Doctor Arthur Conan Doyle sat at his desk and tried to weed through the backlog of correspondence from the past few days. Even since Touie woke up, he'd spent nearly every waking hour at the sanatorium; household concerns like the post and the bills sat neglected until Vera reminded him of them.

He'd declined several cases with the police and only assisted with one investigation for Constable Stratton in February. Thankfully, he'd finished The Hound of the Baskervilles soon after Touie regained consciousness, or it would be sitting forgotten as well. A large package at the side of his desk held the final published book and he picked up the leather-bound volume and idly flipped through a few pages stopping here or there to admire one of the illustrations.

Setting the book aside, he sorted through another stack of envelopes as a watery March sunlight played across his desk. There were the usual invitations to speak at one gathering or another on the Boer War. Now that the book was published, he knew the requests to promote Holmes would flood in soon as well. He glanced at return addresses and sorted the envelopes into smaller piles of speaking requests, dinner invitations, and household bills.

Halfway through the pile, he stopped and stared at a strange envelope with no postmark and no sender information. The lack of postmark meant the letter had been hand-delivered; that there was no return information wasn't that unusual, but he had an odd feeling in his stomach as he stared at the envelope. Whatever it contained would not be good news. He studied it a few more seconds then slit it open and pulled out the single sheet of paper.

Did you know Harry Houdini killed a woman in Vermont?
I wonder how many more there might be.
One. Two. Four.
Or more?

Doyle read the brief lines again, then called for his housekeeper, "Vera!"

"Yes, sir?" she asked as she entered the room a few seconds later and stood at the corner of the desk.

"Where did this come from?" Doyle asked and held up the plain envelope.

"I'm not sure, sir," she said as she studied the envelope in his hand. "It may have been in with yesterday's post. I didn't think anything of it at the time. Is there something wrong?"

Doyle turned over the envelope and the letter again. "I'm not sure," he said mostly to himself. "Thank you, Vera. Are the children off?"

Vera smiled. "Yes sir. Just this last minute. Such a change in them these last few weeks. It's nice to see them happy again."

Doyle returned the smile with one of his own. "Please make sure the basket is ready to go in twenty minutes. I promised Touie her favorite dessert for dinner today."

"It will be ready, don't you worry." Vera left the study and Doyle heard her move down the back hall toward the kitchen.

The writing on the envelope and in the note was unremarkable. The only thing he could say for sure was the tip of the fountain pen the sender used was new as he found several minute scratches on the paper under the ink. The paper itself was a medium weight and decent quality but there was no watermark or other way of tracing who might have purchased it.

He read the lines again and realized guiltily that he hadn't seen much of Houdini once Touie woke up. His friend had been instrumental in her recovery and he hadn't really talked to him above a handful of times since that night six weeks ago.

"Harry, what trouble have you managed to land yourself in?" Doyle muttered and put the letter back in its envelope and the envelope in the pocket of his suit coat. He reached for the phone intending to call the Metropole Hotel, but instead called Scotland Yard.

"Doctor Doyle, how are you?" Adelaide asked once he got her on the phone. "How is Mrs Doyle?"

"She is doing quite well all things considered," Doyle replied. "I was wondering if you'd talked to Houdini recently."

The silence over the phone line lasted long enough for Doyle to ask, "Constable, are you still there?"

"Hmm," she replied. "You got one too, then. A letter about Harry," she stated softly.

"Yes, I did. Probably with yesterday's post, Vera wasn't certain, however."

"But it was hand-delivered, correct?"

"You received one as well." Doyle realised he wasn't very surprised. He sat straight in his chair. "Are the two of you investigating another case without me?" he asked and tried to sound calm though his concern for Houdini ticked up another notch.

"No, I haven't seen much of Houdini since we arrested Harold George for murdering the tenants of his rooming house. That was a two weeks ago," Adelaide said and Doyle could hear the worry in her voice as well. "Do you know what the note is talking about? Is it true?"

