“I only asked because I heard someone at the theater say that Risey was one to carry a grudge and the accident with the Houdinis’ trunk might be Risey’s way of getting even.”
Mike shrugged. “Risey’s way of getting even would be to send a couple of his guys to wait for you in a dark alley with brass knuckles on,” he said. “He ain’t known for his subtlety.”
He drained his glass and got up. “I gotta go. There would be hell to pay if I show up late. See you at the show tonight then, and afterward, who knows?”
He rested his hand on mine briefly, then hurried out, leaving me not much the wiser but definitely in a predicament. From the easy way he reacted to my suggestion, I was fairly sure that he hadn’t been sent by Risey, but he’d admitted he got the job because someone owed somebody a favor, and he admitted to being a bodyguard to his boss who might or might not be involved in criminal activities. Which brought me back to my former theory that the whole thing somehow involved a gang of whom Houdini had fallen foul.
I arrived back home looking rather the worse for wear, having been squashed into a train and then a trolley with a sticky, dirty mass of humanity. I’d have loved a cool drink, a bath, and a rest, but I had only time for a quick wash and a snack before I headed back to the theater. It was the last night at Miner’s. On Tuesday Houdini opened in a new theater in Brooklyn with new acts on the bill. And then a few days later he sailed back to Europe—out of reach of any kind of gang protection racket. Out of reach of rival illusionists. So far I had picked up no clue as to who might want to do him harm. I certainly got the feeling that he knew more than he was willing to tell either Bess or me and if he was not going to divulge any details, then I didn’t see how I could help him.
I arrived at the theater and went up to change my clothes in the dressing area they had let me use. It was usually intended for chorus girls when the normal vaudeville acts performed. At the moment I was the only occupant. It was cold and cheerless, with a long counter at which the girls sat to put on their makeup. As I sat alone at that counter, dabbing circles of rouge onto my cheeks, an uneasy feeling crept over me. I was alone in this bleak and bare room and I felt what Bess had described—a feeling of wanting to look over my shoulder. A feeling of danger nearby. I told myself I was being stupid, but I got up and went down the hall to tap on Houdini’s door.
“It’s the lovely Molly,” he said.
“I hope you don’t mind,” I said, “but I’d like to finish my makeup in here. The light is terrible in that room.”
“Of course, come on in. I must say that the transformation is not at all bad.” He eyed me appraisingly and I thought of Bess’s remark about not trusting him with other women. Maybe I was asking for trouble being alone in a dressing room with him.
“No, the dressmaker worked wonders, didn’t he?” I pulled up the stool to the dressing table and started to apply the stick of Carmine 2 to my lips before this conversation could continue. But he confirmed my thoughts by saying, “Bess is coming to watch the show tonight. She wants to see how her replacement is doing.”
“Is she well enough to be out at night like this?”
“My brother Dash is bringing her in a cab. They’ll be in the stage box.”
“That will make me extra nervous,” I said. “Bess will notice every little thing that I do wrong.”
“Don’t be silly. She’ll be delighted that you were able to take her place. After all, you’re doing this for Bess, aren’t you?” Then he added, “We’re both doing this for her. She’s the one who believed I was in danger.”
“And you don’t? After what happened?”
“I suppose I have to, don’t I? But it wasn’t I who was almost killed, it was my wife.”
“A warning to you, do you think?” I asked.
“A warning?” I could see from his face that he was considering this. Then he shook his head. “Oh, but that’s ridiculous.”