“We heard she was out of her mind with worry,” Mr. Symmes said. “We are volunteering to try and contact her husband’s spirit for her.”

“What makes you think he’s dead?” I asked.

“We don’t know, do we?” the woman said. “But if he is dead, then I’m sure we’ll be able to contact his spirit and at least we’ll be able to put her mind at rest if she receives a message from him.”

“I understood that Houdini did his best to expose spiritualists like yourselves,” I said.

“Fake mediums, yes. There are, unfortunately, a lot of them around,” the man said in his grave voice. “It tarnishes the wonderful work of those who really do have the gift of contact with the spirit world, like ourselves.”

“We’ve come to show that we bear no ill will for Mr. Houdini’s harsh words. We have come to make amends, to welcome Mrs. Houdini into our bosom,” the woman said. She was a skinny person, and the irreverent thought flashed through my mind that she didn’t have much bosom.

It was almost dark outside. The gas lamps had been lit, throwing small pools of light at intervals along the street, and the children had vanished from the sidewalk. From an upstairs window came the sound of a pianola playing “Just a Song at Twilight,” and farther down the street a baby crying. All so peaceful and normal but my mind was racing. I didn’t want to let any strangers into the house, and yet it wasn’t up to me to make decisions.

I made one anyway. “Look, I’m sure you mean well, but I think that Mrs. Houdini still hopes her husband is alive,” I said. “I think that what you intend to do would distress her greatly.”

“If he’s still alive, we shall not be able to contact his spirit,” the man said. “May we not at least speak with her—to offer our support?”

I glanced into the house and then back to the street to make sure I could spot the constable. Was it up to me to play guard dog for Bess? Unfortunately I had had dealings with spiritualists before and they had evoked the same feelings of mistrust that I was now experiencing.

“Why don’t we wait to find out what has happened to Houdini,” I said. “And if he has died, then I’m sure Bess will want to contact his spirit. Until then—”

“Exactly who are you, miss? A relative?”

“I am her best friend,” I said, “and frankly she’s in a bad way at the moment. She’s taken to her bed and the doctor has given her a strong sedative. So you see she is simply not in any state to receive visitors.”