Fraud always brought out the best in the Great Man. Back in my room, he was in dandy form. For nearly an hour he sat on my bed and laughed and snickered. Now and then he waved his arms. He explained all the tricks that Madame Sosostris had performed during the seance, and then he explained them all again.
“She is an absolute amateur, Phil,” he said. He was still wearing his dinner jacket but he had taken off his shoes. His legs were crossed like a yogi’s and he was tilted cheerfully toward me. “A twelve-year-old child could produce more spectacular effects.”
“Right,” I said from my chair by the desk. I hauled out my watch. Quarter to twelve. “Harry,” I said. “Look, I’m sorry, but I’m exhausted.”
“That bell!” he said, and laughed. “And those chains!” He waved his arms. “Clanging chains! Phil, over thirty years ago, when I gave my own performance as a medium, I refused to use the clanging chains. Imagine, Phil. They were passe even then.
“Right, Harry. But-”
“And did you like her Spirit Guide?” He lowered his head and lowered his voice-“Running Bear, him come to aid of those who seek. Ugh. Ha!” He curled up his body and slapped at his thigh.
I smiled. “Harry, listen…”
“I cannot wait,” he said, “to tell Sir Arthur what I think.”
“Maybe Sir Arthur won’t be as thrilled as you are.”
He looked at me and he frowned. “No. Perhaps not.” He raised his head. “But the truth must prevail, Phil.”
“Uh-huh. Meantime, Harry, I need some rest. I’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
“What?” He sat up. “Oh yes, yes, of course! Your famous boxing match with Sir David! Phil, I must tell you, you were very impressive, standing up to that man for my sake.”
“Doing my job, Harry. Guarding the body.”
“But it was unnecessary, you know. I was suffering not at all.”
“You, maybe. I was getting a pain in the neck.”
He grinned happily. “The man is a pig, is he not, Phil? Tomorrow, when you fight your great battle, you must teach him to mind his manners.” Sitting there on the bed he mimed a prizefighter, fists jabbing at the air. “Pow, pow,” he said. Take that, Sir David! Ha ha!”
Suddenly he raised a finger in the air. “Phil,” he said, “I have it!”
“Have what?”
Excited, he clasped his hands over his knees and he leaned forward. “Tomorrow morning, when you go to the scene of the combat, I will come along as your-how do they call it? Yes, your second. How would that be, Phil? Houdini will be your second!”
He said this as if it were the biggest favor he could possibly do for me. Maybe it was. The Great Man was never second to anyone, in anything.
“That’d be great, Harry,” I told him.
Smoothly, in what looked like a single movement, his legs untied themselves and his hands slapped against the mattress and he bounded off the bed. “But now you must conserve your strength, eh? You must sleep, Phil. Would you like to borrow some ear wax?”,
I smiled. He meant the beeswax he used as plugs. “No thanks.
“You are sure? Perhaps a blindfold?”
“No thanks, Harry.”
He bent over and scooped up both his shoes in his right hand, fingers hooked beneath the tongues. He padded lightly across the room and clapped me on the shoulder. “Very well. But you must rest, Phil. It is an important business, this fight. Everyone will be there.”
“My audience,” I said.
“Exactly, yes!” He squeezed my shoulder and then dropped his arm, beaming at me like a proud father.
“Everyone but Lord Bob, probably, I said.
“Lord Purleigh,” he corrected, sadness in his voice. “Poor Lord Purleigh. The death of his father has affected him deeply.”
“Yeah.”
“Tomorrow, no doubt, he will feel terrible about his behavior tonight.”
“He’ll feel terrible anyway. He put away a quart of brandy this afternoon. And more, maybe, later on.”
“Alcohol,” he said, and shook his head. “It destroys muscle tissue, you know. Eats it away, like sulfuric acid.”
“I’ve heard that, yeah.”
“Well,” he smiled, and clapped me on the shoulder again. “To bed then, eh? Pleasant dreams, Phil.”
“You too, Harry.”
“Ugh,” he said. “Ha ha.” Cackling, shaking his head, he padded from the room.
