“Try for yourself,” she said, nodding at the stove. I needed no second invitation but filled a big bowl and wolfed it down. Mrs. Weiss obviously approved of a good appetite as she then produced some plum dumplings and some honey cake.

“You’re a wonderful cook, Mrs. Weiss,” I said. “You must miss your son when he’s away.”

“I stay with other son—Leopold, and with daughter, Gladys,” she said. “They like when I cook food from old country for them.”

“You’re lucky to have such a nice big family,” I told her.

“You have no family?”

“I had a father and three brothers. My mother died when I was a child. Now my father and one of my brothers are dead, and I don’t know when I’ll ever see the other two brothers again.”

“Life is hard,” she said. “But you are healthy young girl. You get married, no?”

“Yes, I’m getting married soon,” I said.

“Your young man. He has good steady work?”

“Yes, he’s—” I broke off. Of course I couldn’t let her know he was a policeman. “He’s got a good job,” I finished. “He’ll take good care of me.”

“That is as should be. Show business. Pah! My son make lots of money, but what kind of life, huh? Never know where you will be tomorrow. And always danger. And now—who knows if he is still alive.” Her voice broke as she said these last words.

I surprised myself by going over and putting an arm around her. “We can only hope for the best,” I said. “I know how hard this must be for you.”

She put her hand up to her mouth and nodded. Then she turned away. “I make us coffee,” she said gruffly.

We were sitting at the kitchen table finishing our coffee when there came a loud knock on the front door. We looked at each other.

“I’ll go if you like,” I said, expecting it to be Daniel.

“It may be my son Leopold. He may come to see his mother.”

I went to the front door and opened it. A strange man and woman stood there. She was dressed in a rather old-fashioned dark costume and a bonnet that hid her face, and he in a somber black-tailed coat and top hat. He also had a remarkably bushy gray beard. I glanced past them to see the constable standing beside the steps.

“Can I help you?” I asked.

“We’ve come to see Mrs. Houdini,” the man said.

“You’re friends of hers?”

“We are acquainted, yes.” He handed me his card. It read, “Harold and Bertha Symmes, Mediums. Your gateway to the spirit world.”

“You’re a spiritualist? A medium?” I asked.

The man nodded.

“We came as soon as we could,” the woman said. “To offer our services to poor Mrs. Houdini.”