor was a new face in the neighborhood, just finishing his residency. The aromas from the business below followed us up the wooden stairway to his office. Did the fumes make his clientele hungry—or merely nauseate them? Either, I supposed, depending on their condition.
    Unlike Dr. Kennedy, Dr. Cohn was more than happy to speak to us, especially when he heard I worked for the Free