Who Done Houdini

by Raymond John

  “I refuse to answer any questions from a worthless Jew.”

  “You don’t need to answer, my good man. They are on record as having owned this house. During the Great War, they remained strong supporters of the Kaiser, claiming that all the reports of German atrocities were no more than Jewish lies.”

  “My parents only spoke the truth,” Becker mumbled.

  “They not only spoke their version of the truth, they wrote about it. They published a newspaper from the basement here advocating that either America withdraw from the war, or that it switch sides to defeat France and Great Britain. Isn’t it true they were ultimately prosecuted under the Sedition Law?”

  Becker glared in silence.

  “Whether or not you choose to respond, I can cite the case for you. U.S. versus Becker and Becker. They were convicted, but because of their age, they were given suspended sentences and deported.”

  Becker shouted. “It broke their hearts. They both died less than a year later in Berlin. They loved this country as much as they loved the Fatherland.”

  “What they were advocating was illegal, but far less reprehensible than their publicizing of their intense hatred of Jews and Negroes. Did they ever participate in lynching one, as they said all true Americans should do?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Would you?”

  Silence.

  “Tell me. Why didn’t you go with them when they left the country?”

  Becker didn’t respond, and Holmes continued. “Is it because they wanted you to stay behind and continue their campaign of hate from here?”

  Holmes paused for only a moment. “When the war ended, you wanted to help build a new Germany. There’s nothing wrong with that, and it could very well be of benefit to everyone. Unfortunately, that’s not what you want, is it? You want Germany to occupy and rule the whole world, and there are millions of Jews, Poles, and Russians and other ‘inferior’ races taking up space. Tell me, why do you have a copy of Mein Kampf on the table in your foyer?”

  Sneering, Becker asked, “Why not? It’s an important book. I want everyone to know about it and read it.”

  “I doubt your guests know anything about it. Tell them who wrote it.”

  “A great patriot who will someday lead Germany. His name is Adolf Hitler. He’s determined to steer the beloved Fatherland back to its deserved greatness.”

  “As I understand it, Mr. Hitler wrote his book from prison.”

  “He’s a martyr to the cause. His internment has been a great contribution to his resolve.”

  “Indeed. His resolve to rid the world of Jews.”

  “That’s just part of his crusade. He knows they started the war, and their days are numbered for their crimes.”

  “Thousands of Jewish men died during the war fighting for Germany.”

  Becker snorted. “They were fighting to take over the Fatherland for themselves.”

  “Do you have Jewish clients?”

  “Several.”

  “Do they know of your feelings about them?”

  Becker caught his breath. “I like the Jews I know and will see no harm comes to them. The guilty ones are in Germany and the rest of Europe. They deserve their fate.”

  “Hitler had Jewish friends also. They gave him very generous prices for his drawings before he went into politics. Do your Jewish friends know the money they spend with you is being used to fund beatings, murders, and destruction of Jewish citizens’ property in Germany?”

  “The leader does only what’s necessary. The Communists are doing the same things. Even more so. The Jews intend to hand the Fatherland over to the Russians. Hitler won’t allow that to happen.”

  “I’ve read many German newspapers recently. The National Socialist party has received large contributions from the United States, mostly through the Deutscher-Amerikanischer Freundschaft Bund. When I first came to your manor, I noticed several calendars with that organization’s name on it.”

  “That means nothing. And even if I may have made some small contributions through the Bund, I have done nothing illegal.”

  “True. You’re free to contribute to any organization you choose, but your contributions have been anything but small. Frankfurter Zeitung names you as one of the largest American donors, not under the name Baker, of course, but B A-umlaut K-E-R. Your original German spelling.”

  Becker stuck out his chin. “Becker is a common name. That’s someone else.”

  “Of course. There must be hundreds of others with the same name living here in St. Clare Shores. Frankly, I’m surprised you want to hide your identity. You should be proud of what you’re doing.”

  Becker hissed.

  “I understand you were invited to Houdini’s opening night show at the Garrick. Did you attend?”

  “Of course not. He was the enemy of everything I stand for. He was like all Jews, a cheat and a liar.”

  “Then it must have been a great relief, even a joy to you, that he died before he had the chance to expose your trickery. I consider it an honor to finish his work for him.”

  With a scream, Becker broke out of my grip and charged. “All filthy Jew lies! Now you’ll have to look over your shoulder for the rest of your life.”

  Holmes deftly side-stepped. I jumped on Becker from behind and knocked him to the floor.

  With that, the attendees slowly got to their feet and began to leave the room. Only his assistant remained beside him.

  “Don’t go,” Becker pleaded. “Can’t you tell he’s lying to you?”

  None turned around, and I refused to let him up until everyone but the four of us had left the room.

  “Ich bin nicht allein!” Becker screeched. “Der Fuhrer has eyes, ears and knives all over the world. I promise you and all your other Jew conspirators will be punished.”

  “Perhaps,” Mr. Holmes said in a quiet voice, “but it’ll take more than the likes of you to silence me. Maybe I shouldn’t dislike you so much. You’re a product of your parents’ hatred. But yours is far greater and far more dangerous.”

