Harry Houdini Mysteries by Daniel Stashower Page A

conversational manner in which he carried out the feat. There was no suggestion of performance about his actions and nothing in his bearing to convey pride or satisfaction in the demonstration. Instead, his attitude was that of a humble supplicant who considered himself fortunate to be taking part in a remarkable happening. The distinction, I realized, was an important one, for it shifted the emphasis of the gathering away from any examination of his deeds. Instead, we were invited to join in his apparent wonder at a power greater than ourselves.
    “I believe this is the message from our friend Dr. Wells,” Craig was saying. “The sentiment is brief and, I dare say, painful. It simply says, ‘Toothache.’ My sincere sympathies, Dr. Wells.”
    From across the table, the doc tor nodded ruefully and rubbed at his jaw.
    “Yes,” Craig continued, “that can be most”—a pained expression passed over his face suddenly—”unpleasant. Very unpleasant, indeed.”
    “What’s wrong, Mr. Craig?” asked Mrs. Clairmont. “You seem distressed.”
    The medium gripped the edge of the table. “A sudden shift of animus,” he said. “Most extraordinary. I hope our experiment is not compromised.”
    “Dear me,” said Mrs. Clairmont.
    “Think nothing of it, dear lady,” Craig continued. “Letus continue.” He pressed another folded slip to his forehead. “Another message begins to reveal itself, though not an entirely serious one, I see. It reads, ‘Whiskey and soda.’ “
    This brought an appreciative bark of laughter from Dr. Wells.
    “Very amusing, Mr. Hardeen,” said Craig, unfolding the slip of paper. “I’m certain that Brunson will be pleased to accommodate you when our gathering has concluded. But what is this?” His features darkened once again. “How strange! How terribly strange!”
    Mrs. Clairmont leaned toward him. “What is it, Lucius?”
    “A strange challenge, though I cannot begin to fathom the meaning.”
    “What does it say?”
    Craig unfolded the slip of paper and held it up for all to see. “ ‘Lucius Craig, your judgement is at hand!’”
    Mrs. Clairmont gave an exhalation of alarm and sank back in her chair. Edgar Grange, meanwhile, fixed my brother with an expression of intense interest. “You’re the only one we haven’t heard from yet, Dr. Weiss,” he said. “What is the meaning of this strange declaration?”
    Harry adjusted his monocle. “I am afraid—” he began.
    “See here,” Craig interrupted, pointing at the slip of paper. “The initials are not those of Dr. Weiss. The message is signed ‘H. H.’” He glanced around the table. “But who might that be?”
    Harry rose from his chair and gripped the edge of the table. “Can you not guess?” he demanded, allowing his voice to sink to a dramatic register. “Can you not fathom who this mysterious H. H. might be?”
    “I’m afraid I’m at a loss,” said the medium.
    “Then allow me to assist you,” cried Harry, snatching the monocle and moustache from his face. “For, you see, I am none other than the Great Houdini himself!”
    A confused silence greeted this revelation.
    “The Great Houdini!” Harry repeated. “The renowned magician!”
    Our fellow guests looked back at him with blank expressions.
    “The man whom the Milwaukee Sentinel praised as—”
    “My brother apologizes profusely for any confusion that his behavior has caused,” I said, stepping into the breach. “What he wishes to say—and undoubtedly would have said had his eagerness to be of service not gotten the best of him—is that as a professional magician he is privy to a great number of secrets of stagecraft and sleight of hand. Some of these secrets have suggested a means by which Mr. Craig’s demonstration might have been accomplished by strictly conventional means.”
    Dr. Wells cleared his throat. “Do you mean to say you’re accusing Craig here of being a fraud?” The prospect seemed to delight him. “You mean it was just