the coffin. “Please note the chute on this side of the sarcophagus. When I am locked in this coffin, my assistants will send this horde of death dealers down the chute and onto my body. According to the literature, I should be dead within minutes.”
Chesterfield paused dramatically.
“In our audience is my attorney, Robin Lockwood. Miss Lockwood, would you please come onstage and inspect the sarcophagus to make sure there are no hidden doors through which I can escape?”
Robin was embarrassed, but she was too fascinated to reject the offer. She walked up a flight of stairs at the side of the stage and went up to the coffin. She leaned down. It looked solid. She ran her hand around the coffin and knocked on every surface. After a while, she stood up. “I didn’t find any escape hatches.”
“Thank you, Miss Lockwood. You may return to your seat, and I will enter the Chamber of Death.”
Chesterfield stepped into the coffin. A cover lay on the stage. One of the assistants picked up one end, and another picked up the other end. Then each assistant stood on a side of the sarcophagus and raised the lid so it was suspended over the sarcophagus with her back to the audience.
Chesterfield sat up in the gap between the assistants holding the lid so Robin could see him in the coffin. The third assistant stepped in front of the coffin between the assistants who were holding the lid and pushed Chesterfield down. When she stepped back, the other two assistants lowered the coffin lid.
Padlocks were attached to chains that were threaded through loops on either side of the coffin. When the coffin lid was secured, an assistant pushed the roller offstage so the audience had an unobstructed view of the sarcophagus.
Another assistant turned to the audience. “The gods have decreed Lord Chesterfield’s death. His fate is sealed.”
Two of the assistants put on gloves. One opened a lid on top of the cube containing the snakes. The other gloved assistant opened the chute facing the audience. Someone gasped when a handful of wriggling reptiles was shoved down the chute.
Suddenly, Robin heard the sound of fists beating against the inside of the sarcophagus.
“Stop. There’s something wrong. Let me out!” Chesterfield shouted.
“Your pleas fall on deaf ears,” the assistant said.
One of the gloved assistants took a handful of scorpions and poured them down the chute. Chesterfield screamed again.
“Let him out!” someone shouted.
The assistants ignored that plea as well.
Chesterfield’s voice grew weaker. Then an unearthly scream issued from the coffin, followed by silence.
“Please, let him out!” a woman shouted.
A man stood up and started for the stage, but a security guard stopped him.
“Let me go. This has gone too far!” the man shouted.
“Lord Chesterfield has traveled to the land of the dead,” one of the assistants said as she unlocked the padlocks. When the chains were unwrapped, another of the assistants opened the lid of the coffin. She stared inside.
Then she turned to the audience. “Miss Lockwood, will you look inside the sarcophagus and attest to the fact that the snakes and scorpions are in it, but Lord Chesterfield is not?”
Robin walked up onstage and looked in the coffin. Snakes and scorpions wriggled and slithered in it, but there was no sign of the magician. “He’s not in there,” Robin declared.
The assistants gathered at the front of the stage and stared toward the back of the theater. Robin and the members of the audience followed their gaze. No one spoke. After a few moments, the assistants turned to one another. They seemed confused.
“Is something wrong?” Robin asked.
“This isn’t how the finale works,” an assistant whispered. “Mr. Chesterfield is supposed to appear at the back of the theater, but he’s not there.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Claire walked up to the stage. “What’s going on?”
The assistants looked nervous. “We don’t know where Mr. Chesterfield is. He’s supposed to have materialized in the back of the theater.”
Claire turned around. “Larry, turn up the lights.”
When the lights came up, no one was there.
“If he’s not where he’s supposed to be, where would he be?” Claire asked.
“I don’t know,” the assistant answered.
David Turner started to walk toward the stage, but Miriam Ross blocked his way. The security guards flanked her.
“No one is allowed to go on the stage without Mr. Chesterfield’s permission,” Ross said.
The magician turned toward Claire. “Tell her to move.”
“I can’t. This is Bobby’s house.” Then Claire addressed Miriam Ross. “Do you know what’s going on?”
Ross looked upset. “Honestly, I don’t. Every time I’ve seen