by Raymond John
He gave the auto a cursory sidelong glance. “No, but judging from the dent in the fender and the fact that Becker appeared here, I assume it’s the carriage used in the abduction last night.”
Once again his attitude annoyed me. “Indeed. Our foe knew he couldn’t drive away, so he left the auto behind. Some of his belongings as well.”
This time Holmes couldn’t hide his interest. I didn’t wait for a response.
“He left his hat and coat on the seat . . .”
Holmes glared at me. “Stop being silly, Wiggins. We don’t have time for nonsense. Get to the crux of the matter.”
Damn! “He left his briefcase. One of the Irregulars is waiting for us down the street with it.”
Terry Fields sat at the drug store’s counter with the foamy remains of an ice cream soda before him. When he saw us, he took a noisy last slurp, snatched up his change and slid off the stool to his feet. With a big smile, he lofted the valise. “Here’s your briefcase, Dad.”
Luckily, no one else but the soda jerk, a morose male teen who obviously wasn’t listening, was around to hear.
“Thanks—son,” I mumbled.
Remaining in character, Terry took my hand as we left the pharmacy. Wraithlike, Neil followed without a word. I had to believe the poor fellow was low-man on the neighborhood totem pole.
“Where to now?” Holmes asked. “We certainly aren’t going to find a cab anywhere around here, and we have the rest of the Irregulars to retrieve.”
“Do you have a nickel?” Terry chirped.
“I just gave you half a dollar ten minutes ago.”
“All I have is dimes.”
Grumbling, I handed him a nickel. “What do you want it for?”
“I’ll call my dad and have him pick us up.”
After paying our young charges their wages at the Parker House, and giving Michael Fields a dollar for his assistance, we still had forty-five minutes until the end of the parade when we could pick up the rest of the Irregulars.
In our room, Holmes, Rose, and Violet hovered over me like vultures as I pried open the valise with a sturdy table knife. As suspected, it was stuffed full of papers of all sizes and shapes. I dumped the contents on our table and divvied them up.
My pile included used train tickets from Detroit to New York, and New York to Boston. “Interesting. Becker bought a return ticket to Detroit for tomorrow. I’ll tell O’Neal. Our foe may still be planning to leave on that train.”
Violet opened a bulging file of newspaper clippings showing drawings and diagrams.
“I know what they are,” Rose said. “Mr. Houdini published articles for months explaining the tricks the mediums used to gull their clients. Whenever one of us discovered a new one, we drew it or photographed it and sent it to the newspapers. Mr. Becker must have been collecting them for years.”
“He probably was looking for new material,” Holmes said in a laconic tone. He laid a similar folder in front of him. “Apparently Hitler has been recruiting heavily from the veterans groups for his private militia. In fact, that’s where much of his money’s being used.”
I shook my head.
“Hitler’s Brownshirts patrol the streets beating people up and looking for ways to extort money. The local police forces can’t control them. Weimar doesn’t even try. I suspect President Hindenburg may even sympathize with them.”
“Our Mr. Becker must be quite a scholar,” I said. “He’s been tracking Mr. H’s movements for years.”
I flipped through the clippings again. This time I noticed a Detroit News cut with a circle around the date of Houdini’s visit in May of 1923.
My heart beat faster. “This may be important,” I said, dealing out four piles. “See if any of the other clippings have circled dates.”
After a quick search, Violet found two. Rose and Holmes, one each. All were announcements of Houdini’s upcoming performances.
We arranged them by date on the tabletop. The earliest was a December 1924 blurb in the Minneapolis Times, and the latest, October 15, 1926, in the Schenectady Daily Gazette. The date was circled in red.
I looked at Rose. “You said Mr. H. played in Schenectady just before he went to Montreal, didn’t you?”
“Yes. It was a stop I wished we hadn’t made. I told you Mrs. H. got sick and had to go the hospital, and Mr. H. broke an ankle on stage.”
“Bess was hospitalized?” Holmes asked in excitement. “I forgot about that. Do you know why?”
