involve danger and it is my job to protect you at all costs. Surely you understand that. I want to take care of you. I don’t want to have to worry about you.”
I was about to say that I could take care of myself pretty well, then I remembered certain times when my life actually had been in danger and it hadn’t been very pleasant.
“I suppose so,” I admitted grudgingly. “I’d better make those sandwiches then.”
Four
Sid and Gus finally persuaded me to go to the theater with them that night. I protested that Daniel would probably rather that I waited until I could see Houdini with him, but they thought this was bosh. “You don’t have to tell him everything you do,” Sid said. “A good wife learns when to speak up and when to keep wisely silent.”
“A lot you know about being a good wife.” I laughed.
“I’m a good observer of humanity,” she pointed out.
So I went along with them, only to find a huge crowd milling around outside the front doors of the theater and the manager himself standing just inside the doors and trying to drive them away.
“It’s no use standing there, we’re completely sold out, I tell you. There’s not a seat to be had in the house. Go home like good folks.”
“But you promised us last night that we could come back,” an angry male voice said.
“How was I to know the news in today’s paper would sell out the entire engagement in New York? And it’s not as if Scarpelli will be on the bill tonight.”
There were more angry murmurs, plus some expressions of sympathy.
“Of course he is in no state to go on with his act at this point,” the manager said.
“We came to see Houdini,” someone yelled from the crowd. “He’s the one we want.”
“He’s only here for a week.”
The manager held up his hand to quell the rising mutters. “I tell you what—I’ll try and see if we can arrange a performance on Sunday, even though the theater is normally dark then. And those who missed seeing Houdini perform last night will be given first pick of seats. I can’t do fairer than that, can I?”
We came away with the rest of the crowd.
“It’s amazing how great horror will draw more people than great sweetness,” Gus said. “They came to see if another girl might be sawn in half tonight.”
“They’d be out of luck,” I said. “Signor Scarpelli has done a bunk, much to the annoyance of Daniel and the police department.”
“Well, wouldn’t you want to get away if you’d been responsible for someone’s death?” Gus asked. “Come on, the night is still young. Have you seen The Wizard of Oz yet, Molly?”
“The Wizard of Oz. Isn’t that a children’s show?”
“They’ve made it into a delightful musical extravaganza. We’ve seen it twice but I’m game to see it again. How about you, Sid?”
“Game for any form of entertainment at any time, as you very well know,” Sid replied. “Come on, Molly. Our treat. Let’s find a cab, Gus.”
So I was whisked off to the Majestic, in a rather more salubrious part of town. It was a children’s story about good and wicked witches and a useless wizard, but I have to say that I enjoyed it. Of course the spectacle in itself was breathtaking. Characters flew around the stage and the wizard had all kinds of machinery to make himself seem terrifying. As I watched, I realized that to a certain extent everything on the stage is a matter of illusion. A good performer can make the audience believe anything he wishes.
. . .
The next morning, when I was going through my closet, preparing to do a load of clothes washing, I realized something I had overlooked until now. I had covered that poor girl with my wrap. And of course I realized I now had a good excuse to go back to the theater if ever there was one. And I wouldn’t be going against Daniel’s orders if I just happened to look around a little and ask some questions while I was there, would I?
I wasted no time and went back to Miner’s Bowery Theatre. In daylight it looked rather seedy. The front doors were shut this early in the day. I picked my way down a side alley that was piled with garbage and smelled of cats, and worse, and found the stage door. I had learned from my brief experience in the theater that the stage doorkeeper