She squeezed my hand a second time. “Mr. Kellar told me,” she answered. “You were very gallant to commend me.”
From the stage, Kellar bowed deeply as Bess stood beside the levitation couch. “Watch carefully as my colleague places Mrs. Houdini into a hypnotic trance,” he said, as Le Roy waved his hands before Bess’s eyes. “Now, as her eyes grow heavy, we shall place her upon this divan.”
Le Roy moved to the front as Bess, her eyes closed, was laid out upon the sofa, leaning up on one elbow to face the audience. “I think that tonight we may safely dispense with the tale of the imperiled princess and the evil Pasha, ladies and gentlemen,” Le Roy said with a wink. “We ask only that you keep your eyes trained upon the stage, so that you don’t miss a single moment.”
Kellar moved around to the front of the divan and the two men stood side by side with their backs to the audience, momentarily shielding Bess from view. Moving as one, they stretched their arms forward as if to urge the sleeping Bess to lift from her perch.
For a moment, nothing happened. As the music swelled, a strange ruffling motion became apparent. Then, incredibly, the reclining figure of my sister-in-law could be seen rising horizontally into the air, slowly coming into full view above the heads of Le Roy and Kellar. There was no covering, no smoke, no wires or mirrors. It was quite the most amazing effect I have ever beheld. Our small audience erupted into spontaneous applause.
“Cast your eyes heavenward, ladies and gentlemen,” Kellar intoned, “and watch as she rises...rises...rises...now she casts aside the high-flown theories of gravity and science like so much useless chaff. See how she floats, as though on a gentle zephyr, borne aloft by the hypnotic force of animal magnetism.”
Just then, we saw Bess tilt to one side and vanish into shadow as the stage lights went low, as if swallowed by darkness. Le Roy and Kellar turned to face the audience, peering into the space above our heads. A smudge pot flashed suddenly, sending a billowing column of white smoke into the air. The ghostly image of Bess, flickering amid the curls of smoke, could plainly be seen floating high above the crowd, lost in the grip of Kellar’s trance. For a moment she seemed to waver and undulate, then she vanished as the light dimmed.
Le Roy’s voice came from the stage. “Now she is almost beyond our earthly grasp, ascending like Icarus himself toward the sky. Surely the gods themselves must watch in wonder as she floats up toward the vault of heaven.”
A second geyser of flame burst forth. Once again the spectral image of Bess could be seen—more distant this time—nearing the high dome of the theater. “Can we believe our eyes?” came Kellar’s voice. “Can we trust our senses when they behold that which is plainly impossible? Still she rises... higher and higher...borne aloft by a power we mortals cannot begin to comprehend.”
I heard Lieutenant Murray twisting in his seat for a better view. “Not bad,” he allowed. “Not bad at all.”
“You haven’t seen the half of it yet,” I murmured.
From the stage, Kellar’s voice sank to a lower register. “Now the lovely princess has neared the end of her strange journey. Soaring to the heavens, lifted by unseen hands, she completes her wondrous ascent. Behold!” Kellar thrust his hands up toward the dome.
We had reached the moment of crisis. Everyone in the theater recalled all too vividly what had happened two nights earlier as Kellar spoke these words—and most of us had been present to witness it. I heard a collective intake of breath as the lights were trained upon the majestic theater dome. The sight that greeted us was a welcome one. Bess, still under the ‘hypnotic influence’ of Mr. Kellar’s spell, hovered gracefully in the empty space beneath the apex of the dome. It was a stunning sight, and the memory of it fills me with wonder even now.
“Bravo, Kellar!” shouted Dudley McAdow from his seat in the second row. “Bravo, Le Roy!”
The others joined in lusty cries of approval for several moments, falling away only as Kellar and Le Roy motioned for silence.
“Now we will bring our Floating Lady back to earth,” Le Roy informed us. “As the mesmeric spell begins to lift, she will return safely to our stage.”
I gripped the arm rests of my seat, bracing myself.
A shrill scream pierced the air. “My God!” I shouted. “It’s Bess! What’s wrong?”
