“I see.” Daniel turned to the manager. “I’ll need his name and address. And when my men get here we’ll want a statement from everybody who—” he broke off because Houdini’s brother Dash had come back onto the stage and was whispering something in Bess’s ear. Daniel reacted with such obvious surprise that I realized he had mistaken the brother for Houdini himself.

“This is Houdini’s brother,” I said. “He is also an illusionist.”

“Rather an escape artist,” Dash said. “I do the handcuffs and that sort of thing.”

“Then you can tell me how the devil this body got into that trunk,” Daniel said.

“I have no idea,” Dash said. “The way that illusion is performed, I can’t see how a body could be substituted.”

“You usually perform this, Bess,” I said. “Can you think how it was done?”

Bess looked up and shook her head.

“You’ll find that illusionists are very tight with their secrets,” I said.

“And they might find that jail is an uncomfortable place to spend a night if they don’t cooperate with the police,” Daniel replied.

“I just want my husband found,” Bess said.

“They are searching for him now,” I answered gently.

“And neither of you recognizes the young man?” Daniel asked. “Take a good look at him.”

Dash shook his head. “I’ve never seen him before.”

But Bess got to her feet and went over to the body. She shuddered, then suddenly she put her hand to her mouth. “I think I have seen him,” she said. “He was the young man who came to our house that time when Harry was out. Remember I told you about him, Molly.”

“He came to your house? For what reason?” Daniel asked.

“He asked for my husband. I said he wasn’t there and he said to tell Harry that he’d be back. When I asked his name he said Harry would know who he was. It sounded like a threat to me.”

“Interesting.” Daniel stared down at the corpse. “So has your husband been getting threats, Mrs. Houdini?”

“I think he has,” she said.

“From whom?”

“I don’t know. When I asked him he said I was imagining things.”

Daniel stared at her for a moment, then looked back at the young man. “He doesn’t look to me the type who would be employed by the criminal classes. So what kind of threats could he have been making? Was your husband in any kind of trouble?”

“If he was, he didn’t tell me,” Bess said. “He knows I get upset.”

“But you said he was worried about something,” I reminded her. “You said he paced up and down at night and he got up to scribble things down on paper.”