Doyle hesitated, Harry had told him once about the woman and how she'd died, but it wasn't his place to explain it to the constable. "Have you talked to him about it yet?" Doyle asked and dodged her question.

"No, not yet. If Chief Merring sees this, it would be all the excuse he needs to stop Harry from investigating any more cases for the police no matter what explanation he has."

Arthur glanced at the clock on the mantle and said, "I'll head over to the hotel and see if I can find him and talk to him about it."

"I would come with you, but I was handed a new case this morning," Adelaide said. Doyle could hear her turning pages. "The body was found in an alley not too far away from the Alhambra Theater," she murmured more to herself than to him.

Doyle felt another jolt in his stomach but only said, "I'm sure it's just a coincidence, Constable. I'll go talk to Houdini and find out about the letters, you worry about your case. I'll let you know what I find out."

He rang off and sat back in his chair. Houdini would scoff, but Doyle just knew there was trouble ahead for the magician.

H&DH&DH&DH&D

Doyle knocked at the door to the Royal Suite and waited for Houdini to answer. He heard footsteps near the door as Harry opened it and let him in the hotel room. Houdini wore grey trousers and a collarless shirt but no tie or waistcoat, and Doyle realized it was probably still early in the day for a man who worked at night. He glanced toward the fireplace and his suspicion was confirmed as he saw the scattered breakfast dishes still on the table near the sofa.

"Hey, Doc," Harry greeted and waved Doyle in. "Haven't seen much of you lately. Is everything all right with Touie and the kids?"

Doyle took off his hat and dropped it on the table near the door. "They're all fine, thank you."

Harry followed Doyle back into the main room and sat on the sofa while Doyle took one of the chairs. "You know I'm still waiting to meet your wife," Harry teased. "It's been almost two months, since she woke up. If I didn't know better I'd think you were afraid to introduce us."

Doyle smiled slightly and leant back in his chair. "She's getting stronger by the day," Doyle said. "Doctor Biggs wanted her to rest and recover before she had any lengthy visits. When he left last month I told him I'd follow his instructions to the letter."

Harry nodded and reached for the coffee cup sitting on the table. "I can have another pot sent up if you want some." He picked up the cup and Doyle noticed the knuckles on his right hand were scraped and bruised.

"No need, I prefer tea in the morning. What did you do to your hand?"

Harry glanced down at his knuckles and shrugged. "It's nothing. Just helping move some stuff around the theater last night and I scraped it along a wall." He put the cup down and flexed his fingers a few times. "So what brings you by? Do we have a case?"

Doyle thought the scrapes looked infected, but he left that aside and instead replied, "Adelaide has a case, but it doesn't sound like anything she would need our help for."

"You talked to Addy already today? You don't have another case of writer's block already do you?" Harry grinned and leant back in the sofa.

Doyle reached into his pocket for the anonymous letter and shook his head. "This came in the post," he said and handed over the envelope.

Harry gave him a puzzled look but reached forward for the envelope and read the brief note inside.

"Adelaide received the same note at the station," Doyle explained as Harry handed back the letter.

"I don't get it," Harry said. "Why would someone bring this up now, and tell you and Addy in a note? I'm not proud of what happened, but it wasn't a secret either."

"Can you think of anyone that would want to do something like this?" he asked and held up the paper. "I know you usually don't care what people think of you, but this could seriously hurt your reputation."

Harry laughed. "There are any number of fake spiritualists that would like to see me suffer. Not to mention rivals in the magic world. I can think of better ways to go about it, though. Anonymous letters to friends? That's the best he can do?"

Doyle frowned.

"What?" Harry asked with a grin. "It's nothing. Somebody's idea of a bad joke, that's all."

"I'm not so sure of that," Doyle said slowly as he put the envelope back in his pocket. "Are you sure you can't think of anyone specifically who would want to hurt you and knows what happened in Vermont?"

Harry leant back on the sofa. "Why are you so worried about this?"

"I just have a feeling -"

Harry chuckled.

"There's more to this than just some prank," Doyle insisted. "This could be serious."