  “Fichst dich, juden! Du bist todt!”

  “On the contrary, sir, I’m still on my feet and alive, and I intend to stay that way for many years to come. Furthermore, I may be older but I still can defend myself against rape. Lastly, I’m not Jewish.”

  Nearly foaming at the mouth, Becker made a last attempt to get up. I pinned his head to the floor. Finally he stopped struggling and lay gasping for breath. He reminded me of the German shepherd, except I felt nothing but loathing for Becker.

  Holmes apparently had the same idea. Standing over the stricken German, he said, “The only regret I have about this evening is having to restrain your dog. You’ll find him unharmed behind your house. It’s heartbreaking that he should have you for a master. Such a loyal animal deserves a far better fate. Now get up.”

  “Let me help you,” I said.

  My association with the police has taught me how to grasp a man’s arm so as to incapacitate him. Holding him by his right wrist with my left hand, I stretched Becker’s arm out straight and tucked my right arm under his elbow. Any attempt to break free or swing at me would result in a painful broken joint. All I had to do was jerk upward under his elbow while pushing sharply on his wrist.

  Myrtle watched with an open mouth as we frog-marched Becker through the front door. He dragged his feet, all the way shouting. I knew enough Yiddish to recognize the obscenities. As I held Becker, Holmes went for the car.

  Holmes got out, faced Becker and brandished the animal-capture rod like a lion trainer’s whip. “Let him go.”

  I did, and Becker immediately made a dash back toward the house. “Our man appears to have had enough for one evening,” Holmes said. “But I still suggest we get out of here quickly.”

  I ag
reed, and we were soon speeding away down the road.

  “Excellent work, Wiggins. I’m sure we’ve clipped Mr. Becker’s wings for good.”

  “At least we’ve put him out of business. But why are you making such a big issue of exposing a secret supporter of some obscure German political party?”

  “He’s far more than that, Wiggins,” Holmes said with a sigh. “And Mr. Houdini must have realized it too, if he was so determined to expose him he got up from his deathbed for the performance. Hitler is civilization’s worst nightmare. I told you earlier that Mycroft says there’s a great cancer growing in Europe. I’m sure you realize whom I’m referring to. Sadly, the German people do have much to be angry about.”

  “You mean because they were forced to accept blame for starting the war?”

  “That and the reparations they’ve been forced to pay. But most of all they’re victims of the great inflation that left whole populations penniless. Germans are a proud people. Their poverty hurts them deeply. It’s not surprising Hitler’s message is so powerfully seductive. It offers them hope for the future and someone to blame for all their troubles. Unfortunately, his plans can only lead to war.”

  “And suffering for the Jews,” I muttered.

  “More than we can even imagine, I fear. The key is that the League of Nations is required to return the Rhineland to Germany in eight years. When that happens, Germany will have almost unlimited power to build weapons. When they finally go to war, they’ll be determined to win, no matter what they have to do to achieve a victory, and their weapons will be far more deadly.”

  “If even half the stories about the atrocities against the Belgians are true, they’d rank among the cruelest warriors of all time.”

  “The next great war will be many times more horrible than the last. I hope I won’t be around for it. My heart can’t stand to be broken again.”

  I didn’t like the downbeat tone.

  “I’m worried about Becker,” I said. “Do you think he’ll try to carry through on his threat?”

  “He might very well if he’s able to find out who we are. My references to Houdini may be our undoing.”

  Conversation ended, and I drove on in silence until we were approaching downtown Detroit.

  “I’m sure you’re enjoying your stay at the Royal Palm, Mr. Holmes, but it’s an unnecessary expense. You’re more than welcome to stay with Violet and me. We have a bedroom we’ve never used.”

  “I appreciate the offer, Wiggins, but old habits die slowly, and I prefer my solitude. Moreover, we’re done with what we can accomplish here. I know I should have told you earlier, but I’ve booked passage for us to New York on the eleven o’clock train. We have someone to meet in Brooklyn.”

  “Eleven o’clock? That’s impossible I can’t even pack that quickly. And Violet will never agree to my leaving so abruptly. If you want me to come with you, she’ll have to come too.”

  “That would be awkward.”

  “To use an old expression. You made the bed. Now lie in it.”

  “I see I’ve once again forgotten I’m not traveling alone. Your charming wife will be more than welcome to join us. I’ll pay her fare when we’re on the train.”

  Chapter 12

  Clothes flew as we packed, and Violet was sure we would never make it in time, but somehow we appeared, bleary-eyed and yawning, at the station at 10:45. The train was already waiting there with puffs of steam coming from beneath the cars, and boarding doors standing open. Though resentful about the short notice, Violet was far too excited about the trip to complain.

  “I still can’t believe he’s taking me with, too,” she said with girlish glee. “I’ve never been to New York before.”

  “You must have impressed him somehow.”

  A cold wind bit at our ears and noses, and we were shivering when Holmes showed up three minutes later.

  “Good morning,” I said. “I see you’re back in your tweeds.”

  “The rest of my clothes are in my bag. Everything, that is, except the winter cap with the earflaps you so kindly bought me. I left that in the hotel room.”