“Severe nausea and stomach pain. The doctors thought it was food poisoning and pumped out her stomach. She was still sick when we arrived in Montreal.”
Violet gasped.
“Yes, dear lady,” Holmes said in a serious tone. “I was thinking the same thing. But Mrs. Houdini and Rose had different meals as Mr. H. Nonetheless, Becker’s newspaper articles provide a strong chain of circumstances that suggest he was the force behind Harry Houdini’s poisoning, and the fatal dose was administered in Schenectady. The circled dates may indicate other, unsuccessful attempts. It’s quite possible the magician developed something of an immunity from insufficient doses. I wish we could find out if Bess became sick at the same time.”
“She was often in poor health,” Rose said. “Poor Mr. H. was always tending to her needs and trying to console her.”
Once again, the words and tone made me wonder about Rose’s feelings for her employer. My musings ended with a look at my pocket watch. “This is all very exciting, but we have to collect the rest of our Irregulars. I suggest you pick up the ones in Cambridge, Holmes. I’ll get the ones downtown. If you ladies will order dinner from room service and have them deliver in an hour, we’ll all get something to eat.”
Chapter 33
Rose had splurged and ordered lobster for us, paying for it from her own pocket. It was our first real meal of the day, and a bit rich for my taste, but it certainly couldn’t have been more delicious. Unfortunately, my wife’s efforts to force temperance on our nation had been all too successful. A nice chilled sauterne would have been the perfect complement, immoral and illegal as it may have been.
“One thing bothers me,” I said, picking at the bread pudding that came for dessert. “I simply can’t imagine Albert Becker would use thallium to poison Houdini. I doubt he even heard of it. Why didn’t he use something more common, like arsenic?”
“Too easy to detect, Wiggins,” Mr. Holmes mumbled. “Houdini could have suspected its use himself. Thallium’s far rarer and, therefore, more insidious. But you bring up an important point. There must be another, even higher, echelon at work. A Moriarty to Colonel Moran, as it were.”
The telephone rang. I put down my spoon and got to my feet.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Wiggins,” said a cheery voice. “Conan Doyle speaking. Officer O’Neal will be interviewing me in my room at the hotel, and I thought you and Mr. Holmes might want to be present. Your wife is welcome, too.”
“What time is he coming?”
“Two o’clock.”
“That’s only twenty minutes from now. Thank you for the invitation. We’ll see you then.”
After Violet freshened up a bit and I changed my clothes, we met Holmes and took the elevator to the lobby. To our delight, we stepped out into bright sunshine. I caught Holmes looking wistfully in the direction of the Park Hotel. My turn to play mind reader. “It is sad, isn’t it?”
To my dismay, Holmes paid no attention to my newfound skill. “Quite. My calves are castigating me for lack of use.”
“Do you get the feeling Becker’s still watching us?”
“No. He’s been dealt another serious blow. He’s definitely on the defensive. He no longer has his henchmen, and he’ll have to buy himself another chesterfield, but I can assure you, we haven’t seen the last of him. He would love nothing better than to catch
us in an unguarded moment. Ah well . . .” With a pensive look, Holmes opened the back door of the waiting taxicab and gestured for Violet and me to get in.
“To the Park Hotel, please,” he said, climbing in after us.
I settled into the plush seat. “Do you think Lady Jean’ll be there?”
“I’m sure Sir Arthur would insist on it. She’d be quite furious if she isn’t allowed to stay.” With a mischievous chuckle he said, “Do you know Sir Arthur’s pet name for her?”
“I can’t even imagine.”
“Lady Sunshine.”
By chance, we met Officer O’Neal in the lobby of the Park Hotel, and the four of us took the elevator to the Eighteenth Floor. Sir Arthur stood waiting outside his door with an expression that reminded me of a worried walrus. I smiled as he greeted Holmes with an unwelcome hug, whilst Lady Jean stood by, pretending to be a statue.
