been cut in half!” She put a hand to her mouth and swayed as if she was about to faint. Houdini caught her.
“It’s okay, Bess, babykins. You’re going to be okay.” He helped her to a nearby chair onto which she collapsed, gasping and gagging. Then he too caught sight of the bloodstained figure in the box.
“Oh, geez,” he muttered, putting his hand up to his mouth. “I’m sorry. I had no idea it was this bad. What happened? What went wrong?”
“Someone must have tampered with it,” Scarpelli snapped. “The trick was foolproof. I had perfected it. There was no way. . . . Someone is out to do me harm. To destroy my reputation. Maybe someone who thinks of himself as the new king of illusionists?” He advanced on Harry Houdini, staring at him, eyeball to eyeball.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Houdini said. “I would never tamper with a fellow illusionist’s act. I would never stoop so low. And I would never—” His gaze moved to Lily. “Is she dead?”
“I still detect a faint pulse,” the doctor said.
“Then what are we waiting for?” Houdini demanded. “Thing’s on wheels, isn’t it? Then let’s get it down to the nearest entrance where she can be taken to the hospital.” He motioned the remaining men to join him, then looked back at Bess, who was hunched on the chair, her body still wracked with great sobs. “Someone should take my wife back to our dressing room.”
“I will,” I said.
“That would be very kind. Most obliged to you, miss,” Houdini said before she could answer. “She’s a delicate little thing at the best of times and a sight like this would upset even the strongest of constitutions.”
The men were already getting in place to wheel out the box with Lily in it. I remembered what I had planned to do and laid my wrap over her. It was only a silky wrap, as befits an outing on a July evening, but it was better than nothing and at least it covered that horrible wound. I gave her one last pitying look, then I went over to the hunched figure of Bess and put a hand on her shoulder. “Come on, Mrs. Houdini. Let me take you where you can lie down.”
“Thank you,” she managed in a whisper between sobs. “Get me out of here, please, before I throw up.” I noticed that the accent belied her delicate, china-doll appearance. It was pure Brooklyn.
I left the stage, supporting Mrs. Houdini as I steered her through the backstage area, avoiding the usual pitfalls of a backstage: the ropes, the curtain weights, the scenery flats. Luckily I had worked as a chorus girl once while on a case involving the theater so I felt right at home there. It was good that I did because Bess Houdini was in no state to walk alone. She staggered like a drunken person, clutching my arm so tightly that her nails dug into me. “He cut her in half,” she kept on gasping. “All that blood!”
“I know. It was truly awful, but there’s nothing you or I can do for her, and you’re going to be just fine when you lie down.”
We found the Houdinis’ dressing room at last at the end of a long hallway. It had a star on the door but inside it was nothing fancy. Clearly this Houdini fellow was not going to be treated like someone who entertained kings and emperors in his own country. There was a plain horsehair couch in one corner and I helped Bess onto this. “There,” I said, and covered her with a knitted afghan.
“My smelling salts,” she gasped. “On the dressing table.”
I found them among the usual paraphernalia of the theater—sticks of greasepaint, cotton wool, cold cream, and various patent medicines designed to calm the nerves and restore vitality. She held the little bottle up to her nose, coughed, and then handed it back to me. “That’s better,” she said in a more ordinary voice.
Really I’ve never seen what women want with smelling salts. Horrible stuff. But then I’ve never worn a corset so I’ve not been in the habit of swooning that often.
“I’ll be all right now. Thanks again, Miss—?”
“Murphy,” I said. “Molly Murphy.”
She looked up at me and smiled. She really was a sweet, delicate little thing. Fragile as a china doll. “Thank you for your help. You’re most kind. Do you work here in the theater?”
“No, I was in the audience with my intended who is a