Who Done Houdini by Raymond John Page B

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.
    I breezed through most of the clues, but twenty minutes later I still couldn’t come up with the name of the President of France to finish the puzzle. Much as I hated to, I asked Holmes.
    â€œYou don’t know that?” he said in a tone that fairly shouted howmuch of an idiot I was for having to ask. “Monsieur Gaston Domergue. He just took office this year. For shame, Wiggins.”
    â€œIt was on the tip of my tongue. What are you two talking about, anyway?”
    â€œMr. Holmes was telling me all about what happened last night,” Violet said in a reproving tone. “I so wished I could have been there.”
    â€œNext time, my dear,” I said, sitting down in the seat facing them. “I’m far more interested in learning more about Rose Mackenberg. You say she was one of Houdini’s employees.”
    â€œIndeed. She is a very talented private investigator who worked for Mr. Houdini by attending séances by the various mediums he wanted to expose before he arrived in town. Because she is a master at disguise, she never was detected. Who’d ever suspect an innocent librarian with large round glasses, wearing a plain black dress? Or a simple-minded maid, or a grieving widow, for that matter. She attended armed with the knowledge of all the tricks the mediums used. Then, the first night Houdini was on stage, he would invite the medium to join him. He or she of course would refuse, and Rose would move front stage to explain the tricks. Needless to say, mediums hate her as much as they hated Houdini.”
    â€œAre we meeting her in Brooklyn?”
    â€œNo, she’ll be meeting us at Grand Central station. When she found out we were investigating Mr. Houdini’s death, she wanted to meet us as soon as she could. She also is of the opinion he was murdered.”
    I nodded. “I look forward to meeting her.”
    â€œAs do I,” Houdini said. “Shall we go back to cards or would you rather play chess? I’m sure Violet would enjoy watching us.”
    â€œI would,” she chirped.
    That was the last thing I wanted to do to pass the time. I looked at my watch and realized we were still several hours away from our destination. “Sorry, I still