Hutton raises his forefinger. “And still, there exists one greater. A trick for which he shall never be lauded properly.”

My intrigue is baited. Yet just then, a man’s voice drifts from the hallway. The patient, shuffling past with a nurse, babbles while gesticulating. It’s a glaring reminder to keep Hutton’s assertions in perspective, particularly with his tone turning conspiratorial.

He leans toward me. “I trust you to envisage, in the days leading to our last sparring with the Jerries, the benefits afforded a performer of such esteem. Why, he could tour throughout Europe, hauling trunks and supplies, not only free of suspicion but invited to entertain the most powerful leaders in the grandest palaces. Even celebrated for breaking out of their most secure prisons. A celebrity of the like might well accrue some juicy tidbits to share. Would you not agree?”

I study Hutton’s face, seeking signs of deception or delusion. He appears genuine and clearheaded. “You’re suggesting Houdini was a spy. Against the Germans.”

“I would make no such claim,” he insists, sitting back. “In the way of officialdom.”

I stand there dumbfounded. The theory, while outlandish, is actually so logical it defies dispute.

“So now you see, Miss Vos, the importance I have placed on furthering the critical work of a man no longer able. I would hope you feel the same.”

The dual reference—to Houdini and himself—isn’t missed on me. In recalling the East End disaster, however, neither is my want for safety, for normalcy. Besides, didn’t he recently label me “troublesome”?

“But, sir, you really don’t need my help. I think that’s become evident to us both.”

“As it so happens,” he says with a slight hitch before going on, “Colonel Crockatt has informed me that, whilst he will do what he can, given word that I have cracked up, it appears I won’t be welcomed back. At least for some time.”

“Oh. Oh, I see.” The possibility hadn’t dawned on me but falls within reason, considering the gravity of our work and its classified nature. Combined with the adversaries he’s accrued among the brass hats in every branch, an exception is unlikely. “I’m terribly sorry to hear that, Major.”

“No need to be,” he replies, “should we continue our efforts together.”

“Pardon?”

“I shall merely move my schemes to the background—behind the curtain, so to speak—as you assume the public role on our behalf.”

“You’re talking about a charade.”

“You once applied a similar system to your stage work.”

“Yes, I suppose. Although…”

“Then I don’t foresee an issue.”

“Unless we wind up caught.” Fans of magic expect to be fooled; the same can’t be said of superiors in Military Intelligence.

“In which case,” he counters with a trace of impatience, “I vow to assume full responsibility. Furthermore, unless a security risk, there is no regulation restricting you from gathering outside ideas.”