Daniel Stashower - The Dime Museum Murders

"Harry-" I began.

He winked. "A pretty problem, is it not?"

As my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I could make out the dim outline of a man in each of the two cages to our right. Both men appeared to be sleeping. I recognized the one closest to us as Josef Graff, whose plump woodcock shape made him easy to spot even in the dark.

Sergeant O'Donnell ignored both prisoners. "You have your choice of two empty cells this evening, Hou-dini," he said as our footfalls echoed loudly against the rock floor. "Which will it be? Your favorite there at the end?"

"No, this one, I think," Harry replied, indicating the closer of the two on our left. "I think the bolt and hasp are rusty on the other." Harry had fallen a step behind the sergeant as they moved toward the cell. As Mr. Graff began to stir from his bunk, roused by the noise of our arrival, Harry turned and raised a finger to his lips, warning the old man to stay silent. Mr. Graff registered surprise at the sight of us, but lowered his head and pretended to be asleep.

"You know," said O'Donnell, working on the lock across the corridor, "this bolt feels a little stiff, too."

"Does it?" Harry asked. "Oh well, I imagine that the hardware at Sing-Sing is rusty as well. I will prevail, in any case."

The lock finally gave and O'Donnell pulled the door open with a creak. Harry stepped past him into the open cell. "You know, Houdini," the sergeant said, "if you ever do try this at Sing-Sing, they'll insist on a full body search-just like we give the real prisoners."

From across the corridor, Mr. Graff let out a soft groan at the memory.

"I am aware of this, Sergeant, and I am fully prepared to comply. Would you care to-?" He spread his arms wide.

"I think we'll let it pass," O'Donnell said quickly. He swung the door shut and slid the long cross-beam into place. "I'd better get back to the desk," he said, turning to me. "Just bang on the bars when he wants me to let him out." "When he-what?"

"When he wants me to let him out. He usually gives up after three hours."

I turned to my brother, who was busy rolling up his sleeves. "Harry? You mean to say you haven't figured out a way to escape from this cell yet?"

"It is proving to be more difficult than I thought," he allowed.

"More difficult than you thought. Suppose I had set up the Sing-Sing stunt three weeks ago, like you wanted?''

"The Great Houdini would have risen to the challenge, as he has done so often in the past."

"My, but he's sure of himself, isn't he?" said O'Donnell. " 'Course, he usually doesn't sound quite so cocksure by two or three in the morning. Enjoy yourself, Houdini." He turned and let himself out through the main door.

We stood quietly and listened to the sergeant's footsteps fade. "Ehrich?" came a whisper from the other side of the corridor. "Is that really you? Theodore?"

"Of course, Mr. Graff." Harry came to the front of his cell and dangled his arms through the bars.

"You have come to release me?"

"Release you?" I snorted. "Apparently he can't even-"

"It would be imprudent to release you just now, Mr. Graff," Harry said. "That would seem to confirm the accusation that you murdered Branford Wintour. I trust that you did not murder Branford Wintour?"

"Of course not!" The old man swung his feet off the bunk and walked to the door of his cell. He was wearing a wrinkled windowpane check suit with a gold watch fob dangling from his waistcoat. In happier circumstances he might have passed for a diminutive Kris Krin-gle with his round head, florid cheeks, and snowy hair and beard. Now, even in the shadowy light of the cell block, the stresses of the day were plain to see. His collar had popped open, his tie was askew, and his face was streaked with tears. "Of course I didn't kill Mr. Win-tour! He was my best customer, and a fine man besides!"

"I thought not," said Harry. "Might I ask you to tell me everything you know of this unhappy business?"

"What's to tell? There was a knock on the door, next thing I'm in jail. Dragged off in chains, in front of Frieda. In front of the neighbors. Everyone."

"I'm sure that was most unpleasant," Harry said. "Perhaps we should examine the events leading up to your arrest? What can you tell us of Le Fant ф me?"

"Wretched little creature! I wish I had never laid eyes on it!"

"How did it come to be in your possession?" An expression of wounded pride crossed Mr. Graff's face. "I am the leading purveyor of magical apparatus and curiosities in all of New York," he said with a certain prim dignity. "It is impossible that such an item should appear on the market without coming to my attention."

"Yes, yes, of course," said my brother quickly. "But exactly how did it come to your attention?"

"A most curious thing,'' he began.'"I was sitting in-'' A drink-sodden voice from the opposite cell broke in. "My dear sirs," the speaker began, as if dictating a letter, "I have the honor of requesting a reduction in the level of conversation in and about the vicinity of my present location. Thanking you, I remain, yours et cetera…" the voice resolved into contented snoring.

"That is my fellow inmate," Mr. Graff explained. "An amusing fellow. As I was,, saying, I was going over the books in my shop late last night when a gentleman began banging at the door. I told him to return in the morning, but he was very insistent. He claimed to be an importer of antiques, and wished to know if I would be interested in seeing a few items from the collection of Robert-Houdin. Naturally, I-"

"Did he give you his name?" Harry asked. "Harrington."

"What did he look like, this Mr. Harrington?" "He looked quite a bit like you, Ehrich. Very powerful build, dark curly hair. He could easily have done double work for you."

"Make a note, Dash," Harry said. "Muscular, dark hair, medium height-"

Mr. Graff broke in. "A little less than medium height, I would have said."

"Shorter than I, then?"

"Well…"

"And would you say his features were handsome?" Mr. Graff hesitated and glanced at me. "Ehm…"

I made a note on my pocket pad. "Perhaps not quite as handsome as Harry, Mr. Graff?"

"No, indeed."

"My dear sirs," came the voice from the opposite cell. "It has come to our attention that the volume of conversation remains at a level which prohibits a normal and healthful sleep. If such confabulation persists, we shall have no recourse but to consult management. Yours sincerely…" The voice trailed off again.

"And what else did your striking visitor have to say, Mr. Graff?" I continued.

"He told me that he represented a gentleman who possessed items from the Robert-Houdin collection. Naturally I questioned him closely in the matter. From time to time one comes across a handbill from the Palais Royal, and I've handled quite a few leaflets from his London appearances, but this gentleman was quite precise."

"The Blois collection?" I asked. "The one that's supposed to have been destroyed by fire?"

"Exactly. But he offered no documentation and naturally I regarded the claim with some suspicion. My doubts vanished when he removed Le Fant ф me from its wooden case. I have seen a great many treasures in my day. It was I, you will recall, who brokered the sale of Signor Blitz's diaries. It was I who verified the provenance of Anderson's 'Inexhaustible Bottle.' But this was something else again. I don't know how long I marvelled over the figure. I was aware that my visitor was growing impatient, but I could not help myself. A Shakespeare folio could not have interested me more. When I had satisfied myself that the figure was genuine, Mr. Harrington asked if I might be able to find a buyer."

"I can think of dozens of magicians who would be interested," Harry said.