Free Harry Houdini Mysteries by Daniel Stashower Page A

accounting.”
    Clairmont grinned with relief. “Done.”
    Biggs turned to Harry with an expression of glee. “Well, Harry,” he said, “I’ll bet that even the Hindu fakirs wouldn’t be able to tell you what I’m thinking now.”
    “A simple matter,” Harry said evenly. “You are filled with a new sense of admiration for the powers of the Great Houdini.”
    “Not quite.”
    “I think I can take a stab at it,” I said, setting down my cigar. “You’re wondering what the celebrated Mrs. Augusta Clairmont, doyenne of New York society, is going to make of the Brothers Houdini.”
    “Exactly,” said Biggs, sending up a smoke ring. “Harry Houdini faces his greatest challenge to date—the oyster knife and the finger bowl. I’m only sorry I won’t be there to see it.”

4
THE MYSTERIOUS DR. WEISS
    “H ARRY,” I SAID, AS WE MADE OUR WAY ON FOOT TO THE C LAIRMONT residence the following evening, “I do wish you’d come along with me to see Mr. Sanders.”
    “Don’t be absurd!” cried Harry. “Our evening clothes are hand-tailored!”
    “If by that you mean that Mama was able to run them up on her sewing machine, then I suppose they are. But I doubt if any of Mrs. Clairmont’s other guests will be wearing tailcoats fitted with a special pouch for the concealment of rabbits and doves.” I fingered the shawl collar of my dinner jacket. “At least Mr. Sanders was able to give my trousers a bit of a touch-up.”
    Harry pursed his lips. “Mrs. Clairmont will have to take me as she finds me, Dash. We can’t all be strutting peacocks.”
    “Speaking of strutting peacocks, why are you walking so strangely? Have you hurt your leg?”
    “No,” he said. “My leg is fine. I am simply eager to arrive on time for our dinner engagement.”
    “We’d have plenty of time if you hadn’t disappeared for half the day. Where were you, anyway?”
    “I had business to address.”
    “What sort of business?”
    “Private business,” he said. His hand went to the right-hand pocket of his coat.
    “Harry, what have you got there? Don’t tell me you’ve brought Selma.” Selma was an aging, somewhat flatulent, lop-eared rabbit who often appeared from Harry’s top hat.
    “Selma is resting comfortably at home, Dash. You needn’t worry yourself about that.”
    “Then what have you got there?”
    “Just a precaution.” Harry increased his pace as we approached the north end of Gramercy Park. “Come on, Dash. Try to keep up.”
    I had no difficulty keeping pace with my brother, as he knew perfectly well. Throughout my life I have been a walker, and it was my habit in those days to walk several miles each day. I could not begin to count the number of times I have crisscrossed Gramercy Park, enjoying the restful elegance of its brownstones and shade trees. Until that night, however, I had never crossed any of the thresholds.
    The late Jasper Ellsworth Clairmont, who did rather well for himself in the shipping business, had lived on the west side of the park in a graceful home with fine stone columns and an elaborate cast-iron porch. A pair of bilkin torches threw a guttering light over the path as we approached. As we passed an expensive brougham standing in front of the house, I paused to neaten my collar in the reflection of the carriage’s gleaming brass palm plate.
    “Dash! This is no time to preen your feathers!” cried Harry, pulling my elbow.
    “Harry, it’s bad enough that our clothing smells of rabbits. At least my tie should be straight.”
    “If you spent half as much time practicing your sleights as you do arranging your hair, you’d be a headliner by now.” He dragged me up a set of broad stone steps and pulled at the door chime.
    A pair of heavy, oval-paned doors swung inward, and we stepped into a large entryway, the chief feature of which was a heavy wooden staircase winding up to a minstrels’ gallery.A ruddy-faced butler took our cloaks, and I don’t think I’m imagining it when I say