I waited on the bed. In ten minutes, I heard him finish in the bathroom. In another fifteen, I heard his snoring start in the bedroom. At twelve-thirty, I got up and left.
“COME IN,” SAID Mrs. Corneille. I stepped in and she shut the door.
I was still wearing my rented dinner jacket. She was wearing her red robe, its dark silk looking sleek and bright below the bright sleek spill of black hair. Between the scarlet neck of the robe and the marble neck of Mrs. Corneille, on both sides, ran a slender frill of black lace nightgown. She wasn’t wearing a corset beneath the nightgown, or much of anything else.
“Please,” she said, “do sit down.” She indicated a small love seat along the wall, braced by two end tables. “May I pour you a brandy?”
“Sure,” I said. “Thanks.”
I sat.
This room, which was a bedroom in the suite I shared, and in the suite shared by Mrs. Allardyce and Miss Turner, was a kind of parlor here. Off to the left was the door that led to her bedroom.
The furniture here was just as old as the furniture in mine, but it was light and feminine, with a lot of fluffs and flounces and floral patterns. There were old paintings on the walls misty landscapes and pictures of vases filled with flowers. There were more flowers, maybe just as old, embroidered into the carpets on the floor. And more of them, older still, embroidered into the scent of her perfume.
She poured brandy from a pale green bottle into two snifters that sat on a dark wood sideboard. She set down the bottle, lifted the snifters, and carried them over. She stepped lightly around the coffee table and she handed me a snifter and sat down on my left. She moved like someone who had practiced moving, years ago, until she got it exactly right and then never needed to think about it ever again.
She sat with her body leaning slightly toward the room and her knees together beneath the robe. To the late Earl, she said, and raised her glass.
I raised mine. “To the Earl.” I sipped at the brandy. “You knew he was dead,” I said. “Before the seance.”
“Alice told me.” She lowered the snifter to her lap and held it with both hands. “Are you really planning to fight with David tomorrow morning?”
“Looks like it.”
“You feel that this is absolutely necessary?”
“It is now.”
“I’ve heard that David’s a very good boxer.”
“He probably is.”
“And what does Mr. Houdini think about this?”
“He thinks it’ll be a swell performance.”
She raised an eyebrow. “He isn’t concerned for you?”
“Everything Harry does, he does better than anyone in the world. He probably thinks that I wouldn’t have gotten into this unless I could pull it off.”
“And can you?”
“I guess we’ll find out.”
“You aren’t concerned for yourself?”
“Wouldn’t help any.”
She sipped at her brandy, eyed me over the snifter. “Is that bravery speaking, or stupidity?”
“Stupidity, probably.”
She smiled. “But just now, shouldn’t you be getting some rest?
I know I asked you here, but that was before this bout of yours was arranged. I shouldn’t be offended if you wish to leave.”
“Thanks,” I said, “but I’m not tired. What did you think about the seance?”
“We’re changing the subject, are we?”
“Yeah.”
“Well,” she said. She looked down, smoothed the robe along her thigh, looked up again. “I thought it was a charming piece of theater. I understand how they did most of it, I think. They re working together, of course. Madame Sosostris and her husband.”
I nodded, sipped at my brandy.
“The roses,” she said. “They were in her wheelchair, beneath that gown of hers. Mr. Dempsey released her hand and she simply reached down and retrieved them. And then tossed them onto the table.”
I nodded again.
“And the bell and the trumpet,” she said. “She keeps them beneath her gown as well.”
“The chains, too.” I had figured most of this out, too, even before the Great Man explained it all.
Her red lips tightened thoughtfully. ‘ That thing that touched me on the shoulder. Could that’ve been one of those extending tools that shopkeepers use? Do you know what I mean? To reach something on an upper shelf?”
“Probably.”
“When Running Bear-” She smiled suddenly, amused at herself. “When Madame Sosostris was talking about the Earl, she said that he’d imposed his sick desires upon an innocent young woman. Presumably she meant the kitchen maid, the woman that Briggs mentioned to you in the library.”
“Darleen.”
