The Ectoplasmic Man Read Free Page B

thought it best not to remark upon the matter, for I knew that if my suspicions were accurate, all would be revealed presently.
    And so I passed the journey wondering what sort of man it was who could so readily divest himself of canvas strait-jackets and pass through solid brick walls. In my long association with Holmes we had been concerned in a score of mysteries which, at their outsets, seemed to involve spirit beings. Crime aficionados still remark upon the macabre affair of the earl, the ascot and the heavy feather, which had been the despair of several well-trained investigators. Only Holmes had been able to prove that flesh-and-blood murderers were responsible, rather than the vengeful revenants originally suspected by Scotland Yard.
    Would Holmes be as successful in penetrating the mysteries of Houdini, or had Lestrade at last presented him with a problem which had no logical solution? This was the challenge my companion had unwillingly undertaken that afternoon. In Lestrade’s defence I must say I rather doubt that he ever truly believed all this spiritualist commotion about Houdini. He was, rather, a man who dearly loved to have a key for every lock, no matter how unwieldy the keys became.
    I had not been to the Savoy Theatre since the passing of my beloved wife, Mary. Together we had attended many of the comic operas of Gilbert and Sullivan there, and though she had been gone many years, the association was still a painful one. My mood was certainly not lightened by the appearance of the theatre itself, which was dark and grim. The plush lobby, which I was so accustomed to seeing brightly lit and filled with cheery theatre patrons, now appeared shadowy and hollow. Through the far doors I could see rows of empty seats which seemed to stretch forever, creating an impression of eerie expectation. I am not ordinarily given to flights of fancy, but I imagined that I could feel my wife’s presence in that opulent crypt, and I acknowledged to myself that if I were ever to see a spirit, it would very likely be in this place.
    “Do you see this?” Lestrade was saying. “Do you see this, Holmes?” He pointed to one of the dozens of theatrical posters which covered the walls of the lobby. “Houdini claims to have no interest in spiritualism, and yet he draws attention to himself with a poster like this! There’s more here than meets the eye, I tell you!”
    The poster showed an ordinary wooden barrel secured with chains and heavy padlocks. Above it hovered a likeness of Houdini, who had evidently just wafted from the barrel as smoke rises from a chimney. His legs, the illustration plainly showed, were still vaporous. To strengthen this supernatural impression, the young man was shown receiving counsel from a small band of red demons who scurried about his form, while inthe background a number of befuddled-looking officials stood scratching their heads. Below the illustration was printed the legend: “Houdini!!! The World’s Foremost Escape King!!!”
    “You are absolutely right, Lestrade,” said Holmes. “This is conclusive evidence of the man’s spirit capacities. What a fool I have been ever to have doubted you! Now as to the details of this crime you mentioned—”
    “Enough of that, Mr Holmes. You’ll be able to see for yourself in just a moment. Remember, though, Houdini doesn’t yet know that he’s a suspect in the crime, so you musn’t let on!”
    Holmes turned and walked towards the empty theatre. “As of yet I have nothing to let on,” he said.
    As we gained a view of the stage I could see a group of four workers carrying large packing crates back and forth across the stage. By his resemblance to the poster illustration, I gathered that the man directing the activity was none other than Houdini himself.
    Houdini was a small but powerfully built young man. His black, wiry hair was combed out from the centre into two pointed tufts, which combined with the black slashes of his eyebrows to give him