Daniel Stashower - The Dime Museum Murders

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In 1897, New York City teems with hustlers and freshly made millionaires, fine artists and con artists, criminals and immigrants. Among them is a rabbi's son who calls himself Houdini. He is struggling to make it in the brutal entertainment business when detectives call on him to attempt the most amazing feat of his fledgling career: solve the mystery of a toy tycoon murdered in his posh Fifth Avenue mansion.
It's a challenge which Harry-never at a loss for self-confidence-is more than willing to accept. But soon two more murders are linked to the first, and the investigation leads into the strange world of rare curios and the collectors who pay fortunes to own them. Now, the master magician, with the reluctant help of his brother, Dash Hardeen, must uncover a motive for murder adn track a killer to his hidden lair-an appointment with danger from which not even the great Houdini can escape.

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"He didn't know, then? About the underground train?"

"Josef? No, we let him think we were trying to take over the model train market. Of course we swore him to secrecy. Bran told him that our competitors were trying to steal our ideas, and that it would all go to pieces if he breathed a word of what we were doing."

"But it doesn't make sense! No toy train design would ever work on a real railroad! You can't have expected that it would haul passengers!"

"Of course not, Mr. Hardeen. The design is worthless. There is no train. But there soon will be."

"I don't understand."

Hendricks sat down on, a wooden shipping crate. "It's very simple," he said. "Three weeks from tomorrow, Senator Platt is going to haul his lying, cheating politician's hide in front of the city control board and announce that he's taking bids for the development of the New York Underground Transportation Foundation. It's been an open secret for months now, ever since Boston got its system running. New York can't be second to Boston, so our trains will have to be even bigger and better. Platt has all the support he needs; he even has Tammany Hall behind him. But, of course, Boss Platt being what he is, he's already grooming one of his cronies for the job, complete with a hefty gratuity for himself. So what's an honest businessman to do?"

While Hendricks spoke, I could hear a faint rattling and clinking of chains behind me. Harry, I thought to myself. He's alive and he's trying to escape. I tugged again at my own restraints. Even Harry wouldn't be able to shake this metal cocoon easily. I figured he'd have a better chance if I could keep Hendricks talking. "I don't understand," I said. "If Senator Platt already has one of his own pals lined up, what's the point of all this?"

Hendricks stood up and swept his arm through the shadowy cavern. "I simply decided to start without him," he said. "As soon as the project is announced, I'm going to go before the press and tell them that my company, Daedalus Incorporated, has already launched construction of the underground railway, at a savings to the New York taxpayer of one million dollars."

"But this isn't any underground railway!"

"No? I have a working model of the Minotaur Express. I have a detailed blueprint of the entire rail network. I have all the necessary permits and documents. Once the press boys are done with him, Platt will have no choice but to award the contract to me."

"But your train is no good!" I cried.

"Yes, that's quite true. But by the time anyone realizes that, the contract will be all signed and sealed."

"You mean it's a con? A bait and switch?"

"Not at all, Mr. Hardeen. It's business. This project will generate millions and millions of dollars. My job is to get the license to build the train by any means necessary. Once I have the contract, they'd never dare to take it away from me. Platt and his minions will have too much political capital invested in our success. And if my initial projections won't quite hold water, and if I can't quite deliver on my original promises, that's simply politics as usual in this city."

The clanking noises from behind me were getting louder. I knew I had to keep him talking. "If you already have your phony model and plans, why did you bother to dig a tunnel?"

"That's the beauty of it, Mr. Hardeen. I didn't have to dig the tunnel. Bran did it for me. He had it done when he built the house. It's a brigand's entrance he ordered for his own amusement-doesn't ran any farther than the stables out back. Only he and I knew about it."

"I don't follow you. If this is just a secret tunnel of some kind, what are all those packing crates and building materials doing here?"

"I would think that you'd be able to guess, young man. This is a stage set-a piece of elaborate scenery. I've dressed up the tunnel with a hundred feet of track, several crates of machine parts and a whole battery of work lights. It looks for all the world as if the diligent work crews of Daedalus Incorporated have been digging around the clock. And that's exactly what I'll tell all the city officials and journalists I'll be bringing down here. Why start digging on Broadway when we've already broken ground right here under Fifth Avenue?"

