The Floating Lady Murder Read Free

table. “Normally the smell of Mama’sporridge is enough to—”
    “Actually, Dash, you might want to go check on him.”
    “Pardon?”
    “He—he’s in training. He’s been in there an awfully long time.”
    “Oh.” I stood up again. “I’ll just go and make sure he’s still with us.”
    “Yes, run along, Theodore,” Mother said. “Tell your brother his breakfast is getting cold.”
    “Among other things,” Bess said.
    I hurried down the center hall to the water closet and gave a quick rap on the door. Receiving no answer, I turned the knob and stepped inside.
    As Bess had indicated, Harry was having a long bath, as one might have expected from one so fastidious in his personal grooming. What might have struck the casual observer as odd, however, was that my brother was entirely submerged beneath the waterline, and there were large chunks of ice floating on the surface.
    I should perhaps explain that it was not unusual for my brother to bathe in ice water. He had recently hit upon the idea of leaping from bridges, fully tied and manacled, in order to win free publicity for himself. It was his hope that a regimen of cold immersions would inure him to the shock of the frigid river waters. At the same time, these long sessions in the family bathtub gave him an opportunity to build up his lung power.
    I glanced at my Elgin pocket watch and waited as two minutes ticked past. How long would Harry stay down? How long had he been down before I arrived? I perched on the edge of the tub and stared down at my brother. His eyes were closed, his hands were clasped across his stomach and his expression was entirely peaceful. A tiny trickle of air bubbles escaped from the corner of his mouth. I looked again at my watch. Three minutes.
    I took off my jacket and unfastened my shift cuff. Reaching down, I dipped my hand in the water and tapped my brotheron the shoulder. Harry opened his eyes and let out a watery cry of delight, sending up a rush of air bubbles. “Dash!” he cried, breaking the surface abruptly. “Did you see me? I believe that may have been a new record!”
    “Harry, you need to be a bit more careful,” I said, noting the bluish tinge of his lips. “How long have you been in there?”
    “Oh, not long,” he said carelessly. “But that was certainly one of my better sessions. I believe I might have stayed down there another minute or two if you hadn’t startled me. It’s a question of mind control, really.” He rose dripping from the tub and reached for a towel. “I’ve been reading the most fascinating little monograph about the fakirs of India. It seems that they can suppress their breathing altogether when the conditions are right. What did they call it? Kakta? Kafta? Never mind. I understood what they were driving at. It has to do with the power of the mind.” He vigorously towelled himself dry and slipped on a robe. “It seems that if one can learn to focus the mind’s energy upon a single—say, Dash, what are you doing in here, anyway?”
    “I’m the only talent agent in New York who makes house calls,” I said, thrusting the Mirror notice at him. “Cast your eyes on that!”
    “A job?” Harry asked. “At last! I was beginning to think I’d never—” He snatched up the paper and scanned the item. “What?” he cried, his features darkening. “Impossible! It won’t do at all!”
    “But—why—?”
    “I wouldn’t even consider such a thing!” He tossed the paper aside. “The very idea is preposterous!”
    “But Harry—?” I picked up the paper and looked again at the Kellar notice, wondering if there had been some mistake.
    “Not at present, in any event. That sort of thing might do for you, Dash, but the Great Houdini must look elsewhere.”
    I followed him down the hall to his bedroom, where he persisted in giving voice to his ill opinion as he dressed in hisfamiliar black suit, starched white shirt and red bow tie. The peroration continued as he led me back along