She gave it to me, but then asked, “How can these old newspapers help you find my son? He is not in Germany. He is in New York.”

“I don’t know, but at the moment we can’t leave any stone unturned.”

“Please?” She frowned at the image I had used.

“I mean that we just have to try everything. I’ll go and see your son Leopold this morning.”

“Please say his mother sends love and asks why he does not come to see us? We need him. He is our comfort.”

“I’ll tell him.”

I took Bess some breakfast and woke her gently. Her big eyes shot open at my touch. “Any news?” she asked, attempting to sit up.

“None yet, but let us hope that today will bring some. See—your mother-in-law has made these pancakes. They’re awfully good.”

I left her picking at them halfheartedly and went to retrieve the scrapbooks. My first task for the morning would be to find brother Leopold and see if he could read the latest articles to me. Then I had another idea. The Dramatic Mirror, one of the publications Houdini wrote for, appeared to have its editorial offices in New York City. It was just possible that he had submitted an article to them that had not yet been published. Worth a try, anyway. And while I was walking around I’d come to a decision as to whether I should inform Mr. Wilkie about the amazing underwater trick, or whether I was being too fanciful with what was probably just another flight of an illusionist’s fancy.

I put the scrapbooks into my overnight bag and peeked in at Bess’s door.

“I’ll be back soon,” I said. “I’m going to your brother-in-law to see if he can read these German articles to me.”

“What do you hope to achieve with this?” Bess asked.

“I’m really not sure,” I said. “It’s possible that something that happened in Germany is responsible for your husband’s disappearance.”

“What kind of thing?” She looked puzzled.

“I don’t know. We’re grasping at straws here, Bess, but somebody pulled off a really clever trick and killed a man in a full theater. Somebody had to have a really good motive for doing that.”

I came into the room and sat on the bed beside her. “Think back to your time in Germany. Was there any ugly incident? Any time that your husband felt threatened? Anything that just felt strange to you?”

She shrugged. “Everything felt strange to me in Germany—the food, the people. And there were several incidents—”

“What kind of incidents?”

“Men claiming Harry was a fraud. Cheating him with handcuffs that couldn’t be opened. But you know, he gets that kind of thing all the time.”

“Can you give me the names of any of these men?”