“Yes.” She frowned. “Briggs is a bit of a cad. Telling tales on his employer. And on a former sweetheart.”
“Not a very nice guy,” I agreed.
“He must’ve given the same information to Madame Sosostris. And told her of the Earl’s death.”
“If it was Briggs, he didn’t give it to her.”
She smiled. “He sold it, you mean. I’m sure you’re right.” Her face went serious again. “But what did she mean, do you think- Madame Sosostris-when she said that the Earl hadn't ended his life? She said that his life had been taken.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “That was when Lord Purleigh showed up.”
“Yes.” She sighed, softly shook her head. Lamplight shimmered along the black sheen of her hair. “Poor Robert. For years he’s been telling people he wanted his father dead. Now that it’s actually happened, I think he’s rather at a loss. I feel terribly for him. He’s such a sweet man.”
“What does Lady Purleigh think?”
“Regarding the Earl’s death?”
“Yeah. Was she surprised?”
“Surprised? Yes, of course. Wouldn’t anyone be?”
“Sometimes people see it coming.”
“But Alice didn’t. She was shocked. She told me she couldn’t imagine why he’d do such a thing.”
Just then, I think, she realized she was talking about friends of hers, and to a stranger. Smiling, she changed the subject. “But the two of them are quite good, aren’t they? Madame Sosostris and her husband. It was quite an accomplishment, I thought, producing all those apparitions without giving themselves away. And with people sitting on either side of them, holding their hands.”
“Practice,” I said.
She cocked her head. “But in a way, you know, I was… rather disappointed.” She moved her shoulders in a small, dismissive shrug. “I’d been hoping for something more, I suppose.”
“Real ghosts?”
“Something with a less obvious explanation. A more persuasive apparition, perhaps. Something surprising.”
“You seemed a bit surprised there, for a second or two.”
Her face was calm but those black, almond-shaped eyes were watchful. “Oh?”
“When your daughter was mentioned.”
“Yes,” she said.
“It caught you off guard,” I said.
“Yes.” She looked down, lightly ran the tip of her finger along the rim of the snifter. “Not everyone knows about my daughter.” She looked up at me. “But Alice does, which no doubt means that her servants know as well. Including Briggs, I imagine.”
I nodded.
“But why should they bother learning about my daughter?” she asked me. “Why choose me?”
“You have money.”
She blinked her long black lashes. Money was something that wasn’t discussed in polite conversation. Then she understood what I meant and her eyebrows lowered. “You’re saying that they found out about Esme, and they deliberately used the information to impress me, to bring me into… To…” She frowned impatiently. “What is the word I’m looking for?”
“Enlist?”
“To enlist me as one of their followers?”
“Probably.”
She stared at me for a moment, her wide red mouth open, her black eyes narrowed. Finally she said, “But that’s filthy.” She looked off, her mouth grim now. “That’s vile. ”
“Yeah.”
She drank some more brandy.
“How old was your daughter?” I asked her.
Still looking off, she said, “Five.”
“When did she die?”
“Six years ago.” She turned to me. “I’d prefer not to talk about her, if you don’t mind.”
“Fine.”
“Tell me something,” she said. I think she heard her own voice, heard how curt it sounded. She added, “Would you?”
“Sure.”
“Why were you asking Briggs all those questions?”
“That’s what I do for a living.”
“Yes, but why those questions, and why Briggs? The Earl committed suicide. It’s a tragedy, of course, a terrible tragedy, but it has nothing to do with this magician you're after, this Chin Soo.”
“Probably not. I’m just basically nosy.”
“Tell me about this Chin Soo.”
I told her. It took a while but she listened well. When she asked a question, which wasn’t often, it was a good question. From time to time her glance dipped down toward my mouth and then slipped back up. It made me very conscious of my mouth. And very conscious of hers-I realized that my own glance was doing pretty much the same thing, sliding down along her cheekbones to flick against her wide red lips, then darting back up to her almondshaped eyes.
When I was finished, she said, “You no longer believe that it was Chin Soo who fired that rifle this afternoon.” She looked at the clock on the end table, looked back at me, smiled. “Yesterday afternoon.”