Harry studied his face for a moment and stopped smiling. "I really don't know who would be sending these letters," he said. "As for what happened in Vermont, there were a couple of small news articles about the woman and what happened." Harry looked away. "Anyone who wanted to go digging for dirt on me could find it if they tried hard enough," he finished.

Doyle waited until Harry looked at him again. "Just promise me you'll be careful," he said and stood from the chair.

"Always, Doc. You know me." Harry smiled as Arthur rolled his eyes. "I don't have any shows for the next couple of days so if Adelaide decides she needs our help after all I'm available."

Doyle picked up his hat and nodded at Harry as he left. He buttoned his top coat as he left the hotel and flagged a cab back to the townhouse. He'd pick up the basket with Touie's dinner and maybe talk to his wife about his concerns and what he could do to protect his friend.

H&DH&DH&DH&D

Adelaide entered the alley and glanced at the white sheet covered body then turned to the bobby on duty.

"Did anyone see anything?" she asked the man as he saluted her.

"Not that anyone is admitting to, ma'am," the officer replied. "We found him a couple of hours ago. He was beaten. Probably robbed."

"Why is this a case for us?" she asked and looked over the crime scene again.

"We found this, too," the officer said and handed her a gold cufflink set with an opal and two diamonds, it looked vaguely familiar.

"Was there a second victim?" she asked as she studied the cufflink in her hand.

The officer shook his head. "No one else was in the alley when we found him." The officer hooked a thumb at the shrouded body. "It was caught in the clothes of the victim. It could belong to whoever killed him."

Adelaide frowned. "Beating someone to death doesn't really match with an expensive cufflink."

The bobby shrugged. "That's why we called you ma'am. Maybe belongs to the killer. Maybe another victim."

"Thank you, Officer Jackson," she said and handed back the cufflink. "I'll need your report as soon as possible."

She turned away from the bobby and knelt next to the body. She picked up a corner of the sheet and glanced at the remains underneath. Jackson was correct, the body was badly beaten, though his face was left mostly untouched. She dropped the sheet back over the body and slowly stood as the coroner's men stepped forward with a stretcher to take the remains for an autopsy.

She walked slowly back up the alley, spotted the Red Lion across the street, and entered the pub. Not surprising, there weren't many people around this early in the day and the bartender watched her from behind his counter as he slowly polished a mug with a rag. The bartender was around forty years old, with brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His hands were rough and the faint smell of malt and hops followed him as he moved around behind the bar.

"Can I help you with something, Constable … ," he paused in his polishing and stared at her.

"Stratton," Adelaide said and stepped up to the bar.

"I'm John," he replied with a pleasant smile and nod. "What can I do for you Constable Stratton?" he hung the mug off a hook in the beam above his head and picked up another from the bar.

"I'm investigating a murder that happened at the other end of the alley. Was there a man in here last night wearing a brown jacket, tan work trousers and a black flat cap?"

John finished another mug and hung it next to the first before tossing the rag next to the sink behind him. "I remember someone like that. Sat over at the end of the bar drinking beer and glaring at my other customers."

Adelaide took a pad of paper and a pencil from her pocket. "Did he seem angry or afraid of anyone in particular?"

John crossed his arms and shook his head. "He was more angry really than anything. Kept muttering to himself about losing his job."

"Any idea where he worked?" she asked and glanced up from her notes.

John shrugged and reached for the rag again. "One of the theaters, maybe? There are three or four around here and people come and go from them so fast I can't keep track of 'em all. He appeared here one night a couple of weeks ago, and came by every other day or so."

"Did he ever tell you his name or anything about family?"

John started polishing glasses. "I think I heard someone call him Pete once."

"Just Pete? No last name?"

"Nope. Sorry," he replied with a shrug.

Adelaide closed her notebook. "Thank you for your time, John. If you think of anything else about Pete, please let me know."

John just nodded and Adelaide left the pub and headed for the subway.

