I was feeling pleased and excited as the train took me slowly northward to Harlem. I had proved that I was a real detective. Oh, I had solved cases before, but sometimes more by luck than by observation and deduction. Paddy Riley, my former mentor, would have been proud of me. I thought Mr. Wilkie would be equally impressed. I had the drawings of the underwater escape to give him and the piece from the magazine that hinted at possible invasion. And I had an illusionist who had recently been in Germany and had pretended to be a doctor when a girl pretended to die. Not to mention a bag full of counterfeit money and a house with a printing press in the basement. All in all a most satisfying day.

I peered out of the train window, hoping to spot a clock somewhere. Really, I would have to save up enough money to buy myself a watch soon. I thought it couldn’t be later than four, so I’d arrive at Houdini’s residence in good time to meet Mr. Wilkie. I left the train at Ninety-ninth Street and felt a spatter of raindrops. I had been in such a hurry that I had forgotten to pick up my brolly when I had been at Patchin Place. How shortsighted of me, as the clouds overhead loomed black and menacing and from the east came the growl of thunder. I quickened my step. Houdini’s house was several blocks away and the first spatter of raindrops sizzled onto the hot sidewalks. Thunder clapped nearby now and a horse neighed and reared in alarm as it stood waiting in the shafts. I looked for an awning to shelter under, but I had already left the commerce of Third Avenue behind and the street ahead of me was purely residential, so I had no choice but to push on. The rain began in earnest, hard and cold on my skin. I would clearly be meeting Mr. Wilkie looking like a drowned rat and I worried about the scrapbooks I still carried in my bag getting ruined. I clutched the bag to my person in a vain hope of keeping it dry and looked around desperately for a passing cab. But cabs do not patrol streets where there is little likelihood of picking up fares. In fact the street was deserted, save for one smart black carriage coming swiftly toward me. I stepped back from the curb so that I didn’t get even more drenched with the spray from the wheels, but to my surprise it came to a halt beside me and the door was thrown open.

“Miss Murphy?” a horrified voice exclaimed from the interior. “Get in quickly, before you are soaked to the skin. Here, take my hand.”