“The lights!” cried Kellar. “All lights on full!”
For a moment the follow lights dipped and whirled before training upon the dome. We saw a flash of Bess’s face contorted with terror as a second scream echoed through the dome. Then, as the lights danced across the darkened space, she flickered out of view.
I leapt from my seat. “She’s falling!” I shouted. “Good God, no!” I sprinted up the center aisle as fast as my legs would take me, but she was already plummeting downward. I was aware of shouts and cries behind me as the falling figure struck the brass railing with a sickening thud.
I stood in a daze over the fallen figure as the others crowded around me.
“Hardeen, what—?”
“Is she—?”
“Not again—!”
“But how could—?”
I knelt down and gently stretched out my hand to roll the fallen body over. The face of Matilda the mannequin smiled happily back at me.
The cloud of voices rose in pitch, with Kellar’s authoritative tones cutting through the discord. “Hardeen? What’s the meaning of this?”
“One moment, sir.” I rose and stepped to the aisle, craning my neck to see into the darkened dome.
“Harry?” I shouted.
“He’s here, Dash!” came my brother’s voice, drifting down from above. “You were right—he’s—stop there! Come back here!”
“Get the lights up there!” I shouted. “Now!”
Another moment or two passed as the follow lights whirled into position. As the focusing lenses adjusted, a heart-stopping sight greeted us. Two men were grappling savagely with one another on the suspended platform high above the theater, the fragile surface undulating wildly beneath their shifting weight. The smaller of them, my brother Harry, appeared to be getting the upper hand, but the bigger fellow had the advantage of size and surprising agility.
As Harry stepped back to gain fighting room, moving perilously close to the edge of the platform, the follow light flashed upon the features of his opponent.
The face was that of Malcolm Valletin, and he no longer looked at all like a cherub.
15
KILLER ON THE HIGH WIRE
I BURST THROUGH THE LOBBY DOORS AND CHARGED THE STAIRS, with Lieutenant Murray and Silent Felsden at my heels.
“How did you know?” the lieutenant shouted after me, as I bolted through the office suite toward the upper staircase.
“Couldn’t be certain,” I returned, pushing through the second set of doors. “Knew he’d try to foil it—”
“But what—?”
Lieutenant Murray’s question was cut short by a scream from Bess as we reached the top of the wooden steps. It sounded genuine this time. I yanked open the hatchway and ducked through to the catwalk.
Harry and Valletin were in a ferocious struggle on the suspended platform at the center of the dome, high above the half-lit theater. The narrow planking swayed wildly beneath their shifting weight as both men fought to maintain balance. As I came through the hatchway, Valletin managed to knock Harry onto one knee. He reared back to deliver a vicious kick that would send my brother over the edge of the platform. Bess, watching from the other side of the catwalk, let out another scream.
“Valletin!” I shouted. “You can’t escape! Don’t make it worse!”
He turned, his face crimson with fury, and saw Murray and Felsden coming through the hatch behind me.
He turned back to Harry. “Hope you can float, Houdini!” he snarled, delivering a brutal kick to Harry’s ribs. I watched helplessly as the force of the blow knocked my brother over the side of the platform. Only Harry’s extraordinary reflexes kept him from falling seventy-two feet to h
is death. Rolling with the kick, Harry managed to flip, head over heels, so as to grab hold of a support wire. The sudden shift of weight caused a violent lurching motion, knocking Valletin off his feet. He recovered with a speed I wouldn’t have thought possible, scrambling across one of the support wires toward the opposite end of the catwalk.
“My God!” cried Lieutenant Murray. “He’s like a cat on that wire!”
“Yes,” I answered, edging cautiously out toward the platform to rescue Harry. “Exactly.”
I did not have my brother’s natural ease upon the high wire, and as the rope ladder was nowhere to be seen, my progress was damnably slow. I edged across the nearest support in a sitting position, grasping the braided wire firmly between my legs in order to reach my brother. I suppose only thirty seconds elapsed before I was able to pull him to safety, but it seemed like an eternity. Valletin, meanwhile, seeing that the dome hatchway was closed off as an avenue of escape, kicked his way through a ventilator covering and wriggled through the small opening.
