Daniel Stashower - The Dime Museum Murders

"Thank you, young man. What do you think of this?" He indicated a low platform that curved along the wall of a corner turret. A bewildering double-horseshoe pattern of model train track covered the surface, with more than a dozen switch-points on the straights.

"Incredible," I said. "You've merged three different track patterns."

"Four," he said. "I got tired of watching it go around in a circle. This way I can run several trains at once, just as you would on a real railroad." He took a healthy snort of his whiskey. "Damned silly thing for a grown man to do with his time and money. Katherine says I'm just a boy who refuses to put away his toys."

"My brother and I are professional magicians, Mr. Hendricks. Is that any sort of occupation for a grown man?"

He gave a short, barking type of laugh. '"Let me show you the problem with my train." He stepped over to a wooden box and clicked the lever that sent electricity coursing through the tracks. A set of indicator dials began to waggle impressively.

"I don't believe I've ever seen this type of train set before," I said. "Is it new?"

"It's not widely available just yet," he answered. "I have some money in the company."

"The Minotaur,'" I said, reading the model name off the side of the locomotive. "Isn't this the same type of train Mr. Wintour had in his study? Was this another area where you and Mr. Wintour competed?''

"Trains? Hardly." He stood for a moment, listening to the hum and crackle of the tracks as they warmed up. "As a matter of fact, we tried several times to develop a model train set of our own, but I'm afraid it never came to very much. After we dissolved the partnership, neither one of us pursued the venture." He twisted a dial on the control box. The locomotive emitted a whistle blast and its firebox began to glow. "A shame, really. Branford was the best damned businessman in the entire city. Who knows what we might have done." He pressed a plunger-button and a black locomotive slowly inched forward, gathering speed as the reach rods and draw bars loosened. "My wife hates this train set," he

said. "She's convinced I'll burn the whole house down one day."

"It looks as if your grounding wires are more than adequate," I said. "I think Mrs. Hendricks can rest easy. Tell me, were you surprised when Mr. Wintour invited you to dinner last night?"

"Surprised?" He watched as the train gathered speed on a straight section of track, heading into a double-switch plate. "Yes, Hardeen, I suppose I was. But in a town this size, it was getting difficult to carry on avoiding one another. I'd often see him across the room at a restaurant, or reading a newspaper at the club. At first we pretended not to notice, but after a while it began to seem pretty damn silly. I supposed he felt the same way-or so I hoped, at any rate. So I was quite pleased by the invitation."

"Did you have a chance to speak with him?"

"No, sir, I did not. He never came out of the study after Nora and I arrived. We were kept waiting in the morning room." He watched as the locomotive clattered over the switching plate and promptly derailed, plowing straight into the side of a wooden boxcar. "Damn. Just painted that, too."

"I think I see your problem," I said. I stripped off my suit coat and crawled under the platform. "Switch off the power for a minute, would you?"

He tripped the power lever and the hot buzzing ceased. "You know," he said, "I was quite looking forward to seeing Branford again." I heard the sloshing of his whiskey glass. "It's so rare that I meet someone who shares my interests. I was looking forward to telling him about my trains. Nora thought I was building up my hopes for nothing, though. About working together again, I mean."

I rolled over onto my back and tinkered with a loose ground bolt. "Why is that?" I asked.

"Branford's wife. I'm afraid she doesn't care for me."

"Or Miss Hendricks, I would imagine," I said from beneath the platform. I couldn't see his face, but he took a moment to reply.

"Hell," he said. "I suppose that's no secret. Bran was supposed to marry Katherine some years ago. He was smitten with her, and she was fond enough of him, though she thought of him more as an uncle than a husband, I'd venture to say. In any case it seemed a really splendid idea to the pair of us, sitting over port and cigars in the Century one night. We never spoke directly of the business advantages, but it was clear that we'd be uniting the two empires, as it were."

I crawled out from under the train platform to find Hendricks addressing his remarks to his whiskey glass, his face a study in remorse.

"In my own defense, I never forced the matter on Katherine," he continued. "She seemed quite keen on the whole thing. I think Bran may have filled her head with queer ideas-giving her some sort of role in the company or some such. My daughter holds many peculiar views. Reads a great deal of Susan B. Anthony and the other one. What's her name? Elizabeth Cady Stanton. In any case, at least Bran took the time to listen to my daughter when she spoke, which is more than I can say for this pompous young ass who's squiring her about at the moment. Anyway, my daughter's engagement soon came to grief, as you undoubtedly read in the society pages. Why any right-thinking man should leave my daughter at the altar is beyond my ken." He set down his glass. "I'm talking rather a lot, aren't I?"

"Not at all, sir," I said. "I apologize if I've broached an unpleasant subject. I believe I've found the solution to your other little problem, though." I switched the train set back on and sent the locomotive hurtling toward the troublesome portion of the track. It cleared the turn easily and stayed on course for two more high-speed circuits.

"My God, Hardeen!" Hendricks cried. "You're a genius!"

"Hardly, sir. I just loosened two of the bolts holding the track onto the table. There wasn't enough give. The vibration was causing the train to jump the track."

"Damn it, I tried that. I got too much sway from side to side. The train still derailed."

"I compensated for that by replacing these bolt-pins with match sticks. The wood is soft enough to absorb the vibrations but it still controls the wobble."

Hendricks put his face close to the switch-plate and examined my jury-rigging.

"It's not exactly picturesque," I said. "You may want to paint-''

"Brilliant!" he cried. "Just brilliant! Have you any training in this area?"

"Training?"

"Engineering background? That sort of thing?"

"I've toured with a travelling circus for months at a time. Believe me, when you're stuck in Wichita with a broken hinge on your drop-trap, you get pretty good at fixing things with whatever's at hand."

Hendricks watched as the train eased past the turn and headed for the straightaway. "I may have some work for you, Hardeen," he said. "I just might, at that."

We sat together in that room for the better part of two hours, drinking his whiskey and playing with his train.

He reminisced a little about his younger days with General Sherman's XV Corps at Vicksburg, and I talked a bit about touring the backwaters with a medicine show. Sometimes we just sat quietly and watched the train. I don't know that I've ever spent a more pleasant time.

It must have been late afternoon by the time I found my hat and got up to leave. Hendricks tried to get me to stay for dinner, but I had to get down to Huber's and meet Harry. As he led me out of the study, Hendricks invited me to stop back again any time. I know he meant this in all sincerity, but we both realized that starving young magicians don't simply drop in on Fifth Avenue millionaires. He took my visiting card and repeated what he'd said about sending some work my way. I shook his hand and thanked him for his company. The butler could hardly wait to close the door behind me.