She was a block away from Scotland Yard when she saw Harry coming up the pavement from the other direction. He must have seen her as well, as he waited for her at the door to the station.

"Harry, how are you?" she asked as they entered. "Doctor Doyle must have found you. I can guess why you're here." She looked over to him as she led him to her desk in the corner.

Houdini shrugged out of his top coat and hung it on a peg next to Adelaide's police hat. "He came to the hotel an hour ago to talk."

She patted her hair back in place and stood behind her desk. "Doctor Doyle told you about the letters?"

Harry nodded and sat in one of the chairs in front of her desk as she sat behind it. "I told him it was a pretty poor attempt at a joke, but he still seemed worried."

"He should be worried. So should you," she told him as she took an envelope from her drawer and passed it over. "I wasn't sure what to do with it," she explained

Harry read the same brief note that Doyle had received, then look back up. "You didn't ask Doyle about this?" he asked.

Adelaide ducked her head. "I did. He didn't tell me anything. I got the impression he wanted me to ask you directly."

Harry leant back in the chair and stared out the window near her desk. "I told him about it last year, while we were looking for those kidnapped girls."

He stopped and Adelaide waited to see if he would continue.

"I used to be one. A psychic, medium, whatever," he confessed and glanced at her. "I could cold-read a person in seconds and tell them exactly what they wanted to hear."

He stopped again and Adelaide watched as anger, hurt, and sorrow all danced across his face. "I remember you showing me when we went to Korzah's reading," she said gently.

Houdini stood and paced between the chair and the wall. "I never liked doing that act," he admitted, "But it brought in people and the carnival I worked for only paid you if you had an audience." He pointed at the note on her desk and continued, "I had a woman so convinced her dead husband was still with her, watching over her … she killed herself to be with him."

Adelaide gasped softly and looked up at him. "Harry, I'm so sorry."

Harry turned back to the desk. "As soon as I read about her death in the newspaper I told the carny I wasn't going to do psychic readings in my act any more." He glanced at the paper on her desk again. "Let's just say he wasn't too happy with my decision."

"What do you mean?"

Harry sank back down in the chair. "He tried to talk me around. I kept saying no. I was barely twenty years old, he thought he could bully me into it." He smiled grimly. "That was a mistake."

Adelaide smiled back. "So what did you do?"

"I quit. I went to the police and tried to explain what I'd done, but they weren't interested. They told me it wasn't my fault, she'd been depressed, everyone knew it was only a matter of time before she did something, and sent me on my way." He looked back out the window. "That was seven years ago, why bring this up again now? I don't get it."

Adelaide started to say something but stopped when Officer Jackson walked up to her desk and gave her the scant evidence from the alley and his report. She nodded her thanks and he saluted before leaving.

"So what's your case about?" Harry asked and she let him change the subject.

Adelaide sorted through the items Jackson had collected from the crime scene and said absently, "A man was murdered, beaten to death, in an alley across from the Red Lion last night or early this morning."

Harry sat forward in his chair and picked over the various cigarette stubs and bits of paper and held up the cufflink. "Hey, where did you find this? I lost it weeks ago."

Adelaide looked up at him, eyes wide with shock, she knew it had looked familiar. "That's yours?"

"Of course it is," he replied. He looked a little sad as he continued, "My mother found the set and liked it." He sighed, then finished, "I took them off before a show and couldn't find one of them afterward."

"Did you report it as missing?" Adelaide asked and reached for a pen and paper.

Harry shrugged and put the cufflink back on the desk. "Didn't see much point. I figured it was in my dressing room somewhere, I'd find it eventually. Why?"

Adelaide dropped the pen and looked back at him. "Because it was found on the body of the man murdered in that alley," she explained. "Do you know someone named Pete?"

Harry stood and started to pace again. "Yeah, Pete Dunbury. I'd hired him a couple of weeks ago." He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I fired him last night after he made one too many mistakes during a show."

"Pete Dunbury," she muttered to herself. "Do you remember what he was wearing when you fired him?"