  His sharp look told me that my attempt at a little harmless humor at his expense was at an end. I smiled, a bit sheepishly I fear.

  He glanced at our bags, then turned to Violet. “You were able to pack a few things, I see.”

  “Just barely,” Violet said with a smile.

  That was a lie. Screaming at the top of her voice, she tore everything with hooks from her closet and laid them on the bed. “I have no idea what to bring,” she had sobbed, flinging herself on top of the pile.

  I had fewer things to pack and finished less than half an hour later. She was still jamming things into her suitcase on the way to the train station, and barely got the bag to close.

  Holmes, of course, knew nothing of this, and being a bachelor, couldn’t even guess. “And a very good evening to you, my dear,” he said. “Let me apologize for such short notice. Though at first I admit I wasn’t overjoyed at the prospect of having another individual join us, I quickly realized you are every bit as observant as your husband and will be an excellent addition to our party. My only concern is that sleeping arrangements may be a bit awkward.”

  “I’ll pay for our separate rooms,” I said. “We can use adjoining quarters for our conferences.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Wiggins. I will be more than happy to pay for Violet’s expenses. Especially since they are all my fault, anyway.”

  A porter came by and lifted our bags into the car. Holmes gave the man two gold dollars without batting an eye.

  The porter’s eyes lit up at the unexpected windfall. “Thank you very much, sir.”

  “You’re very welcome.” Turning to us, he said, “I booked first-class accommodations. After a few hours’ sleep we can enjoy a leisurely breakfast and be in New York by early evening.”

  “Whom are we going to meet?” I asked.

  “One of Houdini’s employees. Her name is Rose Mackenberg. I called her long distance yesterday morning. She investigated Albert Becker’s operation for Houdini, among many others. I’m sure she’ll have much to tell us.”

  We joined Holmes in the dining car at 8:30. The clattering of the wheels and the jostling kept me awake for a while, but I drifted.

  Six hours later, we awoke at Holmes’s knock and doused our hands and faces before heading for the dining car.

  The breakfast of shirred eggs, toast, American fries, and orange juice went down easily. After we finished, Violet insisted we play three-handed whist, also known as Widow Whist. I always assumed the husband of the inventor of the game had died leaving only three people to play the four hands. Whether I played my own hand or took the widow, I inevitably came up with my usual assortment of sixes and sevens and an occasional facecard I always seem to get dealt. Good enough to win my three or four necessary tricks on rare occasion, but invariably the suits were too evenly distributed to bid nullo and attempt to take no tricks at all. Violet on the other hand played like a demon, making four nullos in a row to win the game for the third time.

  “I see we’re in the presence of a card shark, Wiggins,” Holmes said. He pointed an accusing finger at Violet. “I know when I’ve been swizzled, young lady. Either you give me back my three dollars or I’ll have the conductor throw you off the train at the next station.”

  Violet feigned a hurt look. “Is he always such a poor loser, Timothy?”

  “Usually worse. He’s an even more terrible winner. You should see how he gloats when he humiliates me at chess.” With that, I took a dollar out of my wallet and handed it to her. “You earned this fair and square, my dear. Use it to buy a bonnet when we get to our destination.”

  Stomping away in a faux huff, Holmes moved back two seats to read. I wanted to nap, but Violet insisted I play gin rummy w
ith her.

  Finally, I said, “I’ve had enough of cards. I’ll see if the porter can find us a backgammon board.”

  “Fine. I’ll beat your pants off.”

  To my amazement, this porter came back with a board and checkers. At last I was in my element.

  On Violet’s third roll, Holmes looked over his seat at our game. “Build your three point, my dear.”

  I would happily have beat him over his head with the board. “No kibitzing allowed. Read your book.”

  He did, but only for a few rolls. When Violet threw a six-five, he butted in again. “You’re way ahead in the count. Run for it.”

  I stormed to my feet. “That’s it. You two play and I’ll take a nap.”

  I did, and it lasted until the train stopped at Albany to change engines. Holmes woke me. “Dinner time. I’ve reserved a table for us.”

  As the train headed southward, we shared two pheasants under glass with young shoots of asparagus in butter and new potatoes in Béarnaise sauce. Violet offered to buy the non-alcoholic wine with her winnings, but Holmes refused to let her. “Keep your ill-got gains, cutpurse. I would choke on it if you paid for it.”

  There wasn’t much meat on the bird, but the faux wine was good, and Holmes entertained us by making tableware disappear then reappear in strange places. I could duplicate most of his moves, but how he got a spoon into my shirt pocket, I will never know.

  At the end of the meal I joined in raising our glasses to the dearly departed Victoria Regina before eating our dessert of sponge cake and wild huckleberries. I would rather have had cherries jubilee, but thanks to people of my dear wife’s ilk, alcohol was now illegal.

  Holmes paid the tab, and I foolishly offered to pay the tip. Of course he agreed. Three dollars was almost more than what I paid in total tips for a whole month of eating out.

  As we walked back, I checked my watch and realized we were only an hour and a half away from our destination. I found a newspaper with an unfinished crossword puzzle lying on an empty seat. Even better, Violet had seated herself next to Holmes, and I had time to work on it without interruption.