“Where does that lead?” I called as Harry danced across one of the wires to reach the spot.
“The roof, I think,” he answered. “Come on, lieutenant!”
I followed as quickly as I could across the gap between the platform and the catwalk, trying not to look down as I inched over the wire. Bess helped me onto the catwalk as I neared the edge, pointing to the ventilator opening through which the others had passed. I squeezed through, feeling a blast of frigid air on my face.
I found myself standing on the snow-covered roof of the theater, with a harsh wind whipping about me. Felsden and Murray stood near the ventilator opening, huddled on a narrow ledge of slate. Just beyond, the roof angled sharply downward toward a wide, low-pitched pediment topped by a lattice of ironwork. Harry and Valletin faced one another across the sharp downward pitch of the roof, their feet sliding perilously on the frost-covered slate. Beyond them, past the edge of the pediment, the roof fell away sharply, commanding a dizzying view of the street below.
“Can’t you do anything?” I shouted to Lieutenant Murray, straining to be heard above the howling wind.
“Like what?” he answered.
“Don’t you have a gun?”
“Haven’t carried one in years!”
I drew a deep breath of cold air into my lungs and edged out onto the downward slope of the roof. Instantly I felt the grip of a powerful wind lashing about my legs, threatening to carry me over the side. Feeling my feet slipping out from under me, I fell hard with my hands splayed, making a sort of toboggan descent down the roof on my hind end. Valletin looked up at the sound of my noisy approach, allowing Harry to reel back and unload a powerful fist into his mid-section. The bigger man doubled over, then lashed out with the flat of his hand against Harry’s knee, sending my brother skittering backward toward the angled pediment at the lower edge of the roof. Once again, Harry’s reflexes prevented disaster. He wrapped a hand around the iron latticework as Valletin moved in for the kill, aiming a powerful kick that caught the bigger man in the kidney. Valletin let out a grunt and fell to his knees as Harry dove forward, wrapping his arms around his opponent’s waist.
It proved to be a disastrous move. The combined weight of the two men sent them sprawling hard against the latticework, which shuddered and ripped loose from its supports. Harry managed to brace his feet against the pediment, stopping himself from going over the side, but Valletin was not so fortunate. He clawed at the ironwork as it toppled over the edge of the roof, slamming hard against a granite ledge some ten feet below. Harry and I peered over the side to see Valletin dangling head-down like a fish on a line. One foot was tangled in the remains of the iron railing, the other end of which was hooked precariously over a decorative cornice.
“That won’t hold for long, Harry!” I cried, wiping the pelting snow from my eye.
“Valletin!” Harry shouted. “Don’t move! You’re hanging by a thread!”
Below us, Valletin stirred slightly, groggy from the fall. “What the hell—?” he began, but his movements caused his iron tether to shift, dropping him a good foot or so further below the ledge. “God! Houdini! Get me out of this!”
“Hold on!” Harry shouted. “I’m coming for you!” He edged out onto the pediment, with me holding onto one arm as he stretched the other downward.
“Harry, you can’t climb down there!” I cried, my voice straining over the wind. “That railing won’t hold both of you!”
Harry turned and shouted up to the dome, where Lieutenant Murray and Silent Felsden stood. “Silent! Bring me a rope!”
“How will we lower it to him, Harry? The ledge is in the way!”
“I’ll have to think of a way to get further out, past the ledge.” A thought struck him. “Felsden! Bring the corset!”
“Harry, you can’t possibly be serious!”
“What choice do we have?” He peered over the edge. “Hold on, Valletin! I’ll be right there!”
“I—I—can’t—” the railing creaked in the wind, dropping Valletin another half a foot. He grabbed onto a decorative cornice with both hands. “For God’s sake! Hurry!”
Felsden returned in an instant and sent a hank of rope skittering down the icy slope of the roof, followed by Le Roy’s levitation harness.
