“Where is your mother?” Harry asked. “I’m sure Lieutenant Murray will have additional questions to put to her, as well.”
“His questions will have to wait,” said Dr. Wells curtly. “Augusta is nearly beside herself with agitation. Her nerves have not been right since Jasper’s death. I gave her a sleeping draught last night, but I’m afraid the shock of what happened may be more than she can stand. I have confined her to her sitting room.” He stepped toward the fireplace as Brunson poured two cups of tea for Harry and myself.
“I don’t see why the police should need to question my mother, in any case,” Kenneth said. “She had nothing to do with Edgar’s death. I refuse to believe that any of us could have done such a thing, and yet the other explanation is too fantastic.”
“The other explanation?” asked Harry, reaching for the china cup Brunson offered him.
“The spirits, of course,” said Lucius Craig, appearing suddenly in the doorway. “I don’t know why you refuse to acknowledge what we all plainly saw. I’ve just been explaining it to the lieutenant. Last night the door between our world and the next was flung wide open. The manifestation which we all beheld came through as plainly as could be wished. There can be no point in seeking any other explanation.”
“For God’s sake, Craig!” said Dr. Wells, turning back from the fireplace. “A man has been murdered! It’s time to drop this spirit claptrap once and for all!”
“On the contrary, Dr. Wells,” the medium answered. “It is the only explanation that meets the facts.”
A flush of angry red spread across the doctor’s cheeks. “The facts, as you would have us believe them, are too ridiculous to consider. I’m quite serious, Craig. I have endured your foolishness these past weeks because it appeared to bring comfort to Augusta. As of last night, your usefulness is at an end. I don’t know how you contrived to make that strange figure appear, but we can no longer tolerate this pretense of traffic with the supernatural. This is a matter for the police now. Surely they will demand to know what strings you were pulling while the lights were lowered.”
Craig brought out his snuff shaker and tapped it on the back of his hand. “You are not the first man of science to doubt the evidence of his own eyes,” said the medium, pausing to inhale the powder. “I have grown accustomed to dealing with skeptics of all descriptions. Soon enough you will have to embrace the truth, one way or another. What you saw last night was quite genuine.”
Harry set down his tea cup. “Pardon me, Mr. Craig. If I understand you correctly, you are certain that what we saw last night was the ghost of Jasper Clairmont.”
“I am.”
“And you believe that the ghost of Jasper Clairmont murdered Edgar Grange?”
Craig pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve and dabbed at his nose. “You saw the message on the spirit slate. ‘Judgement is at hand.’ What other explanation could there be? How else could that message have appeared?” A smile played at Craig’s lips. “After all, Mr. Houdini, I have no doubt that by this time you have made a rather thorough examination of the slate, have you not?”
Dr. Wells interrupted before Harry could reply. “Do you expect me to believe that the ghost of Jasper Clairmont descended upon us last night for the purpose of murdering poor Edgar? Even if one could credit such a preposterous notion, why would Jasper have wished harm to Edgar? They were the closest of friends.”
Lucius Craig gave a languid sigh and lowered himself onto the settee. “It is not for me to say. Possibly Mr. Clairmont’s spirit was resentful of Mr. Grange’s attentions to our hostess.”
Dr. Wells appeared genuinely shocked. “His attentions? What are you suggesting?”
“I am merely stating that Mr. Grange had been spending a good deal of time in Mrs. Clairmont’s company.”
“There’s nothing unusual in that, Mr. Craig,” said Kenneth. “My mother has been lonely since father passed. Both Mr. Grange and Dr. Wells have been very considerate in their attentions to her. For that matter, there is no one who has spent more time in her company these past weeks than you. Why should this ‘spirit’ have not taken his vengeance on you?”
“Because he recognizes that I am the conduit by which he will be able to communicate with his beloved wife,” answered Craig. “He would not dream of severing that link. You will come to understand this as you learn more of the science of spiritualism.”
“Science!” Dr. Wells cried. “There is no more science in this than in the ravings of a madman!”
Craig regarded him coldly. “There was a time, my friend, when the same was said of Copernicus and Galileo.”