“No,” I said.
“You believe that it was one of us. One of the guests.”
I nodded. “Yeah. There were four guests who weren’t on the lawn. Four guests who could’ve fired the rifle. Lady Purleigh, Cecily Fitzwilliam, Dr. Auerbach, and Sir David. Can you think of any reason why one of them would want to shoot at anybody?
Shoot at you, for example?”
“ Me?” She laughed. “You can’t really think that someone was shooting at me?”
“Someone was getting shot at. If it wasn’t Harry, it had to be one of you.”
“But it couldn’t possibly have been me. It couldn't have been any of us, but who on earth would shoot at me?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t really see Lady Purleigh or Cecily using a rifle. Dr. Auerbach has an alibi, or says he has. Besides, you never met him before this weekend. Or did you?”
“No. He’s a friend of a friend of Alice’s. He learned about the seance and asked Alice if he could attend.”
“That leaves Sir David.”
She laughed again. “David? Why would David want to shoot me?”
“I don’t know.”
“Really, Mr. Beaumont, the idea is ridiculous. I’ve known David for years. He can be unpleasant, he often is unpleasant, as you saw for yourself, but he’d never shoot anyone. And he certainly wouldn’t shoot me.”
She leaned slightly toward me and gave me a martini smile dry, with a twist of lemon in it. The scent of her perfume grew stronger. She said, “I think you’ve been letting your imagination get the better of you.”
“Maybe. That happens.”
She leaned away but her perfume hung there in the air between us like an invitation, or a promise. She said, “And why are you so concerned about the gunshot in any case? If, as you say, it wasn’t fired by Chin Soo?”
“Habit.”
“Ah,” she said. “You told me in the garden that smoking cigarettes wasn’t one of your bad habits. Is this one of them?”
“Which?”
“Asking these questions.”
I shrugged. “Like I said. It’s what I do for a living.”
She eased herself comfortably back against the love seat and she looked over at me. “What are your bad habits?”
“Is that why you asked me here? To find out about my bad habits?”
“Among other things.” She raised the snifter to her mouth, sipped at it.
“Which other things?”
“I told you in the library. Alice is a friend of mine. If you’re asking questions about her household, I’d like to know why.”
“And like I said then, do you feel better now?”
She smiled. “Not remarkably so. Not yet.”
“Not yet?”
The black eyes were staring steadily into mine. She was holding the brandy snifter lightly in both hands, the index finger of her right hand pointed upward. The polish on her long nail was the same bright red as her lips.
She said, “Are you quite certain you don’t feel like resting?”
I could hear the ticking of the clock on the end table. I took in a breath. It seemed to me that all the air in the room had been replaced by the scent of her perfume. “Not yet,” I said.
“Then don’t you think,” she said, “that you’re a trifle overdressed?”
I smiled. I turned, set my brandy on the end table, turned back to her. I reached for her glass and she handed it to me. I set it beside my own. When I turned back again, her head was back and her black hair was fanned across the cushion of the love seat. The black eyes were staring up at me, the wide red lips were parted in another smile.
I leaned toward her.
Someone knocked at the door.
It had a tentative sound, two or three light raps, as though the knocker, whoever it was, didn’t really want to bother anyone this late at night.
I sat up.
Without moving her head from the cushion, Mrs. Corneille reached out and put her hand on my arm. “They’ll go away,” she said softly.
The knocking came again, harder.
“I don’t think so,” I said.
She sighed, lightly squeezed my arm, and stood up. “Don't move,” she said.
She waltzed around the coffee table and across the carpet to the door. She opened it a few inches, craned her head around its edge, and suddenly she said, “Jane!”
She opened wide the door and stepped out into the hallway, then stepped back into the room with her arm around Miss Turner’s shoulders.
Miss Turner’s brown hair was loose, tumbling to her shoulders. She was wearing her gray robe. It was streaked with dust and spotted with clumps of what looked like fur. Her arms were hanging limply at her sides and in her right hand she held a shiny double-bladed dagger.