by Raymond John
“I’m anxious to see the séance room,” Holmes said as he finished aligning the heels and toes of his Oxfords beside mine.
“It’s right this way.”
I took a deep breath and looked around the living room once again. I liked the bare wood floor. Tawny oak, burnished to look like amber, stretched for at least forty feet from the entry room to the opposite wall. Violet oohed and aahed at the furniture, which I thought looked uncomfortable. Besides family portraits, the Croydons liked large canvasses, two at least ten feet long and nearly reaching to the ceiling. One showed a hunter with his dogs, all mere insects between soaring mountains and violently rushing water. No way would that be me. The other depicted Jesus, standing with Pontius Pilate and the Pharisees on a balcony, and a roaring crowd beneath. All I knew about it was it was Italian, and old. Though Violet passed by with little note of the paintings, she stopped in her tracks. The sight of a marble statue, a ten-foot-tall naked man, brought a gasp. Why wasn’t there a naked woman companion piece, I wanted to know. It was only fair, after all.
Holmes, on the other hand, walked head down, eyes focused on the floor. I knew he was counting paces. He seemed especially interested when we came to the passageway from the living room where a long stretch of metal grill replaced the wood.
“This is a large vent. Are you still using coal to heat your house?”
“No,” Margery said. “We have oil. This opening to the basement was sealed two years ago.”
“The fuel of the future, I’m sure. Will your son be joining us?”
She hesitated in her step, obviously nonplussed by the question. “No. He’s not allowed at my séances. Why do you ask?”
“I was just curious to know if he has your talents.”
“He may. If he does, he keeps them hidden. Our room is up this stairway on the fourth floor.”
I wrapped an arm around Violet’s waist as we climbed the marble stairway. Our shoeless feet barely made a sound, and slight irregularity of the edges of the steps meant many others had passed our way.
Violet and I were wheezing when we reached the landing. Margery and Holmes seemed unaffected by the ascent.
I heard voices coming from beyond a half-open door ahead of us. One I recognized. The other, a cultured baritone with a Boston accent, I didn’t.
Margery opened the door the rest of the way and stepped in. “Darling, three of our guests have arrived. This is Dr. Claybrook, Sir Arthur’s friend. Mr. and Mrs. Wiggins are friends of Dr. Claybrook. Dr. Claybrook and Mrs. Wiggins were the ones who were kidnapped from our limousine.”
O’Neal and Dr. Croydon got to their feet.
Croydon, lank and more than six feet tall, stood head and shoulders above the relatively diminutive police officer. The doctor’s ramrod straight posture and severely trimmed russet mustache reminded me of a colonel I once knew in the Royal Marines. Instead of khaki, his uniform was a green tweed three-piece suit. “Ah, yes. Officer O’Neal and I were just talking about that. Terrible thing to happen. Welcome to our humble abode.”
Holmes and I nodded acknowledgment. Violet curtsied.
As we entered, I felt a chill breeze coming from the heavily brocaded wall opposite the door, though the room itself seemed quite warm.
Gesturing in Holmes’s direction, Margery said, “Dr. Claybrook is from England.”
“Really? Which part?”
“Sussex. The Wigginses are from Detroit. Not far from where Albert Becker lives.”
Margery looked toward Croydon.
“Sergeant O’Neal and I were just talking about him.”
When did O’Neal get promoted?
“Albert is a fine man and never would do anything illegal. I’ve known him for more than twenty years. I’m sure everything that’s happened is nothing more than an enormous mistake.”
He sounded so sincere, I almost believed him.
Holmes wasn’t about to give up. “Even so, there’s a good possibility his underlings were the ones who crashed into your car. You must be furious.”
The doctor’s face clouded. He glared at Holmes. “Wouldn’t you be?” He gestured toward the chairs. “Everyone please find a seat. I always sit at my wife’s right, but you are welcome to take any of the other chairs.”