Kenneth’s eyes went to the portrait of his father above the fireplace. “You speak of science, sir, and yet you are willing to ascribe the attributes of a crazed murderer to the spirit of my father.” He paused, apparently struggling with his temper. “You did not even know my father, Mr. Craig. I deeply resent the accusation.”
At this Lucius Craig gathered himself on the settee and sat forward with a solicitous expression. “You must forgive me, Kenneth,” he said. “When I spoke of your father’s spirit, I was speaking in terms of an abstract problem, something to be considered within the ever-expanding horizons of what I know of the spirit realm. I did not stop to consider how my speculations might affect you on an emotional level. Let me explain myself more fully. It is my understanding that when a spirit makes its transition to the other side, there is a long period of adjustment—almost of rebirth, if you will. We cannot expect the entity to behave as it did during its time on the earthly plane. It is only half formed, and learning new ways of adapting to its circumstances. In this condition, its emotions and behaviors may be erratic and seemingly foreign to those who knew the spirit in life.”
Dr. Wells reached forward to grip the back of the settee upon which Craig was sitting. “You’re saying that the spirit of Jasper Clairmont, one of New York’s most distinguished citizens, has killed his close friend and associate because he wasn’t in his right mind?”
“I would not have phrased it so crudely, Doctor, but that is the gist of the matter.”
The doctor leaned in close and spoke in a level tone. “Craig, I will see you turned out of this house and run out of town on the next train. You are the very worst kind of confidence man.”
“Sir, you merely fail to—”
Craig’s reply was cut short as the doors flew open and Sterling Foster burst into the room. “I don’t see why that policeman needed to question me,” he said angrily, making his way toward the tea service. “I wasn’t even in the room at the time. I wasn’t even in the house, as a matter of fact. The implication is outrageous.” He poured himself a cup of tea and carried it to one of the armchairs. His face was pale and drawn, with a dirty smudge clinging to his jawline. It was clear from the gingerly manner with which he carried himself that he was feeling the effects of the previous night’s excesses.
“Sterling,” said Dr. Wells, “a man has been murdered. It is only right that the police should ask questions.”
“But I wasn’t there, I tell you! How am I supposed to know anything about it?”
Harry’s ears had pricked up during this exchange. “You say you weren’t in the house?” he asked.
“Of course not,” Foster said. “I have my own rooms across the street.”
“Can anyone confirm that you were there at the time?”
Foster wheeled around, sloshing a measure of tea onto the arm of his chair. “See here, young man! I’ve just answered a full slate of questions for the police! If you think I’m going to explain myself to you, you’ve got another thing coming!”
“Calm down, Sterling,” said Dr. Wells. “We’re all rattled by what’s happened. We’re trying to understand how such a thing could have occurred.”
“I was in my rooms,” said Foster pointedly. “Across the green. Even if I hadn’t been, how could I have had anything to do with this thing? You were all locked away in the study. I couldn’t have gotten in there even
if I’d wished it!”
I looked at Kenneth. “Is that true? You grew up in this house, Kenneth. Is the room really as secure as it appears? Is it possible to get in by any other means?”
Kenneth shook his head. “That room was off-limits to me as a boy,” he said, “so naturally I was powerfully curious to know what went on when my father locked himself away. I tried to find a way of spying on him. I even harbored a childish hope that I might discover a secret passage, but of course there was nothing of the kind. There is no way in or out of that room apart from the doors.”
“Well, that puts the lot of you in a rather awkward position,” said Foster with apparent satisfaction. “Either one of you killed Edgar, or it was the work of Jasper’s ghost.”
“So it would seem,” said Kenneth gloomily. “I can’t say that I find much comfort in either of those two options.”
A moody silence settled over the room as Sergeant Flaherty appeared to conduct each of us in turn into the presence of Lieutenant Murray. I passed the time looking through the leather-bound volumes near the fireplace, while Dr. Wells stirred at the coals with a metal poker. When it was Harry’s turn to be led away for questioning, I took advantage of his absence to accept a cigarette from Kenneth. My brother’s passion for physical conditioning left him with an abiding mistrust of tobacco, but in those days I still believed that a cigarette gave me an air of sophistication. I was happy to strike a pose near the mantelpiece, surveying the room though a cloud of fragrant smoke.