When Sir Arthur turned his affections to Violet, his enthusiasm aroused the lady’s attention, and she became Pygmalion with a loud clearing of her throat.
“Please come in. I’ve set chairs for everyone,” Sir Arthur said.
I felt a tingle of expectation as I did.
O’Neal remained on his feet, and was the first to speak. “When I called you last night, Sir Arthur, I was hoping to get information about where the kidnappers had taken their victims. Fortunately, that’s no longer an issue. Thanks to Mr. Wiggins, everyone is safe and sound.”
Sir Arthur applauded. “Thank heavens for that. I barely slept all night.”
“Nor did I,” Lady Jean grumbled.
“I can understand why. Actually, because of Mr. Wiggins’s heroics, I only have a few questions,” O’Neal took a notebook from his pocket. “Two of the kidnappers have been captured. The third, Albert Becker, also known as Baker, is still at large. What do you know about him?”
Sir Arthur’s smile faded. “I’ve never met the man, but I do know he’s a close associate with Dr. Croydon, and important to the Spiritualist movement. Our religion is barely known in Germany, and Mr. Baker has been working very hard to promote it there. I contributed more than a thousand pounds to the cause, and I know the Croydons and others in this country have made similar donations.”
O’Neal jotted a note. “Do you know why Mrs. Croydon invited him to the lecture last night?”
“She told me she invited him so he could announce a fund-raiser he would be holding in Boston next month. Dr. Croydon thought we could raise at least twenty-five thousand dollars. I planned to donate a thousand pounds myself.”
A good start. That amounted to nearly twenty-five hundred dollars. O’Neal jotted another note. “Go on.”
“Margery told me she was surprised Mr. Baker left before she could introduce him. She was absolutely dumbfounded to learn of his alleged involvement in the kidnapping.”
O’Neal responded. “The kidnappers took the victims to a house in Framinghamn that belongs to an Isaac Bradford. Mr. Bradford is in England. Do you have any idea how they got use of his house?”
Sir Arthur smiled wistfully. “The Spiritualists I know are happy to share food and lodging with other members. In that way, we are a lot like the Masons. I don’t know if Mr. Bradford is a participant, but if he is, he may have given Mr. Becker the keys as a gesture of his trust and respect.”
O’Neal’s lips pursed. “Do you have any other information that might help us find Becker?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“Mrs. Croydon offered to put on a séance to help us. Would you mind arranging it?”
Sir Arthur beamed. “Not at all. In fact I’d be delighted to show off her abilities. Walter undoubtedly will have many interesting things to say. From what I’ve heard, he and Mr. Baker were very friendly.”
I responded to O’Neal’s puzzled look. “Walter is Margery’s familiar. He’s her dead brother.”
“I see,” the officer said with a shrug. I could tell he was having a hard time keeping from smiling. “If tonight isn’t too short a time to prepare, I’d really like to meet them. The Wigginses and Mr. Holmes would be welcome, too.”
I scarcely could believe my ears.
“Thank you,” O’Neal said. “I have an appointment and will have to leave shortly. I’ll be happy to give you a call when I’m finished and meet you at her house. I’ve heard a great deal about Mina Croydon. Do you know where she got her medium name?”
“I heard she was told to take the name of one of her great aunts who had spiritualist talents. You’ll have to ask her yourself.”
“I certainly will. I don’t have any more questions at this time, so I’ll be leaving. We’ll meet again shortly.”
Sir Arthur followed the officer to the door. When the rest of us remained in place, Lady Jean seemed surprised, but remained silent.
“That was a quick interview,” Sir Arthur said as he returned. “Now that the constabulary is gone, can I offer anyone some sherry?”
His smile faded when there were no takers.
“Thanks for the offer,” Holmes said, “but I have a few questions for you that aren’t directly connected with Becker or the kidnapping. I understand Dr. William Crookes visited the Croydons. Do you know when this was?”
Sir Arthur looked thoughtful. “Sometime in 1919, just a few months before he died. Why do you ask?”
