Harry Houdini Mysteries Read Free

restraints or thumbscrews.”
    “Mr. Houdini, I do not keep such things about my person. What sort of establishment do you suppose I am running?”
    Harry’s face fell. “It will be difficult to demonstrate my facility with handcuffs if no handcuffs are forthcoming,” he allowed.
    “I shouldn’t be surprised,” said Platt, squaring a pile of documents on his desk. “Now, gentlemen, if you would be so good as to excuse me, I have some rather pressing—”
    “Mr. Platt,” I said, struggling to regain some purchase on his attention, “I beg that you give my brother some chance to demonstrate his value as an entertainer. I offer my assurance that he is the most exceptional performer in New York today.”
    “I must find a solution,” Harry was saying, musing aloud over the strange absence of restraining devices in Platt’s office. “I suppose that I could provide my own handcuffs in these situations, but people would naturally assume that they were gaffed in some way. What to do?”
    Platt ignored him. “Hardeen, I’ve already told you that I don’t place any stock in the entertainment value of a man who escapes from things. It’s a silly notion. I know that you and your brother are fair magicians, but I don’t have any need ofmagicians just now.” He paused as a new thought struck him. “Is Mr. Houdini’s wife seeking opportunities at present? I might have something coming open in the chorus at the Blair.”
    “She is fully booked at the moment,” I said. “My brother and I—”
    “Yes, yes,” said Platt heavily. “I know all about you and your brother.”
    “I suppose it is a question of advertising my intentions in advance,” Harry murmured to himself. “I could post a notice or handbill to the effect that the Great Houdini intends to accept any and all challenges to escape from regulation handcuffs. Then people would be forewarned to provide their own restraints. That might resolve the difficulty.”
    “Are there any other opportunities that might be suitable?” I asked Platt. “Anything at all?”
    Platt reached across the desk for a folded sheet of paper. “I shouldn’t think so,” he said. “But don’t despair, Hardeen. If your brother truly is the most exceptional performer in New York, the other agencies are undoubtedly clamoring for his services.” He unfolded the paper and ran the pince-nez over the print.
    “Perhaps there could be a trained locksmith on hand as I took the stage,” Harry was saying. “He could confirm that the handcuffs had not been tampered with or altered in any way. It would lend an official touch to the proceedings. The Houdini Handcuff Challenge. That would look well in print.” He glanced at me. “Don’t you agree, Dash?”
    “Harry, perhaps we might confine our attention to the matter at hand. Mr. Platt is consulting his books to see if—”
    “I’m afraid there’s nothing,” said Platt, tossing the folded sheet onto the desk. “Unless, of course, your remarkable brother happens to have a cast-iron stomach.”
    “Pardon?”
    “A cast-iron stomach. The Portain Circus has an opening in two weeks’ time. I’m looking to send a man with a cast-iron stomach.”
    “I don’t quite follow you,” I said.
    “A stone-eater,” Harry said impatiently. “An omnivore.” He made an exaggerated chewing motion. “Someone who will eat whatever the audience throws at him.”
    “Precisely,” said Platt. “I have the honor to represent Mr. Bradley Wareham, who earns a fine living in this manner. At present, however, he is indisposed.”
    My hand went to my midsection. “A stomach complaint, by any chance?”
    “Not at all. A gouty foot, as it happens.” Platt snatched a handbill from amid the clutter on his desk. “Mr. Wareham is proving to be a difficult man to replace. Listen to this: ‘For the amusement of all present the Man with the Cast-Iron Stomach will ingest all manner of small objects presented to him by the audience, including rocks