“Never seen him before in my life,” the doorkeeper said. “I don’t know how he got in here either. Must have come from front of house.”

“So you can get backstage from the front of the theater, can you?” I asked.

“There’s the pass door, isn’t there? Every theater has a pass door.”

Of course, I realized that I knew that. I’d used one myself before now. So all those theories about the backstage area being carefully guarded were wrong. Anyone could have gotten through the pass door if they were willing to take that risk. And it might have taken only a second or two to tamper with Scarpelli’s equipment.

The callboy appeared then and was instructed to tell Mrs. Houdini that I was waiting down by the stage door. A few minutes later he returned, breathless.

“Mrs. Houdini says she’ll meet you in the wings, on the dressing room side,” he said. “Come with me.”

He set off again at another lively trot. I tried to keep up, while avoiding the normal hazards of the backstage. It was still poorly lit back there, although chinks of light shone through the closed curtains and the excited murmur of the audience could be clearly heard. I noticed that the locks and tarpaulins had been removed from those mysterious heaps and boxes beside the stage. A tall man in a long black cape, lined with scarlet, was standing beside one of the big crates, extracting glass trolleys, birdcages, velvet drapes. I remembered him as the opening act on the bill: Marvo the Magnificent. He looked up in annoyance as he heard our footsteps approaching.

“What’s she doing here?” he demanded.

“Guest of the Houdinis,” the callboy said.

“Then keep her away from me,” Marvo snapped, waving me away as if I was an annoying fly.

“I saw your act the other night,” I said, giving him my winning smile. “I was most impressed. I still can’t imagine how you make those birds appear and disappear.”

“Magic, my dear,” he said smoothly. “Now keep out of my way, like a good girl. I have to prepare in peace.”

“I was here the other night when that awful accident happened to Scarpelli’s assistant,” I said. “I bet that has upset all of your magicians.”

“Illusionists, if you don’t mind. We are all illusionists. And if you want my opinion, Scarpelli was asking for trouble.”

“He was? How?”