“You’re sure about this?” I asked, as Harry anchored the harness and rope to a stone buttress.
“Dash,” he answered, “it’s the only idea I have.”
If anyone walking along Broadway at 37th Street that evening had chanced to look skyward, they would have beheld a most unusual scene. Just below the imposing pediment of the grand dome of the Belasco, Mr. Harry Houdini, the justly celebrated self-liberator, could be seen hovering in mid-air several stories above the busy thoroughfare. Though this might have struck the casual passer-by as remarkable enough in itself, the tableau was made even more curious by the fact that Mr. Houdini was wearing a ladies’ hoop skirt as he floated through the night sky, the folds of which were lashing furiously against his legs.
It was a bold and audacious plan, and I doubt if even Le Roy himself could possibly have conceived of his device being put to such a use. While I stood bracing the rope against the edge of the buttress, Harry used the levitation harness to float down within five feet of the stricken man, though even now the jutting ledge prevented him from passing down the rope.
“I still can’t quite reach you, Valletin!” Harry shouted, straining to be heard as the wind gathered force. “I can’t get any closer! I’ll have to swing the rope over to you! Grab hold!”
“I—I can’t!” Valletin shouted. “I can’t let go! I’m sure to fall!”
Harry strained to tilt himself further downwards. “I can’t get any closer!”
“Careful, Harry!” I called. “That harness may not be able to take the strain!”
“You’ll have to grab for the rope! I’ll feed it to you nice and slow!”
“I can’t!” he called, gripping the stone cornice even more tightly as the latticework creaked beneath his weight. “God! Help me!”
“We can’t wait! The railing is slipping! Grab the rope and we’ll pull you up! Nice and slow! Nice and—”
It should have worked. I think it would have if not for that infernal snowstorm. Sometimes when I close my eyes I can still see him letting go of the railing and clawing for the rope as it passed in front of his face. I can still see his cold-stiffened fingers batting the rope away in his panic, then snatching again a split second too late, as his foot pulled free of the railing and he began to spiral downward. I watched him fall as long as I could bear it, but I had to look away at the last instant.
Harry, still hovering in mid-air, closed his eyes and shuddered. “Get me out of this thing,” he said. “There’s nothing more we can do.”
Moments later, after I reeled my brother to safety and we made the treacherous climb back up to the dome, I heard an unfamiliar noise at my side. Silent Felsden cleared his throat and spoke the first words I
ever heard him say.
“It was bound to happen,” he declared. “The man couldn’t juggle to save his life.”
16
MISS BECKER’S REVENGE
IT TOOK THE BETTER PART OF THREE HOURS BEFORE ANY SENSE of order was restored. In that time a series of police wagons converged upon the scene, and the laborious process of measuring, recording and interrogating began. Lieutenant Murray took command of the operation with his usual gruff authority, and when at last the body of Malcolm Valletin was loaded onto the back of an open cart, he dismissed the remaining officers.
“I don’t suppose Dr. Peterson will find any water in the victim’s lungs this time,” I said as the wagon rolled away.
“No,” he answered, “I think we can safely conclude that the fall killed him. Come on, Hardeen, let’s get inside. You’re frozen half to death.”
No one had left the theater, and the buzz of excited voices as we came through the lobby doors told me that the shock of the evening’s events had not yet begun to subside. Mr. Kellar had sent out to a nearby saloon for brandy and a crate of glasses, and the bottles were being passed from hand to hand in the front rows. Silent Felsden, having turned suddenly loquacious, sat at the center of a large knot of people, giving an animated account of what had occurred on the rooftop. Bess sat on the aisle with Harry crouched at her side, anxiously rubbing her hands.
“I’m all right, Harry,” I heard her say. “Please stop fussing over me!”
“Bess?” I said as we came up to her. “You’re not hurt? Valletin didn’t try to—”
“I’m absolutely fine, Dash. Valletin never got within five feet of me. Not with Harry lying in wait on the catwalk.”
Perdita Wynn, sitting behind Bess, nodded in agreement. “Your brother was right there.”
The Floating Lady Murder Page 20