Who Done Houdini (22 page)

 

Chapter 34

W
e were all lost in thought as we rode the elevator to the lobby. The doors opened to the strains of violins. The string ensemble had returned and was stroking out a jaunty tune. I didn't remember the name, but I remember the lyrics. “Oh, we sailed the ocean blue . . .”

Holmes stopped in his tracks. “Ah, wonderful Wiggins.
The
H.M.S. Pinafore
. I haven't heard that for years. I took you to see it at the Adelphi just before you left for America. Do you remember?”

“Just the melody. Seems to me I remember a busty lady named Buttercup.”

“You would remember that,” Violet scolded.

Holmes wagged a finger in time with the beat. “Our dear Gilbert and Sullivan. Can you imagine they hated each other so much, they sat back to back when they had to work in the same room? Mycroft always wondered what they would have come up with if they got along.”

“Probably ‘She's Only a Bird in a Gilded Cage,'” Violet said, giving my arm a tug.

Holmes actually laughed. “Very good, my dear. I can't imagine anything more silly.”

Stepping out, we were surprised to discover snow had again begun to fall. For once we found no taxi waiting, and Holmes didn't seem to care.

“A very productive day so far, Wiggins. I can hardly wait to attend Mrs. Croydon's séance.”

“Indeed.”

“I can't, either,” Violet squealed.

“Did either of you observe anything unusual about Sir Arthur's relationship with Lady Jean?”

“He seemed protective, if that is what you mean.”

“Precisely, Wiggins. Though she's the one who tends the gate when we talk to him, Sir Arthur seems to be aware of the inconsistencies in her version of Spiritualism and is quick to explain them away.”

“They're protecting each other,” Violet said in a firm voice. “It's almost as if she doesn't really believe in it herself. I think she understands how much Sir Arthur has declined because of his beliefs, and she wants to shield him from ridicule.”

Thunderbolt!

Holmes, as excited as I had ever seen him, seized her by her arms and squeezed. “You are the wisest of us all, dear lady. Of course you're right. It explains her truculence toward us to perfection.”

While Violet beamed, I held my breath in amazement. This was probably the closest Holmes had ever come to embracing any woman, and I expect he was more impressed by her insight than anything Dr. Watson or I came up with.

“Bravo, my dear,” I said, with a quick peck on her cheek. “But just to let you know my deductive faculties haven't been asleep for the last two days, I've noticed some interesting inconsistencies between what Sir Arthur says and what Margery told me when Officer O'Neal and I visited her last night. I asked her directly why she invited the man she knows as Baker to her lecture. She said it was because her husband asked her to. And now Sir Arthur says she told him she wanted to give Becker an opportunity to announce his fund-raising event. It appears she lied to someone, and for no good reason I can come up with.”

Holmes nodded with a thoughtful look. “She's being guarded, at the very least.”

“More than guarded, I'd venture. Sir Arthur seems to relate all of Becker's motives and actions to his supposed desire to promote Spiritualism in Germany. Margery, on the other hand, told Officer O'Neal and me the friendship between Becker and her husband was based on shared affection for Germany and a common interest in eugenics and Aryanism. Knowing Becker, I tend to believe she was being truthful with us.”

“I concur, Wiggins.”

Violet flashed an angry look. “I don't know Mr. Becker at all, but I certainly hope you don't think everyone who's involved in Spiritualism has bad motives.”

“Of course not,” Holmes said. “I never said any such thing.”

“I just wanted to let you know there's a woman down the block from us who reads tarot and has a crystal ball. She puts on séances for us every once in a while, and hardly charges anything for her services. What she does take in provides a little more money for her husband to play the stock market. She calls herself a Spiritualist, and she's probably contributed to the national organization. I'm sure she must know Albert Becker, but I'm equally sure she has no idea of where his money is going. Most of all, she certainly isn't a bad person.”

“Absolutely not,” Holmes said. “At worst, she's a petty thief. Not even that, if people consider her to be an entertainer only. I would guess she's like nearly everyone else in the profession. Harmless and, essentially, a good person.”

“Exactly.”

“I expect nearly everyone in Detroit admires Henry Ford, too.”

Caught off guard, Violet frowned. “I've heard that some business leaders are angry because he pays his workers so well, but, at least as far as I know, everyone else considers him to be a good man.”

I never regretted not telling Violet about my friendship with Mo before. Now I wished I had.