"Blue shirt over a white one, brown coat, tan trousers." He glanced back at her desk. "Why?"

Adelaide felt the blood rush from her face and she quickly looked away. "That's my murder victim. Harry, you knew him."

"OK, so I knew him, so what? The Red Lion isn't that far from the theater, probably half the people who work there use that alley to get home."

"But their cufflinks weren't found on the body," she said and tried to sound reasonable.

"I didn't have any reason to kill the guy," Harry retorted and jerked his hands up. Adelaide noted the scraped knuckles on his right hand as he muttered and paced around the desk.

"You just said you fired him from your show for making too many mistakes."

"Yeah I did. I also made sure he was paid, including a little extra to see him through. I was mad, certainly, but that's all."

"We didn't find any money," she said quietly and looked down at the evidence on her desk.

"Well, then there's your motive. Dunbury was flashing around the envelope in that pub and someone decided to take it from him," Harry replied and she could see the hurt in his eyes that she could suspect him of murder.

"Maybe," she said doubtfully, "But what about your cufflink?"

Harry took his top coat from the peg and turned toward the station door. "No idea, Constable."

She inwardly cringed at the way he used her title instead of her name or the nickname he'd given her.

"Maybe someone found it and wanted to pawn it." He turned back to the desk and said in a lower voice. "I guess we know now why you got that letter." He threw on his coat and left her sitting at her desk in shock. By the time she'd gathered her wits to follow him, he'd disappeared from the pavement in front of the station. She ran to the nearest corner but Harry was gone.

"Officer Hopkins," she called to the nearest bobby as she re-entered the station.

"Ma'am?" Hopkins asked as he stood next to her.

"Go over to the Alhambra Theater and see what you can find out about Peter Dunbury. He was fired from his job there last night. Let me know what you find out."

Hopkins nodded once, saluted, and left.

H&DH&DH&DH&D

Doyle entered the hospital room with the dinner basket in one hand and his hat in the other; the thrill of happiness at seeing his wife out of bed and sitting at the table near the stained glass window momentarily dampened his concern for Houdini. In the moment before she realised he was there, he smiled and gazed lovingly at her. The hospital frock wasn't the most flattering, but he didn't care. Her hair was tied back from her face with a blue ribbon and he studied the curve of her neck as she turned toward the door and smiled at him.

"Arthur, dear! There you are. I was beginning to wonder if some case had caught your interest."

At the mention of the word case, Doyle's smile faltered and he looked down at his hat and the basket.

"Arthur?" she said in a worried tone. "Is something the matter? Are the children all right?"

Doyle buried his worry again and walked over to the table. "The children are fine," he told her as he kissed her upraised lips. "Everything is fine." He gave her a fleeting smile as he put the basket on the table and started to unpack their dinner. "How are you doing today? I didn't see Doctor Perlow downstairs."

She sat back in her chair and Doyle knew she was studying him; he never could lie to her. After a few moments, she patted his hand and said, "I walked all the way down the hall to the stairs and back five times. Hardly out of breath at all."

Doyle frowned slightly, but only said, "That's wonderful progress! You'll be home before the summer at this rate. Just in time for the children to be out of school. Maybe we'll take a holiday, just the family."

Touie smiled and glanced out the window. "How are they? I've missed them." She looked over at Doyle as he set the basket on the floor in the corner and sat in the chair across from her. "I haven't seen them for almost a month, you know."

"Doctor Biggs -"

"I'm aware of what Doctor Biggs said," she interrupted with a smile. "But Doctor Biggs isn't a mother. Or a father as far as I know. He doesn't understand. Please, Arthur, I want to see Mary and Kingsley. I'm doing so much better."

Arthur squeezed her hand and said, "All right, my dear. The Easter holiday is coming up soon, they will be out of school for a few days. How about I bring them then. That way you can have a nice long visit with them."

She nodded and sighed. "That would be lovely, dear."