I had gotten through three of Kenneth’s cigarettes before Sergeant Flaherty reappeared to take me upstairs to Jasper Clairmont’s study. I found Lieutenant Murray seated at the séance table, with a sheaf of notes and reports spread out before him.
“Afternoon, Hardeen,” he said. “Any more theories for me today? You and your brother aren’t going to set fire to the room again, are you?”
“You must admit that it was an interesting solution to the problem,” I returned. “It just didn’t happen to be the correct one.”
“Yes,” the lieutenant allowed. “Unfortunately, I haven’t anything better on hand at the moment. Why don’t you tell me again what happened here last night?”
He sat absolutely still as I ran through the events of the previous evening in as much detail as I could recall. He did not make a single notation or even glance at the papers on the table before him, and I had the impression that he was waiting to see if my account varied from those of the others.
“I’ll tell you what bothers me,” he said when I had finished. “If I wanted to stab Edgar Grange in the back, I don’t think I’d do it in a roomful of people.”
“No,” I agreed. “I can’t imagine that you would.”
“Obviously the killer wanted everyone to believe that Jasper Clairmont’s ghost was responsible. For that he needed witnesses. Who benefits from giving the impression that there’s a murderous ghost on the loose?”
“Lucius Craig,” I answered. “He’s already taken care to get his name in the newspapers.”
“He killed a man to get his name in the newspapers? I don’t buy it.”
“Well, there may have been other motivations as well.”
The lieutenant stood up and stretched his arms over his head. “I know. He may have had designs on the Clairmont millions. Still, if he was tied up as securely as your brother says—”
“Then he would have needed an accomplice from outside of the room.”
“It seems so, though I can’t figure how that could have been managed. Still, somebody had to be running around in a sheet or pulling strings or something. That was no ghost you saw.”
“It wasn’t someone dressed in a sheet, either, Lieutenant. It was too—too ethereal.”
“Ethereal, huh?” He rubbed at his jaw. “You’re a real fount of information, Hardeen. You really are. You’re sure you didn’t hear anyone moving around before this ethereal vision appeared?”
I stood up and walked to the music box cabinet. “Mr. Craig had the music playing from the beginning, and he was talking most of the time. It was difficult to hear anything else.” I leaned over the music box and pushed the speaker trumpet aside on its swivel, then I lifted the mahogany lid to peer at the workings. Inside was a metal cylinder covered with grooves and notches, a pair of glass tubes, a metal disc with a series of holes punched in a spiral pattern, and a wooden pick arm that stretched across the spin shaft. I’ve always been fascinated by mechanical gadgets and longed to take the device apart to see how it worked.
“Your brother seems to think that Lucius Craig is the one man who couldn’t have done it,” the lieutenant was saying. “I’m not sure I agree.”
“He couldn’t have done it alone, Lieutenant,” I said, setting the music box going. “That much is certain.”
“I’m not so sure,” he answered as the first notes of Mozart filled the room. “Sergeant Flaherty?”
The sergeant, who had been standing by the open door, snapped to attention. “Sir?”
“Ask Mr. Houdini if I might have a few more moments of his time, would you?”
“Right away, sir.”
‘Tell me again what these screens are for, Hardeen,” the lieutenant said, indicating the fabric tent surrounding Lucius Craig’s chair.
“He claims that they help to focus the spirit energy in the room.”
“Is Craig the only one who thinks so, or are there are other mediums who use this type of covering?”
“As I understand it, it’s fairly typical for a spirit medium to use a screen of this type. What’s unusual is that these particular screens actually provide less cover than one would expect. When Harry and I did our stint as mediums, we used a screen of opaque black cloth. When Harry went behind those curtains, he could do whatever he wanted without being observed by the audience.”
The lieutenant stretched out his arm. “I can see my hand right through this material,” he said.
“Yes, and there was never any sort of covering in front of the enclosure. He was only screened from the back and sides.”
