So far I had left out the rest of the backstage crew. Any one of those stagehands could be a failed illusionist or merely an antisocial person with a grudge. And as I had found out, it wasn’t that hard to sneak into the backstage area. The young man whose confrontation with Houdini I had overheard had somehow gained entrance without passing the stage doorkeeper. I thought about that confrontation. Houdini had definitely sounded rattled, or at the very least annoyed, and as for the other man—well what he said had sounded very much like the sort of threat that might come from a gang. Houdini was supposed to have delivered something and hadn’t done so. He had stated he’d only deliver it to the boss in person. Money of some kind, then. Blackmail, protection money . . .

I stopped at this thought. Houdini hadn’t delivered and his act had gone wrong. Was that a warning from a gang as to what could happen to him if the money wasn’t forthcoming? Were any of the powerful gangs now demanding protection money of theatrical performers? That would be another thing to ask Daniel in the morning.

The sound of a distant police whistle and the clatter of feet on cobbles made me pause and look up from my thoughts. In a backwater like Patchin Place it was easy to forget that I was in the heart of a big city. But every now and then something happened to remind me that crimes were happening every minute. Someone was having a pocket picked or jewelry stolen or their head bashed in at this very moment, and I was never completely safe. I stood up, half resolved to close my open window, then told myself that my nerves were on edge and I was being silly. But it did make me pause to wonder if perhaps Daniel was right. Had I really had my fill of this kind of work and the danger it brought me and wouldn’t it be wonderful to know I was safe, loved, and protected, and would never have to jump from a rooftop or take a fearful risk again? I had half promised Daniel that this would be my last case. Did I really mean it?