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes then Touie said, "Will you tell me now what's bothering you? If it's not the children and you showed me your new Sherlock Holmes book yesterday …"

Doyle let go of her hand and stood from the chair. He wandered over to the desk and glanced at the medical record the nurse had left open when she'd left them alone before turning back to Touie.

"I think Houdini's in some sort of trouble," he finally said.

She twined her fingers in her lap. "In that case, you should go see what you can do to help him."

Doyle shook his head and came back to the table. "That would mean leaving you here alone. I can't do that."

Touie smiled up at him and slowly stood. "He's your friend. From how much you talk about him, I'd even go so far as to say he's your best friend. How would you feel if something happened to him and you weren't there to help?"

He ducked his head. He was torn between staying with Touie, and knowing Harry was in trouble, even if the magician refused to acknowledge the danger. How was he supposed to choose?

"You've spent an awful lot of time with me over the past month or so," she told him thoughtfully. "Did you feel guilty about leaving Mr Houdini to his own devices all this time?"

Doyle smiled slightly. "Not very guilty, no," he admitted.

"Well then," she continued, "I think I can manage for a few days if something happens and you need to help him. I can share you, you know." She gave him a teasing smile.

"I'll think about it," he told her and turned back to the table. "For today, I think I promised you ..." He took a covered dish from the corner of the table and removed the lid.

"Chocolate tart," she exclaimed and took the dish.

Doyle smiled and passed her a plate and the knife.

H&DH&DH&DH&D

Harry threw his coat over the chair by the door as he entered his room at the Metropole. Doyle had tried to warn him there was potential trouble with the anonymous notes, but he'd ignored it. Maybe it really was more than a bad joke. He pulled one of the chairs over to the large window overlooking the street. The sun shone through the clouds and for once it wasn't raining though it was still rather cold. The people in the street below didn't linger long at shop windows or in conversations. He took a deck of cards from his trouser pocket and sat down to think.

Why write the notes? It didn't seem the most effective method of character assassination. Why not just send the information to one of the local scandal rags; any number of them would have published the story with little hesitation. He absently shuffled the cards a few times.

Was Dunbury's murder part of whatever scheme the note-writer had planned for him or convenient timing? He double cut the deck one-handed and shuffled again. He had to admit to himself, it probably wasn't a coincidence.

Did Adelaide really think he could get angry enough to go out and kill someone over mistakes made in a show? He stopped shuffling and stood to pace the room. They'd worked together for more than a year now, didn't she know him better than that? Would Doyle think the same thing when he heard?

He set the deck of cards on the piano and went to the library. He scanned the shelves and found the notebooks with all of the information on various spiritualists and other con artists he investigated and debunked, and carried them over to the desk. Someone in one of the books had to be the person behind all of this. He studied the pictures on the wall behind the desk intently, then sat down and started paging through the books looking for suspects.

H&DH&DH&DH&D

"Stratton!" Chief Inspector Merring yelled from his office doorway.

Adelaide looked up from Officer Jackson's report and forced the guilty look off her face.

"Sir?" she asked as she entered the office and stood in front of his desk. Sergeant Gudgett closed the door as he followed her into the office, passed by her and stood behind Merring's left shoulder. Neither Gudgett nor the Chief looked very happy, but since that was normal when she reported on a case, she tried not to read anything into their frowning faces. Then she saw the envelope and note on Merring's desk.

"Would you care to explain this, Constable?" Merring asked, his voice a low growl, as he held up the letter.

"How? Did -," she started to say.

Merring stared at her for a moment. "You don't seem very surprised, Constable."

Adelaide stood straight. "Doctor Doyle and I both received similar notes, sir."

Merring huffed out a breath. "Gudgett tells me Houdini was here earlier. He went to find both of you to explain this but you'd disappeared. Care to explain where you were?"

She realised Gudgett must have come to find her when she was out looking for Harry after he'd stormed out. "I went to find Mr Houdini," she said as calmly as she could.

"To ask him about this?" Merring shook the paper before dropping it on his desk.

"No, sir. He explained about that." She tried not to fidget as she stood in front of the desk. "I wanted to apologize for something I'd said."