“And in most ways, he undoubtedly is.” Holmes continued. “But he hates Jews, and he's one of Adolf Hitler's biggest supporters. At best, he's misguided. At worst, he's extremely dangerous. With his wealth and influence, he has almost unlimited power to put his unfortunate beliefs to work.”

“Maybe so, but I never even heard of Hitler until Timothy mentioned his name.”

“Right now, that's one of his greatest strengths. He's just the leader of one of the scores of political parties and causes in Germany thriving on the poverty caused by uncontrollable inflation.”

“It's almost unimaginable,” I said. “People had to carry their money around in wheelbarrows, and spend it as quickly as they got it. Otherwise it became worthless in a matter of hours. Some think Germany will still become the next Russia because the Socialists are so popular and want to confiscate the wealth of the rich. It's led to open warfare between Left and Right. What makes matters even more complicated, many of the communist leaders are Jewish.”

Violet yawned. “I've had enough of politics. Let's get back to the room so I can finish my bread pudding.”

 

Rose met us
at the
door, bubbling with excitement. “I've found the name of a scholar Becker's been corresponding with. He's very well-known.”

“Indeed,” Holmes said. “Who would that be?”

“Madison Grant.”

“The naturalist?” I blurted in surprise “He's a close friend of Theodore Roosevelt.”

“And John Muir as well. He's visited Muir at Yosemite on more than one occasion. Grant's been concerned about the decline of the moose population because of disappearing habitat, and he's been trying to keep it from becoming worse.”

“Many Progressives are worried about declining species,” I said.

“Very true, but Grant also has extended his concerns to humans, especially the Nordic race. He says it's being taken over by hordes of inferior stocks from Africa and the Mediterranean who reproduce at a much higher rate.”

Mr. Holmes stroked his cheek. “Why does he think the Nordics are superior?”

“He claims the cold northern climate has winnowed out the weaker members, leaving only the hardiest behind. This has also meant they are a smaller population and vastly outnumbered by the other races, and will have to battle for their survival.”

“I see,” said Holmes. “I expect Mr. Grant is arguing that the Nordics either have to remove the intruders from their land, or expand into other places.”

“He recommends both. It's all in his book,
Passage of the Great Race.
According to him, the same thing is occurring in this country. He says there are far too many inferior peoples. He wants sterilization of mental defectives, to begin with—if there are still too many, he has a much more drastic solution.”

“I'm afraid to ask,” I mumbled.

“He wants them euthanized.”

“Euthanized?” Violet shouted. “
Murdered
, you mean. What a perfectly horrible thought. This is by a noted scholar?”

“Absolutely. And it is horrible. Apparently Becker's convinced it's a splendid idea. He sent a copy of Grant's book to Hitler's secretary.”

“Although I'm sure the great leader was already familiar with it,” Holmes said dryly. “Mr. Grant's ideas couldn't have fallen on more dangerous ears.”

“It gets worse. Hitler wrote a personal letter to Becker thanking him for the gift. He says the book has become his Bible. I get the impression that isn't the first or only correspondence. Hitler considers Becker to be one of his most loyal and important supporters, and a tireless worker for the cause.”

The words made me shudder.

 

Chapter 35

I
had been dreaming Violet and I were sunbathing in the Bahamas when I awoke at Holmes's rough shake of my shoulder.

“On your feet, Wiggins. It's four-thirty, and Sir Arthur just called. We have been summoned to 10 Lime Street.”

I jumped from my chair. The only time I ever came to quicker was when the nurse at the waiting room at Grace Hospital in Detroit awoke me to announce the birth of Cameron. “Is Violet ready to go?”

“Hours ago. She must have asked Rose or me about every dress she brought with her at least twice, and I doubt there's a hair on her had that hasn't been finger-curled and patted into place at least a dozen times. I would have thought she was awaiting a call from Buckingham Palace.”

“That,” I said, smoothing out the wrinkles on my trousers and stretching into my somewhat limp suit jacket, “would very likely be fatal. She would never be ready.”

“I'll pass the word to Mycroft. Good King George would never forgive himself if that happened.”

I had to chuckle in spite of myself.

“Just to fill you in on what I have been doing while you were napping, Rose enlightened me about all the tricks Margery uses. To prove she was a fraud, Houdini constructed a box for her to sit in so she couldn't move her feet or hands without his knowing. She still nearly escaped detection, but her foot brushed his ankle. He says she was the most skilled contortionist he had ever met. He also couldn't detect if Walter's voice was coming from her or her husband.”

