“If you feel you’ve been denied the limelight, do you go around killing people?” Daniel said quietly. “I suppose these entertainers are more highly strung than most, but it would have to be some kind of personal grudge or affront wouldn’t it? Was Houdini not well liked and respected?”

“Bess Houdini told me that other illusionists were jealous of Harry, also that he dealt his own brand of justice to anyone who challenged him or copied him or called him a fraud.”

“Meaning what?”

“Usually a challenge—Houdini would set up some kind of public escape stunt and see who could escape more quickly. But I gather that he had sent men to pay a call and rough someone up before now. Bess said he did that to Scarpelli when they were in Germany.”

“I see. That puts a whole different complexion on things, doesn’t it? Someone else could have sent his own men to repay the compliment. Maybe one of those men was the guy who now lies dead on the stage. Houdini surprised him and dealt him a fatal blow, then realized he’d committed murder and pulled off this stunt.”

“That does seem possible, I suppose,” I said. “But that young man—he wouldn’t be the sort you’d send to rough somebody up, would he? Houdini could have made mincemeat of him if he’d wanted—” I broke off as I realized what I had just said.

He glanced at the door. “We should go back to the others. So the next step would be to check out the men on tonight’s bill and then see which other illusionists might be in the vicinity of New York.”

“That would include Scarpelli,” I said. “I take it he still hasn’t been found.”

“You’re right,” he said.

“Maybe Scarpelli thought that Houdini was somehow responsible for what went wrong that night,” I suggested. “And we know that he had an old score to settle.”

“And maybe he got rid of his assistant in what he hoped would be taken as an accident. But then realized he had witnesses who had seen him tampering with his equipment so that it would not operate as planned, so he realized they had to go too. Perhaps this young man was one who spotted him. But then nobody in the whole theater seemed to recognize him, which is strange. We won’t know any more until we find out who he is.”

“How will we do that?”

“We’ll try to get his photograph to the newspapers in time for them to insert it into tomorrow’s edition,” he said. “And it’s possible that someone will come forward to say that a husband or son is missing. Other than that . . .” He shrugged expressively.

“Come on, let’s go and rejoin the party.” He bent to give me a quick kiss as he passed me.