“Makes no sense.”
“I’ve heard it explained in various ways. According to Harry, it’s supposed to be like starting a fire in the woods. The spark has to be shielded from stray gusts of wind. The screens are meant to keep restless spirits from interfering.”
“Restless spirits.” The lieutenant narrowed his eyes. “Imagine that.”
“It’s just scene-setting. A platform magician will sometimes use his cape in the same way—hiding something from the eyes of the audience that doesn’t really need to be hidden, just to make the effect look more mysterious than it actually is.”
“Just to make it look good, eh?” He fingered the sheer fabric. “Maybe. Ah, Houdini! There you are!”
“How can I help you, Lieutenant?” my brother asked. “Is there some new discovery that requires my attention?”
“Not exactly, Houdini,” the lieutenant said. “I wanted to ask you a favor.”
“A favor? What sort of favor?”
The lieutenant fixed me with a strange expression. “Well, Houdini,” he said, “I think you might actually enjoy it.”
Five minutes later I was lashed to a wooden chair as securely as if dipped in a vat of plaster.
“You’re quite right, Lieutenant,” said Harry, stepping back to admire his handiwork. “I did find that rather agreeable.”
“This is how you tied up Lucius Craig last night? With the double knots and short strips of rope?”
“It is more practical to bind someone with short strips rather than one long hank of rope. The shorter lengths can be tightened more securely. A longer rope is likely to admit slack.”
Lieutenant Murray poked at the restraints around my left arm. “Any slack there, Hardeen?”
“None,” I said.
“But your hands are free,” he noted.
“That was so that Mr. Craig would still be able to grasp the hands of Mrs. Clairmont and Mr. Grange,” Harry said. “He ins
isted upon it. As you can see, however, he had no movement in his hands. They had to reach over to him in order to complete the circle.”
“So I see. You’re telling me that Lucius Craig couldn’t have been responsible for the death of Edgar Grange.”
“It is absolutely impossible, Lieutenant. Had the murder occurred in the earlier part of the evening, then I would have been the first to accuse Mr. Craig. The man is a transparent cad. But at the time of the murder he was securely tied, as you can see. We had to cut him free afterwards. He simply could not have done it. He must be eliminated from the list of suspects.”
Lieutenant Murray fixed my brother with a level gaze. “You could have done it, Houdini.”
Harry started. “You mean to suggest that I could have killed Mr. Grange? Preposterous!”
“No, I mean you could have escaped from the ropes, killed the lawyer, and then slipped back into your bonds. You’re always telling me what a master of escape you are. You could have done it.”
Harry weighed his response. “Indeed, I could have. But Houdini is without equal. There is no one else in the entire world who could have managed such a thing.”
Murray tapped a pencil against his notebook. “Hardeen could have. If we leave him sitting there long enough, I bet he’ll get out.”
Harry’s head snapped in my direction, as though he had never noticed me before. “Dash? Well, yes. I suppose Dash might be able to manage it. Perhaps not as flawlessly as I.”
“A minute ago you would have had me believe that there was no one else in the entire world capable of escaping from the ropes. Now we have two men sitting in the same room. Why not three?”
“My talents are quite without parallel, Lieutenant. While it is true that my brother Dash possesses some of them to a lesser degree, that is a matter of pure heredity. It may be that he himself is not luminous, but he is a conductor of light. Some people—”
I cleared my throat. “What Harry is trying to say, Lieutenant, is that Craig’s hands were bound in a manner far more stringent than the usual run of such things, as you can plainly see. Harry is the Paganini of ropes. Last night I chided him for being excessive. In the circumstances, I’m fully persuaded that Craig was completely immobile. Even if he had been able to extricate himself from the ropes, I don’t see how he could possibly have managed it so that we wouldn’t have noticed when the lights were restored. It’s one thing to get out of restraints such as these, it’s quite another to get back in.” I strained at the bonds, demonstrating their unyielding strength. “As far as I’m concerned, Lucius Craig is the one man in the room that we can rule out—unless someone else was helping him.”
Harry Houdini Mysteries Page 14