Chapters (39)
- Cover
- Title
- TheLastIllusion
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- HISTORICAL NOTE
The important thing, as far as I was concerned, was that I now had one tangible link between Houdini and Germany. The two men had stood close together on a stage not three months ago. And his name, in the German newspaper, was not Summer, but Sommer, which might suggest that he was of German origin. I calculated that I would have time to attend the matinee before Mr. Wilkie could possibly arrive in New York and make his way up to Houdini’s residence to find me. I reached the ticket booth only to hear the young man inside it saying to the person ahead of me. “All sold out now, I’m afraid. I can sell you a ticket for tomorrow, if you’d like.”
“Forget it,” the woman snapped, and pushed past me angrily.
I stepped up to the ticket booth. “So there is nothing at all left for this afternoon?” I asked.
“Only a stage box with partially obscured vision,” he said, then translated in case I was particularly dense. “That means you might not see everything that’s going on all the time. Especially the acrobats.”
“But it’s close to the stage, right?”
“Almost on top of the orchestra,” he said. “You have to lean out a bit.”
“I’ll take it,” I said.
“It will cost you a dollar.”
“A dollar? For a seat I have to lean out of to see anything?”
“It’s a box, isn’t it? And box seats go for more.”
I had no alternative. I paid the dollar, wondering as I did so whether I’d ever see any money from the Houdini family. But I did have the advance from Mr. Wilkie. And promise of more.
“By the way,” I said. “That illusionist who was at the theater last week—Signor Scarpelli. Any idea where he was staying before he vanished? I need to get in touch with him.”
The man laughed. “Doesn’t everybody? It seems he owes half of New York money. But if the police can’t find him, then you’re not likely to either.”
“So who would know his address?”
“The manager, I suppose.”
“So this manager—is he likely to be in his office at the moment?”
The clerk shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you, miss. I just sit out front here and do my job. And a right busy job it’s been these last couple of weeks too. Sold out every performance since that first accident happened with Scarpelli.”