Free Who Done Houdini by Raymond John Page A

with my most appealing expression.
    I took two more snaps of the front of the house with her standing in the doorway. As we walked inside, I hoped Mr. Holmes had made good use of the precious seconds alone I had bought him.
    â€œBack so soon?” he said. “Show me what happens on séance night.”
    â€œI welcome them at the door and ask them to take off their footwear. After that they are requested to put their coats and purses in the closet.”
    She pointed.
    â€œThen I lead them into the visitation room.”
    The word sounded like it referred to a reviewal area in a funeral parlor. Most appropriate, somehow.
    Holmes was already in the séance room. Our hostess walked to a table just inside the door. An Edison phonograph with a wind-up handle came to life playing a scratchy version of Wagner’s overture to Parzival.
    Unexpected, but certainly better than Chopin’s Funeral March . The mood changed from frightening to dramatic. Baker definitely wanted his victims to know who was in charge.
    â€œWe leave the lights off until Mr. Baker makes his appearance. Guests sit around the table facing his chair at the rear.”
    Though dimly lit, there was enough light from the hallway that I could see the chairs. “May I take a picture, please?”
    â€œCertainly.”
    The room exploded in light, and it took several seconds before I could see again. I could hardly believe I would make such a stupid rookie mistake to not close my eyes.
    â€œThe article in the News says Mr. Baker makes his appearance by coming through the wall,” Holmes said. “Which one?”
    She walked to the one at the right. “He enters dressed in a red silk Persian tunic and trousers and hands a rose to everyone in attendance.”
    Holmes continued. “Where does he come from?”
    â€œI don’t know. It really isn’t any of my business.”
    â€œPerhaps he was in the garden picking the roses. There’s nothing on the other side of this wall but the outside of the building.”
    She shrugged.
    â€œI’d like a shot of the wall,” I said. “I know our readers will want to see where he appears.”
    â€œGo right ahead. Mr. Baker won’t mind.”
    This time I closed my eyes.
    â€œWhere are you whilst the séance is in progress?” Mr. Holmes asked.
    â€œSitting at the table next to Mr. Baker. I ask Sidney the guests’ questions.”
    â€œInteresting. Why is that?”
    â€œI have to read them to him. The only ones who speak during the session are Sidney and me.”
    â€œIs it true Sidney’s voice comes from Mr. Baker’s stomach?”
    â€œYes. It’s quite frightening, though Sidney is always very polite and cares very much for the ones who have come to visit him.”
    â€œHow does he come onto the scene?”
    â€œMr. Baker calls him, then he goes into a trance.”
    â€œI see this is an oak floor,” added Mr. Holmes. “Ten foot long sections, I’d say.”
    â€œYes. This is a very old house. One of the first in the township. Mr. Baker inherited it from his parents.”
    â€œDoes it have a basement?”
    â€œIf so, I’m not aware of it.”
    Mr. Holmes threw her a sharp-eyed look. “Was Mr. Baker invited to Harry Houdini’s performance on Halloween eve?”
    â€œI don’t know. I do know he didn’t have a séance that evening.”
    â€œAre you having one tonight?”
    â€œYes. We always start just after dark.”
    â€œYou’ve been most helpful. I do wish I could have spoken to your employer in person, but you have answered all my questions admirably. Thank you, Miss . . . I don’t believe I heard your name.”
    â€œVan Dyke. Myrtle Van Dyke. I live in the village.”
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    She stood on the porch and waved as I backed around to return to the highway. I was anxious to hear Mr. Holmes’s findings, but he told me to wait with my