Seven chairs surrounded the circular table. I moved around until I found a seat where the chill wasn’t as noticeable, and Violet sat next to me on my left. On the table in front of each chair lay what appeared to be an oversized playing card, face down.
Curious, I started to pick it up.
“Please don’t touch anything yet,” Margery said. “You’ll have an opportunity when we start.”
Holmes’s features had settled into an expressionless mask. “Where and when did you meet Albert Becker, Dr. Croydon?”
“In June of 1904, at the World Exposition in St. Louis. Germany sent an exhibit, and we both had an interest in the discoveries her scientists had made in genetics in recent years. Even then, we knew how important these advancements were to the future of the German people, and ours as well. With land becoming scarcer, the race has needed to develop superior animals and foodstuffs to survive. Albert and I struck up a conversation and immediately became friends. I realized what he lacked in education, he more than made up for with keen intuition. Men like him will be the leaders in building a new and better world.”
I started to open my mouth, but Violet squeezed my hand. Hard.
“When was the last time you saw him?” O’Neal asked.
“Yesterday. We breakfasted together before I boarded my train to New York. We were discussing how to conduct a fundraiser to promote Spiritualism in Germany.”
“Sir Arthur tells us you had held one earlier,” I said. “He said he happily contributed a thousand pounds himself. That’s more than four thousand American dollars. Do you know how much you raised in total?”
“Nearly twenty-thousand dollars, wasn’t it?” Croydon asked with an inquiring look at Margery.
“Don’t you remember? It was exactly that. We made an additional contribution of four hundred dollars to make it an even amount.”
Holmes’s eyebrows arched. “Twenty thousand dollars is a substantial amount of money. How was it spent?”
“Albert has a foundation in Munich, Spirintiritisen Gemeinde. He has a full-time staff of six and an abandoned church we purchased on Alramstrasse.”
“A staff of six? That must be a very affluent organization. Only the businesses that deal in hard currencies, like Britain and the United States, would have that much working capital. Why does Becker think he needs to raise more money?”
Croydon hesitated a moment. “He wants to expand operations to Berlin. We both think our efforts will be more successful there.”
“I see. That’d certainly be much more expensive. Berlin is the London of Germany.”
Croydon scowled. “You mean London is the Berlin of Britain.”
The conversation ended with the sound of a bell.
“That must be Sir Arthur and Lady Jean,” Margery said, turning on her bare toes. “I’ll be right back.”
Time seemed to drag. Though she could only have been gone a couple of minutes, it seemed like an eternity before Margery returned, clutching Sir Arthur’s arm with Lady Jean a step behind. “We’re all here,” she said in a sparkling voice. “When everyone is seated, you can turn over your card. They’re Tarot, if you’ve never seen them before.”
“I have!” Violet volunteered shrilly, waving her hand. “My neighbor lady uses them.”
Her outburst brought a tight smile from Margery and a moment of embarrassment to me.
A smiling Sir Arthur waved at everyone before sitting. Lady Jean merely nodded at Holmes and ignored Violet and me completely.
“The cards will tell you something about yourself whil
e I get into my cabinet to summon Walter.”
Despite my skepticism I could hardly wait to see what was on the face of my card. Violet exposed hers first. It showed two children in what appeared to be a medieval town. I wasn’t familiar with the cards and had no idea what it was supposed to represent.
“It’s the six of cups,” Violet said. “It means harmony and contentment. I’ve had that all my life.”
“Very good,” Margery said with obvious admiration.
Mine showed a man in a red cape with his back turned, standing amid three trees or stakes.
“That’s the two of wands,” Violet said, beaming. “It means success through hard work. Timothy has worked hard all his life, and he is very successful.”
I could tell how much she enjoyed showing off her knowledge and rejoiced at her success. Even Margery raised an eyebrow in admiration. At the same time, a tiny thought nagged at the back of my mind. Had I been married to a witch for twenty years?
“Neither of the cards is inverted,” Margery said. “That’s very good.”
