Free Escapade by Walter Satterthwait Page A

think?”
    “Absolutely. I’ve got to make sure everything’s okay. Mr. Houdini will ask about it.”
    She frowned. “Well, if you think . . .”
    “Thanks.” I walked through the doorway.
    It was the same set-up as the Great Man’s room—first a bathroom and a toilet and then the sleeping area. There was no one in it, anywhere. The bed was a tangled mess and one of the pillows was on the floor, near the door. There was no one under the bed and nothing in the wardrobe except Miss Turner’s clothing and the clean smell of talcum powder. The floor was wooden and the walls were made of stone. The window was too narrow to let anyone in or out.
    Sir David had followed me in. Like mine, his hands were in the pockets of his dressing gown. Maybe he was hiding a pair of hand-cuffs of his own. His smile had gone from bland to ironic. He said, “Searching for clues, are we?”
    I glanced once more around the room. “Right,” I said.
    “Aren’t we going to produce our magnifying lens?”
    I looked at him. “You think it was a really small ghost?”
    His smile became bland again. “As an American,” he said, “you probably wouldn’t know this. But a gentleman never enters a lady’s room without her permission.”
    I nodded. “Then I guess we’d both better leave.” He stood in my way, so I walked around him and back out into Mrs. Allardyce’s room.
    “Thanks for your trouble,” I told her.
    “Not at all,” she said. She put her hand to her chest again. “Will Mr. Houdini wish to speak with me?”
    “Sure he will,” I said. “Count on it. Thanks again. Good night.” I nodded to Sir David. He didn’t return the nod.
    But I could feel someone behind me as I walked out into the hall. I took a few steps down the corridor and he called out, “Oh, Beaumont?”
    I stopped and turned. “Yeah?”
    He approached me. His handsome face was thoughtful. “You know,” he said, “I don’t think I care for your manners.”
    “No? You in the market for a new set?”
    He nodded as if that was pretty much the answer he had expected. He stroked the left side of his mustache with the tip of his index finger. “Perhaps we’ll have an opportunity to discuss this at some other time.”
    “Look forward to it,” I said. “See you later.”

    “ORGHH.”
    “Harry?”
    “Orgh.”
    “ Harry ?”
    “Whumph?” In the light from the open doorway I could see him tug up the silk blindfold and stick it to his forehead. He unscrewed the wax from his ears. “Humph? What?”
    “Sorry to wake you up,” I said.
    “No no no. I was merely resting my eyes.” Probably the wax had kept him from hearing the snores.
    “Okay if I turn on the light?” I asked him.
    “Yes, yes, certainly. What is it, Phil? What is wrong?”
    I turned on the light and held out my left hand. “I was wondering if you could get these off.”
    Cecily must have slipped away from my room while everyone was talking next door. If she had found the key to the handcuffs, she hadn’t left it for me.
    The Great Man looked at the handcuffs dangling from my wrist. He raised his eyebrows, surprised. “A Mueller and Kohl spring-loaded. An antique. Where did you find it, Phil?”
    “A long story, Harry. Tell you in the morning. Can you get it off?”
    He smiled. “Phil, a child could remove those. Here. Observe.” In less than a second, the cuffs were off.

    The Morning Post
    Maplewhite, Devon
    August 18
    Dear Evangeline,
    You’ll be appalled, I know. You’ll be disgusted with me. I can scarcely blame you: I’m thoroughly disgusted with myself. I’ve been an absolute and utter fool. If the earth suddenly groaned open before me, I would leap immediately into the smoking chasm and I would feel, I promise you, nothing but intense gratitude and relief as I whistled down toward the Abyss.
    Oh, Evy, I’ve been such an idiot! If you had seen me standing there, half naked, with all those people gaping at me! If you had heard me babbling like a lunatic about the