"That explanation better be a good one," Gudgett said.

Adelaide turned to face the sergeant. "He told me what happened and that he'd gone to the local police after he read about the woman's death in the local paper. The police in Vermont determined he was not at fault."

Merring glared up at her for a moment longer. "I plan to look into these allegations myself. If there's even a hint he did something wrong …" He gave her a significant look.

"Yes, sir. I understand," she replied and took a step toward the door.

"Not so fast, Constable. I still need an update on the case you're working."

Adelaide hesitated for a moment. As she turned back to the desk, she knew Merring had seen her flinch. "Spit it out, Constable," he said and glanced at Gudgett behind him.

She took a deep breath and said, "I have a tentative identification of the body as Peter Dunbury. He worked at one of the theaters near the Red Lion and was recently fired. According to the person I spoke to, Dunbury had an envelope of money when he entered the pub. Since we didn't find it, that may be why he was killed."

"Which theater did he work for?" Gudgett asked.

"The Alhambra, sir," she said without looking at him.

"Isn't that the theater Houdini uses?" he asked.

"Yes it is. Sir." She gave him a fleeting nod and focused on Merring.

"Did he know the victim?" Merring asked and leant forward in his chair.

She hesitated again. "Yes, sir. He's the one who gave me the name and the information about the money."

"Houdini was the one who fired, what was the name, Dunbury?" Gudgett guessed.

"Yes. He said Mr Dunbury had been making too many mistakes during recent performances and Har … Mr Houdini was forced to fire him." She clenched her hands tightly behind her back.

"And just where was Mr Houdini when the victim was murdered?" Merring asked and Adelaide felt her stomach drop as he glanced over at the letter.

"I'm not sure, sir. I didn't ask him."

Merring huffed out a breath and shuffled reports on his desk until he found the one he wanted. "Officer Jackson's report mentions a cufflink found on the body. That may be our best clue for finding the killer," Merring said and glanced up as Adelaide hissed in a breath. "What?"

"The cufflink belongs to Mr Houdini, sir," she said in a near whisper.

Merring slammed a hand down in his desk. "Let me make sure I understand you, Constable Stratton. We have a man murdered in an alley mere blocks from the theater Houdini uses. Houdini admits not only knowing the victim but that he fired the man for making him look bad on stage just hours before he was killed. Houdini is the one who told you about this envelope of money, that is now mysteriously missing, by the way. And, oh yes, a key piece of evidence found on the body belongs to none other than Harry Houdini. Do I have those facts correct, Constable?"

She took a step toward the desk and held up a hand. "Yes, sir. But -"

"Is he capable of beating a man to death?" Merring asked.

Adelaide thought about the case in Nethermore and the fight between Harry and Jim Gorton. If Doyle hadn't pulled him off the other man, just how far would Harry have gone? She refused to answer Merring's question, but her eyes betrayed her.

"That's what I thought," Merring said and his voice rose. "So our main suspect was in this station only an hour ago. Is that correct, Constable?" Merring yelled and stood from his desk.

"Harry was here, but -"

Merring turned to Sergeant Gudgett. "Find him, Sergeant. I want him back here, in handcuffs, and charged with murder."

"Yes, sir," Gudgett replied and slipped around Adelaide on his way to the office door. He gave her a look as he passed, and Adelaide thought he looked almost apologetic.

She turned to follow the sergeant but was stopped by Merring. "Oh, no, Stratton. You're not going with him. You are relieved of duty effective immediately." Merring sat back down and glared up at her.

She started to protest but he cut her off.

"I won't have this station raked through the muck the newspapers will kick up because you let a friendship get in the way of an investigation. Get out."

"Yes, sir," she said but refused to look away from him. "How long am I suspended, sir?"

"I haven't decided if you're suspended or fired yet," Merring said and started reading another report. "Get out of here."

"Yes, sir." She left the office and glanced around the outer room. No one looked at her, they were all suddenly very interested in their reports or conversations.