The rattling sounds increased sharply, though neither Hendricks nor Gittles appeared to notice. Harry, pipe down, I thought to myself. "But why did you kill Mr. Wintour? Surely he was in it from the beginning? The tunnel was on his property, and it must have been his idea to conceal the trap door with that train platform. The two of you were partners the whole time."

Hendricks mumbled something I didn't hear.

"I'm sorry?" I said, raising my voice to cover the sounds of Harry's struggle. "I didn't catch that."

"The Minotaur train was my idea," Hendricks said. "The planning, the timing, the execution. I worked out every last detail. But it was Bran's money. And so long as Bran was bankrolling the project, he dictated the terms. Eighty per cent of all future earnings were to go to him. Twenty for me. I was to be little more than an employee. Two years ago, before I lost my money, it would have been me in control of the operation. Now…" His voice trailed off, making the sounds of Harry's movements all the more conspicuous.

"That's it? You killed him for the money?"

"What else? I'm sorry if that disappoints you, Mr. Hardeen, but I'm hardly the first man who ever killed for money! Do you have any idea what sort of fortune is at stake here? Tens of millions! I'm going to make Rockefeller look like a rag-and-bone man! Good Lord, you and your brother were prepared to believe that Bran had been killed over a silly little Japanese toy! You can have your automatons, Mr. Hardeen. Me, I'll settle for becoming the richest man in New York."

"But why lay the blame on Mr. Graff? He didn't even know what you were planning!"

"Why?" Hendricks's voice rose to an angry pitch. "Because Bran saw fit to give him a three per cent share in Daedalus! And without so much as consulting me! All that man did was design the model-nothing more! I daresay you could have done it just as well yourself, Mr. Hardeen, and I doubt if you would have expected to be compensated with stock shares worth hundreds of thousands of dollars! And do you suppose this beneficence came out of Bran's share of the earnings? I assure you it did not. Bran was giving away my money hand over fist."

"I don't understand how you expected to get away with that. Sooner or later Mr. Graff would have told the police about the secret dealings he had with you and Mr. Wintour. That would have brought the police right to your doorstep."

"Eventually, yes," Hendricks agreed. "But I sent him a message after his arrest. An expression of sympathy and concern, if you will. I told him to keep quiet about Daedalus-told him that our lawyers were working on his release, but that we couldn't risk tipping our hand

on the very eve of our great triumph. He was happy enough to keep his mouth shut, especially when I told him I'd be needing a right-hand man-now that Bran was gone."

"Then you sent Mr. Gittles for him. For both of them."

"Yes. He handled it very cleverly, I thought."

"Was Mr. Gittles also responsible for the dart in Branford Wintour's neck?"

"No, Mr. Hardeen. I had to handle that myself. It wasn't difficult. Bran and I often used the tunnel to hide my comings and goings. It wouldn't have done for me to use the front door, not after what happened between him and my daughter. But he was a practical man, and so am I. The business relationship continued as before. I knew that Josef would leave Le Fant ф me in Bran's study that afternoon. I scheduled a meeting with him shortly afterward. Bran couldn't wait to show off his prize. He started chattering away as soon as I came up through the tunnel. He had no way of knowing, of course, that I was the one who had engineered the sale in the first place, once I'd learned of Le Fant ф me 's existence. Bran was positively thrilled. He jabbered on and on, showing me all the gears and weights, waxing rhapsodic about his hopes of acquiring the entire Blois collection. It was a simple matter to press the dart into his neck. He made a horrible noise as the poison did its work, but it was over quickly-thank God. It's a difficult thing to watch a friend die, Mr. Hardeen, no matter what the reason. That's why I'm sorry you had to get involved in all of this. You seem to be a bright young man. I could have used your help on the Minotaur. Can't be helped, I'm afraid." He stepped forward and said something to Gittles, who gave a tight little nod.

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