“I don’t know if the girl was carried out of the front door or she came through this way.”

“Out the front. I certainly didn’t see her leave. They’d have never got a stretcher out through here. Too many steps and the alley’s too darned narrow.”

I put my head prettily on one side, in the way that children always think is endearing. “Would you mind if I took a look for my lost wrap? I know it’s probably been thrown out by now, but I’d kick myself if it was still lying in a rubbish bin. I was rather fond of it, you know.”

Another long pause, then he said, “You’re probably going to cost me my job, but go on with you. There’s nobody around at this hour anyway, so you can’t do no harm. But don’t go doing any snooping into dressing rooms or the like. Not that you can get at the illusionists’ props. Always locked up good and proper, they are.”

“Really? So does each illusionist lock his props away separately or are they all in one locked room?”

This made him laugh. “Listen, girlie, that lot wouldn’t trust their own grandmothers. They live in constant mortal fear that a rival illusionist is going to steal their tricks. You hear of the brotherhood of magicians. Don’t you believe it. Rivals, that’s what they are. They’d cut each other’s throats if they had a chance.” Then he realized what he had said. “Didn’t really mean that,” he stammered.

“I’m sure you didn’t,” I said soothingly. “But from what they are saying, I understand there was little love lost between the one who calls himself Scarpelli and Houdini.”

“They all hate Houdini’s guts,” the old man said confidentially. “Just because he can get himself publicity like nobody else—and he gets paid for it too. But none of them can do what he does—challenging police departments all over the country, defying anyone to come up with a lock or a jail cell that can hold him. And I’ve watched him, young lady. If they’re illusions I’ll eat my hat. If you ask me, I reckon the man’s not quite natural. One of the stagehands said he had to be in league with the devil and I’m half inclined to believe him.”

“How about Scarpelli. Did he get along just fine with the others?”

“Scarpelli? I don’t think he antagonized anyone in particular. Jealously guarded his props, of course, but they all do.”

“So you don’t think anyone could have tinkered with his props that night? Because that’s what he claimed—that someone was out to ruin his reputation and do him harm.”