Daniel Stashower - The Dime Museum Murders

"Seems a bit far-fetched," Harry said. "Far-fetched? A famous millionaire has been found in his locked study with a dart in his neck. All bets are off."

"Yes," Harry said. "It is quite a puzzle. That is why it appeals to the Great Houdini. He is a master of puzzles."

"When were you planning to unravel this puzzle?" Bess asked. "Aren't we still working the ten-in-one?"

"Dash will do some scouting around during the day," Harry told her. "He will be my eyes and ears. Then we will report our conclusions to the police."

"Harry, I don't think the police are interested in receiving any further assistance from the Brothers Houdini. Thank you, Mama," I said, as she set a cup of tea before me.

"You? are content to leave Josef Graff in jail?"

"Of course not. But I'm confident that the police will get to the bottom of the crime eventually, and that Mr. Graff will be released."

"Possibly," said Harry. He picked up a second slice of toast and resumed the intricate buttering maneuver. My mother, meanwhile, had placed a soft-boiled egg before me.

"There you are, Theo," she said happily. "Just as you like it."

"Mama, I told you-"

"That looks delicious, Dash," Harry said.

"But-"

"So kind of Mama to prepare it for you."

With a sigh, I picked up the egg spoon she had laid for me. Many times in my career I have allowed myself to be chained and roped and tossed into the frigid waters of the Hudson River. It is an experience I much prefer to soft-boiled eggs.

"Besides," said Harry, noting my squeamishness with quiet amusement, "you saw for yourself that the police were completely misled by Le Fant ф me. It is a wonder they did not handcuff the little doll and cart it off to jail along with poor Mr. Graff."

"Lieutenant Murray may not have understood how the automaton works, but he had the good sense to call someone who did. He seems very reasonable to me. What's more, he's an official detective and you're not." Harry regarded me with genuine curiosity. "Dash," he said, "you really do think this matter would be better left to the police." He said it as though the possibility had never occurred to him.

I spooned a cool, gluey blob of soft-boiled egg into my mouth. "Why, that's amazing, Harry! However did you deduce that?"

"I will ask your indulgence only for one day. This evening, we shall keep Mr. Graff's appointment with the mysterious Mr. Harrington."

"No, we won't," I said.

"I beg your pardon?"

I swallowed hard as a second greasy mouthful trickled down my throat. "We should leave that to the police. Mr. Graff told them everything he told us. We shouldn't get in their way."

"Dash is right," Bess said. "Besides, Mr. Harrington would hardly carry on with business as usual once he's seen this morning's paper."

"Why not? As I demonstrated last night, Le Fant ф me did not kill Mr. Wintour."

"No," Bess continued, "but something did, and Mr. Harrington's deal is off in either case."

"Which would make him all the more anxious to come to an agreement with Mr. Hendricks," Harry agreed, "so he will keep his appointment as scheduled. He does not necessarily know that Mr. Graff is in jail. The newspaper did not mention him by name."

"Harry-"

"Bess," Harry said, reaching for her hand, "I must try to find this Harrington person. It is the only way of verifying Mr. Graff's story."

"I still agree with Dash," Bess said. "It would be better to leave it to the police."

Harry released Bess's hand and folded his arms. "Mama, do you see? My brother and my wife are conspiring against me."

"That's nice, dear," said mother, who never listened very closely when she was cooking.

"I will make a bargain with you," he said to both of us. "Dash and I will go to the Toy Emporium this evening at the appointed hour. If we catch sight of Lieutenant Murray or any of his men, we will let the matter rest in their capable hands. If not, we will wait to see if Mr. Harrington presents himself. Is that agreeable, or would you prefer to let Mr. Graff rot in jail?"

"Of course not, but-"

"In the meantime, Dash, you must do a favor for me. You are still friendly with that newspaper gentleman?"

"Biggs? You know perfectly well that I'm still friendly with Biggs." He was referring to a childhood friend of ours who now worked the city desk at the New York World. We had renewed our acquaintance during my brief flirtation with a career in journalism, and he occasionally planted a friendly notice about Harry or me in the theatrical columns. Even so, he and Harry had never gotten along.

"I want you to go down to his office and see if you can come up with anything more about the Wintour case. The police may not wish to pool information, but the men of the press are every bit as diligent at gathering facts, and far less difficult about sharing it." He took a slurp of tea. "The press is a most valuable institution, if one knows how to use it."

I couldn't really see any objection, especially since Biggs was usually good for a racing tip or two. "That seems fair enough," I said, reaching for my hat. "I'll meet you at Huber's after work."

"Just a moment, Theo," said my mother. "Have you finished your egg?"

"Yes. Delicious. But I must run now."

"A moment, my son. I have a surprise-a magic trick of my own!" She reached out a frail hand for the china egg cup. "Voila!" she said, whisking it away with a flourish. A second egg had been concealed in the hollow stem of the cup. It wobbled onto its side and rolled lazily towards me.

"God!" I cried.

"Marvelous, yes?" said my mother. "Harry brought me a whole set. Now you can enjoy your first egg without worrying that the second one should get cold!"

"Wonderful, Mama," I said, weakly.

Harry just sat back and grinned.

I caught a streetcar down to the offices of the World and found Biggs toiling over an angled compositor's desk. He looked, as always, as though he had just been roused from a deep sleep. His wavy red hair rose and fell at odd angles from his head, and shadows ringed his pale blue eyes. The drowsy appearance also extended to his clothing. He wore a baggy gray tweed suit with an open waistcoat and loosely knotted wool tie. Such attire was considered rather too casual by the older, more conservative rank of newspapermen, but Biggs considered himself part of a new, more progressive breed of journalist. He often told me that a good newsman was required to blend in with "just folks."

"Dash, you old cod worm!" he shouted when he saw me lingering in the doorway. "Just the man I've been longing to see! I'd planned to go looking for you at your mother's place this afternoon."

"You wouldn't have found me," I said, tossing my trilby onto a battered stand in the corner. "I'm at Mrs. Arthur's boarding house now."

"I know," he admitted, "but the last time I called on your mother she served me the most extraordinary piece of lemon cake. Sent me into raptures. I was rather hoping-"

"It's blackberry torte today," I said. "Why did you want to see me?"

"Why? You know perfectly well! All of New York is buzzing about the Wintour murder! You and that crazy brother of yours were right there on the spot! The police have the place locked up tight now. We sent our best man with a fat wad of bribe money, but he couldn't get past the roundsman on the door. So come on, Dash. Tell me all."

I pulled up a chair and gave Biggs a brief sketch of the crime scene while he made notes on a block of paper. He interrupted me every so often to ask for a clarification or an extra bit of detail, and I did my best to supply the answers. "All that money," he said when I'd finished, "and he gets done to death by a toy!"

"Perhaps not-"

"Well, whatever. The police will sort it out soon enough. In the meantime, the World will keep its readers informed of the 'diligent perspicacity' of our Lieutenant Murray." He scribbled a few more notes and then set down his pen. "So why have you come, Dash?" he asked, lacing his fingers behind his head. "You've made my job quite a bit easier, but I suspect your motives lay elsewhere."