I woke on Sunday to a lovely morning—not too hot, blue sky, exactly the right sort of day to spend in the country or on the seashore. That thought prompted another one. Coney Island. As a detective, did it behoove me to take a trip to Coney Island and ask questions about the infamous Risey and his threat to get even with Houdini? Much as I hated to go back to that place because it was connected with such horrific memories, I decided that today would be the day to do this. It would be crowded with city workers escaping from the heat and toil of the city. So I put on an inconspicuous shirtwaist such as a factory worker would wear and off I went to catch the trolley across the Brooklyn Bridge.

The trolley and then the train to Coney Island were packed and I regretted that I had ever had such a foolish idea. Memories came back to me of the time I’d had to find a killer lurking in the funfair and had had a nightmare experience in a freak show. I found that I was sweating and not just from the heat. Did I really want to go through with this? However, when we descended at the terminus the crowd streamed toward the amusement parks and the beach and I felt my spirits lifting a little. The sea was sparkling, everyone was having a good time, and what’s more, a new amusement park had sprung up since I was there last. I could hear screams and laughter as fairgoers were swung around on the new rides.

I tried to remember where the Cairo Pavilion had been, then did remember—along a street called the Bowery, after the well-known thoroughfare in the city. It was a shady kind of place with legitimate amusements side by side with girlie shows, bars, and dance halls. I was propelled along with the crowd, my hand firmly on my purse because the place was notorious for pickpockets, and came to the Arabian arch that led to the Cairo Pavilion. I recalled that the fire-eater had stood outside it, luring in the crowds, and to my surprise, there he was.

“Step right up, ladies and gentlemen!” a voice was shouting through a bull horn. “All the wonders of the mystic East—ride a real camel, take a forbidden peek inside a harem . . .”

The man who had been introduced in the theater as Abdullah ran a firebrand along his bare arm, making a passing girl scream and grab on to the young man she was with. The fire-eater glanced in her direction, then he spotted me and his dark eyes flashed recognition.

“Hello,” he said. “Didn’t expect to find you here. You with somebody?”