“Yes, but it’s creepy here. I’d rather be at home. You’ll ask the doctor, won’t you?”

“Whatever you say, babykins. If you’re sure you’re well enough to go home.”

“I’m feeling much better. So maybe you’ll come and see me at the house then, Molly.” She was still clinging tightly to my hand. In spite of her frail appearance she also had a grip of steel. And she was staring hard at me, her eyes imploring. “You know the address, don’t you?”

I nodded and started to walk toward the door, unsure how to prolong this interview even though it was obvious Bess didn’t want me to leave. Was there some kind of hint I should have picked up from Bess upon which I should be acting?

I paused at the doorway, waiting for her to say more. I decided to give her one more chance to say something. “Mr. Houdini, do you think that maybe you should mention what happened last night to the police—if you really believe that someone was trying to interfere with your act, then that’s a crime, isn’t it? It could even have been murder.”

“We don’t want the police involved,” Harry snapped, dismissing me with a wave of his hand. “I’m only here for a couple of weeks longer. What kind of crowd would we get with police tramping all over the theater? Likely as not they’d shut us down. Don’t worry yourself, Miss—Murphy—is it?”

“Just call her Molly,” Bess said, “since she’s going to be your friend as well.”

“So don’t worry yourself, Molly. Believe me, I’m going to be taking extra care in future, double-checking everything—until I get back on that liner sailing for Europe.”

“You’re going to perform tonight at the theater then?” I asked. “Even though Bess is laid up like this?”

“I can’t let my American fans down and Mr. Irving has been good to us in the past. And now he’s paying us good money. Besides, I can do the act without her,” he said. “Of course I can’t do the Metamorphosis by myself, nor the mind-reading part, but the public comes to see the handcuffs, don’t they, baby?”

“But you always said that the mind reading puts them in the right mood to believe anything, didn’t you?” Bess said, looking up at him adoringly.

“Your brother says he used to do the Metamorphosis with you,” I suggested. “Maybe he could help you out.”

Houdini laughed. “That was when he was a skinny kid. Have you seen him now? There’s no way he’d fit into that trunk these days. Besides, he’s got his own act now. Know what he calls himself? Hardeen. Don’t they say that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery?”

“So he does what you do?”