With Violet, Margery, and Dr. Croydon between me and Holmes, I couldn’t see which card Holmes had exposed.
“Oh, dear. Death, inverted. We’ll have to ponder on that, Dr. Claybrook. It can have several meanings.”
An uncomfortable-looking O’Neal covered his card with his hands.
Did he know what it meant? Or was he embarrassed or otherwise uncomfortable to be involved in the proceedings? I wasn’t sure what a staunch Catholic would think of a séance.
Lady Jean, on the other hand, looked pleased with the cards she and Sir Arthur had drawn. “Look, dear. You have the Six of Swords. It means we’ll have more converts all the time. And it’ll all be because of you.”
I had to swallow watching Sir Arthur beam.
“How wonderful. What does your card mean?”
“The Nine of Cups means satisfaction, contentment, and well-being. But I already have that.”
I glanced to my right where O’Neal still sat forward in his chair, covering his card with his palms.
“Show us your card, dear,” Margery cajoled. “Don’t be shy.”
With reluctance he moved his hands away and sat back in his chair.
“You have the Strength card. You have great courage and self-control.”
She paused and circled behind him. Patting his back she spoke in a soft voice. “Certainly nothing to hide.”
He answered with an embarrassed grin.
My estimation of Margery’s abilities grew by the moment. The lady was a consummate show person, the very top of her profession as a medium.
She returned to stand behind her chair. “We’ve all seen our cards. I dealt them out just before you arrived. You didn’t choose your card. Your card chose you. Each has a message for you in particular. The only ambiguous one is Dr. Claybrook’s card. The card upright means positive change and innovation. Inverted it could mean resistance to change and an error in judgment. Perhaps something you may have to reconsider.”
“Indeed?” Holmes said. “That’s quite possible. Are there any cards that refer to gender?”
“Yes, of course. There are the King and Queen of each of the four minor suits.”
“It seems strange no one drew one. What would it mean if a man drew a Queen, or a woman a King?”
“Nothing in particular,” Margery said. “Everyone has a masculine and feminine side. And remember, this wasn’t intended to be a true Tarot session. If it were, I would deal out seven cards. Then the placement of each card in relation to the others would have to be evaluated. My little exercise was meant to show the power of the Tarot cards to describe your personality.”
“Powerful indeed. But couldn’t each of the cards apply to everyone here, no matter what seat they chose?”
Sir Arthur and Lady Jean threw sharp looks at Holmes, but Margery refused to rise to the bait. In an even voice she said, “They could, but in this case they do apply to each of you in particular. That may be the area where you need to change your views. Now, are we all ready to meet Walter?”
Chapter 37
The lights went out. After a few moments of darkness, two others, much dimmer, came on. Just enough light to illuminate our faces, and to show Margery, now sitting in her cabinet. It reminded me of a packing crate with the front and top missing.
I caught a scent of something burning, a mild odor, spicy and less distinctive than incense.
Margery must have heard my sniffs, and said in a friendly voice, “Yes, something is burning. Sir Arthur and Lady Jean already know what it is, but for those of you making your first visit, what you smell is sage. We burn it as tribute to the ancient Indian tribe, the Massachusetts, who called themselves ‘the people who lived on the hill.’ Sage is sacred across the entire continent. The Indians and their rituals are part of the source of my psychic power.”
Violet sighed, and Margery continued in a soft, soothing voice. “So you see, you have nothing to fear. Now please join hands.”
Though Violet’s hand trembled, Margery’s seemed especially warm and relaxed.
“Everyone just take deep breaths.”
I immediately became suspicious. Was she trying to hypnotize me?
After my second breath, I felt a chill that didn’t come from the wall. The collective sounds of the seven of us breathing together seemed to merge into one unnerving death rattle similar to the one I heard when my father passed away. Violet must have noticed it, too. Her grip tightened.
Margery’s grip relaxed and the sound disappeared into complete silence.