I stifled a yawn. “All very interesting. Forgive me if I sound rude, but I don't care whether she's undeniably genuine or the most blatant fraud in the world. I just want to get some insight about the Croydons' relationship with Becker and their possible involvement in Houdini's murder.”

The words brought a fleeting look of admiration. “I see I taught you well, Wiggins. Those should have been my words. And you are absolutely correct. That indeed is all that matters. For my own part, however, I'll continue to keep a watchful eye on Mrs. Croydon's activities during the séance. I'm quite sure I shall learn something new about her. Perhaps even something to help me talk some sense into poor Sir Arthur's addled brain.”

“I wish Rose were coming with us,” Violet said with a sad look in her friend's direction. “She shouldn't be left behind all the time.”

Holmes nodded. “I wish she were coming, also. But in light of her history with the Croydons, it would merely add unnecessary stress to an already tense situation.”

“Don't fret about me,” Rose said in a cheerful voice. “I'm just as happy to stay here. Mr. Becker's briefcase is a totally new world for me. I never know what I'll discover next. I've also come across new names to investigate. The work of exposing frauds must continue even though Mr. H. is gone.”

Violet still looked unhappy when she waved goodbye.

She fidgeted as the cab made its way down Beacon Street. I knew the cause of her discomfort, but I couldn't account for mine. I expect it probably came from having to meet the Croydons on their home turf. Officer O'Neal would be in charge of queries, though I had a dozen or so questions I wanted to ask, myself, and I was certain Holmes had at least as many. He sat next to Violet lost in thought, unlit pipe in his mouth.

Listening to his occasional pull, I wished I hadn't given all my liquorice away. I needed something to suck on, too.

Not that it would be a long ride. The lights of Boston Garden and the Commons already glowed in the gathering twilight. Lime Street was just north three blocks. Beacon Hill was still thought by some—most of the residents, of course—to be the hill referred to in the Biblical quotation from the Sermon on the Mount: “You are the light of the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hidden.”

Be that as it may, we were about to visit the home of two of the most important figures of Boston society, living on just that hill. I think Violet must have realized that because she shivered and snuggled closer to me. I knew it couldn't have been because the taxi was cold. Heat from the engine eddied around our feet and worked its way upward. Of all the advances in automotives in the past few years, heated enclosed carriages was the one I appreciated the most. I hardly ever drove in winter before we bought our Chevrolet with its circulating heat system.

Violet snuggled even closer to me. “I'm scared,” she said in a small voice. “What if Margery really can talk to the dead?”

“Then you'll get a chance to ask your mother where she hid the silverware she promised to leave to you.”

She turned towards me with a smile and punched my arm. “You never take anything seriously, do you?”

“The jury is still out on whether I believe in spirits,” I said, “but I certainly believe that Albert Becker is responsible for the death of Harry Houdini. If it turns out the Croydons were also involved, the story is going to appear in the
Free Press
, no matter how much weight the family wields in Boston society.”

Violet gave my wrist a sharp pinch. “You're not going to be unpleasant, are you?”

“Of course not. But I'm not going to be charmed into losing my objectivity. Even if she performs in the nude.”

“You can't tell me you wouldn't like that,” she said with a low laugh. “We're not that old yet.”

“Maybe not, but if she does, I'll just have to shut my eyes.”

“You'll peek.”

Holmes cleared his throat. Loudly. “If you two adolescents can stop cooing, we have to decide on a strategy to get the information we need. From what I have heard and read, we'll be faced with many distractions. Noises come from all over the house. Objects fly through the air. Most of all, Walter will be devious. If he gets angry, he'll stop answering questions. Rose told me he once screamed at Houdini, ‘Either you go, or I will.'”

I threw him a questioning look. “You talk as if you believe he's real.”

“It doesn't matter if he is or isn't, does it? Whatever he is, we'll have to deal with him on his own terms. We must get him to answer our questions about his encounter with Dr. Crookes.”

“What if he doesn't cooperate?”

“Then we press Margery or Dr. Croydon. I'm sure they'll be surprised by our questions about thallium. If either is in collusion with Albert Becker, they'll most certainly try to hide it. We may even find an ally in Sir Arthur, who seems to have a remarkably clear remembrance of what happened.”

We passed the historic Bull and Finch Pub, light twinkling through the shutters of the ancient windows even though alcohol could no longer be served there, and the cab turned right.

As the cab slowed, Violet squeezed my hand. Even though I squeezed back, my heart began to beat faster.