“His meeting with the Croydons is the only direct connection to our investigation of Mr. Houdini’s death by thallium poisoning.”
“Investigation?” Lady Jean said. “Why should you be investigating? He died of appendicitis.”
“Is that what Pheneas told you?”
Her eyes widened. “I-I don’t think I ever asked him. It never occurred to me it was anything other than what the daily journals said.”
Sir Arthur quickly stepped in. “Don’t be concerned, love. I’m happy to answer Mr. Holmes’s question. Dr. Crookes and I were longtime friends. He had an interest in our religion and wanted to visit the people who knew the most about it. I offered to contact the Croydons for him.”
“How did you know Mrs. Croydon at that time?” Holmes asked.
“I became aware of Margery’s extraordinary gifts soon after Dr. Croydon married her in 1918. The doctor recognized her talents and quickly helped her put them to use. Overnight, she became one of the most important leaders of our religion.”
“I see.” I could tell from Holmes’s expression he was lost in thought. “What happened then?”
“Dr. Crookes was coming to America for a scientific conference in ’19, and the Croydons were anxious to meet him. From what Dr. Crookes told me, he was very impressed with Margery, though I’m not certain he converted. It seems Walter was very intrigued and wanted to know all about thallium and its uses. The others at the séance weren’t that interested, so Dr. Crookes didn’t go into much detail.”
I wasn’t surprised to learn it was Walter who had the most interest in the new element. If he had been there, Houdini probably would have been interested in it, too. He might have realized why his hair started to fall out. “Was Albert Becker in attendance when Dr. Crookes was here?”
“He could have been. I never heard.”
Holmes’s voice became gentle. “We know Mr. Becker has been raising money to aid Adolf Hitler in building a new political party that intends to restore the German empire by any means possible. Becker and Dr. Croydon also are propagating eugenics and anti-Semitism in the form of Aryan superiority theory. From what you just said, don’t you think it’s possible some of the money Mr. Becker purportedly collected for the Spiritualist movement may have been given to Hitler and his National Socialist party?”
Sir Arthur didn’t respond immediately. “It never occurred to me before, but yes, of course it’s possible. I doubt it. No one would even think of questioning the legitimacy of someone Dr. Croydon endors
ed.”
“If you don’t mind, Lady Jean, I have a question for you.”
Her eyes opened wide. “For me?”
“Yes. Who is Pheneas, please?”
“Why, he’s a soul I contacted during a séance in Windlesham, an Arabian seer from ancient Ur who lived before the time of Abraham.”
“I fear he may have misinformed you,” Holmes said quietly. “There weren’t any Arabians before the time of Abraham. They were all part of the area we now know as Palestine.”
Sir Arthur cut in. “You misunderstood, my dear. Pheneas was merely trying to describe the area where he lived in terms you would have recognized.”
Obviously anxious to shield Lady Jean from further questions, he quickly continued. “I can tell you about our first encounter with Pheneas. It was in 1912, and our whole family was present at the time. All the children and I got to talk to him. He told us some very bad things were about to happen, but that we shouldn’t be afraid because none of us would be hurt. When everything was done, the world would be a better place.”
Sir Arthur paused and took his wife’s hand. A faint smile appeared on his face. “I thought the children might be afraid, but they seemed to think he was funny.”
“I see,” Holmes said. “Did you believe him?”
“Of course,” Sir Arthur sputtered.” Why should I have doubted? I hadn’t been aware my wife’s spiritual gifts were so powerful, but I immediately knew Pheneas was a genuine spirit. Now he’s like a member of the family. He’s been with us for more than fifteen years.”
“Could you invoke other spirits if you wanted to, Lady Jean?” Holmes asked.
“I don’t know,” she said in an offended voice. “I’ve never tried. Pheneas chose me to be his contact with the spirit world, and I have no reason to even attempt to summon anyone else.”
“Can you call him now?”
“I don’t call him, and he never appears. I automatically write what he wants to communicate. He won’t visit me in the presence of non-believers.”