This lasted for only a few seconds, ending abruptly and spectacularly with the blare of a trumpet. A jazzy version of the first riffs of Taps came from somewhere in the house. “Is that you, Walter?” Margery asked, her voice unrecognizable.
“Who else would it be?” a mocking tenor answered in a quavering tone. “Valentino’s case is still in court, and Warren Harding had to find a different location because Satan can’t stand having him around.”
Though it was nearly complete darkness, I looked around to see where the voice was coming from. It certainly didn’t originate from Margery. It sounded as if it came from thin air.
“Please try to behave yourself, Walter. Sir Arthur and Lady Jean are here. And we have other guests, too.” As she spoke, a shimmering white thread began to waft outward from somewhere near her waist. Soon there were two, then three, then dozens.
“Of course I know we have other guests, stupid. Just because I’m dead doesn’t mean I’m blind.”
Violet giggled nervously.
I watched, transfixed, as the threads now began to coalesce into the outline of a distinctly human form floating above the middle of the table with arms akimbo.
Margery’s nails dug into my wrist.
“Sir Arthur and Lady Jean are here to see you. They say they haven’t heard from Pheneas for quite a while. Have you seen him recently?”
“Pheneas? That old bag lives in a different pit, so we don’t encounter each other very often. But, since it’s Sir Arthur and Lady Jean who are asking, I’ll tell him.”
“One of our guests is a police officer, Walter. He has some questions he wants to ask you about your friend Albert Baker.”
“Is that so? What does he want to know?”
“Do you know where he is?” asked O’Neal.
That brought an unpleasant laugh. “Of course I know where he is. He’s just a short distance away. I could lead you right to him, if it were possible and if I wanted to, that is. He’s still very cold from being outside all afternoon in his shirtsleeves, and he’s busily warming himself. He isn’t as lucky as I am. It’s always warm and toasty here in hell.”
I sat up straighter in my chair. Only the police and I knew that Becker had left his coat in the st
olen car and might be cold.
O’Neal obviously thought of that, too. “Enough of the banter. Where is he?”
The ectoplasmic outline pulsed brighter as Walter broke into peals of wild laughter. “You must call an exterminator, dear sister. I’m sure I just heard a rat.”
“Please do not speak unless called upon, Sergeant O’Neal,” Dr. Croydon cautioned. “He won’t answer you, and he’ll either do something unpleasant or simply go away if he gets angry.”
The officer refused to be put off. “Either he answers my question, or I’ll have the whole first police zone come here and search the house. Captain Campbell is waiting for my call.”
The outline glowed like a neon sign at the words, followed by a thunderclap. Then it began to fade.
“I warned you,” Croydon said. “He’s leaving.”
Mr. Holmes spoke up. “No, please. I have some questions, too.”
A new voice rose from the darkness. “Please tell Walter we’re sorry about the confusion, but I would like him to stay,” Sir Arthur said from across the table. “Dr. Claybrook is a dear friend of mine, and I know he will be polite.”
Margery now sounded unsure. “You heard him, Walter. Sir Arthur is asking you to stay.”
The blinking continued, but the light didn’t dim any further. Then it gradually became brighter. “I would gladly strike Officer O’Neal dead if I had the means, but I will stay, out of my friendship with Sir Arthur. My fellow spirits would be unhappy with me if I didn’t heed his request.”
Violet and I sighed in relief.
“Thank you,” Holmes said. “I have to know whether Mr. Houdini was poisoned, or whether he died a natural death.”
“I can’t answer that,” Walter replied in a voice that suggested he actually could. “All I can say is that it was destined. I want you all to know that now Mr. Houdini has joined us. He’s sorry for his actions. He wants everyone to know all his accusations against my sister are totally unfounded.”
Sir Arthur and Lady Jean applauded.
“Many people will be interested to hear that, I’m sure. His wife, especially. Bess intends to conduct yearly séances on the anniversary of his death for as long as it takes to hear from him. Is he with you now?”