The Private Diary of Adelaide Stratton
Entry 04
It's been a fortnight since my last entry and while we've had an interesting case or two that I won't go into to now, I have noticed during those investigations the three of us are very preoccupied at the moment.
Doctor Doyle's distraction is probably the most obvious to understand as his wife has not improved any since the night she slipped back into an unresponsive state. He's trying so hard to put a brave face forward, but if you know how to look, and I'm getting pretty good at seeing the signs, things are not going well for Mrs. Doyle. There are moments when we're walking along the street, or he's just reading something from the paper, he's gets this look, sort of wistful and sad. I've tried to ask him about it, but he only smiles at me and changes the subject. He also has the children to worry about; they must be devastated after the joyful moments they shared when she was awake.
Harry Houdini is doubly distracted. He has a new show about to open and has spent so much time in preparation for it, as well as investigating cases with us (once he recovered enough to leave the hotel) I'm not sure when, or even if, he sleeps. He's also watching Doctor Doyle more closely; he's more protective and doesn't suffer anyone disparaging the doctor's ideas (except himself of course). I suspect they had some conversations while Harry was recovering from his illness that I am not privy to as their friendship is more overt than in the past few months we've worked together.
I haven't escaped, either. I'm not sure what to do about Nigel Pennington. He is becoming more persistent in his wishes, demands?, to talk with me. I'm worrying about this more and more and I'm sure Arthur and Harry are going to suspect something soon, if they don't already.
Arthur entered the morning room to find the same oppressive air as the last week or more. Touie was again unresponsive and Doyle would admit to himself that her condition was looking bleak. However, he felt he must keep a positive attitude for the children and entered with a brittle sense of cheer as he sat between them at the breakfast table.
I don't think I've seen either of them smile in a week, he thought to himself as he listened to Kingsley describe his story about a knight killing dragons. Mary only picked at the toast on her plate, and Doyle noted she only nibbled at the bread even after he asked her to eat. Mary needs her mother, they both do. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep lying to his children, he knew the odds of Touie recovering and ever coming home were next to nothing, the terrible reality of being a doctor. He just didn't want to shatter his children's childhoods quite yet.
The phone ringing saved him from any more maudlin thoughts.
"Hello?" he said picking up the device.
"Doctor Doyle?" Constable Stratton responded. " It's Adelaide Stratton. I have an interesting situation outside an apartment building. It's not far from the theater Harry is using and I've called him as well."
Doyle glanced back at the breakfast table and sadly noted Mary had left the room, the toast uneaten on her plate. Kingsley was still writing his story and ignoring the phone conversation.
"I can be there soon, Constable. There is something I need to wrap up here, first." He nodded a few times and noted the address Adelaide gave him, then hung up the phone.
"Kingsley, where did your sister go, you need to get ready for school?" Doyle asked, coming back to the table.
Kingsley shrugged as he gathered up the pages of his story. "She said she needed to get her books," the boy replied not really looking at his father.
Doyle sat at the table again in weary resignation once Kingsley left the room. He thought of his own childhood, the issues with his father, watching men take his father away. His world ended at the age of ten. He didn't want that for his own children. When Touie told him she was with child, he had made a promise to that nascent life that he would be better than his own father. He would be less distant, more loving toward his own offspring. Now he was faced with the real possibility of raising two children alone and he feared doing more harm than good.
Doyle heard Mary and Kingsley coming back down the stairs and he stood to meet them at the front door. Vera was helping them with coats and Arthur wiped the worry from his face as he sent them along to school.
"Vera," he said as the housekeeper closed the door to the town-house. "Constable Stratton called; she has a case and she would like me to consult. I'm not sure what my schedule will look like the next day or so with regard to meals and the like."
"Yes, sir," Vera said noncommittally.
"I wonder if," Doyle hesitated. "Mary seems especially low of late." he started again. "I wonder, would it be possible to make her something special for supper tonight. Something to cheer her up a bit."
Vera smiled and nodded. "Not a problem at all, sir. I'll see to it, I know just the thing."
Doyle smiled his thanks, took his hat from the stand, and left the house to see what interesting case Scotland Yard had now.
H&DH&DH&DH&D
Does he even know the meaning of the word subtle? Doyle wondered, staring at the enormous poster of Houdini's head, taking up half of an advertising block, on the wall of a building from half a block away as he walked toward the crime scene. As he neared the monstrosity looming over the street, he noticed Houdini standing at the corner seemingly admiring the effect.
"Oh, very understated," Doyle said sarcastically stopping to stand next to the younger man.
Harry wasn't phased by the tone and replied, "I know. It needs to be flashier." Harry continued to stare at the poster with a critical eye. "Come on, his most incredible escape?" he asked. "His most hair-raising escape," he started thinking of alternatives to the text. "His most heart pounding escape."
"How about death-defying," Doyle tossed out. He could not understand why people paid money to watch his friend escape … well death … on a nightly basis. Of course he also didn't really understand why Harry did his crazy escapes, either.
"Oh, well done. You oughta consider writing." Doyle could hear the teasing in Harry's voice and only rolled his eyes as he led the way to the crime scene still two blocks away.
Harry's performances led Doyle's mind back to the endless loop of worry, fear, anxiety associated with Touie and the children. As Houdini fell into step beside him, Arthur forced his mind to think of something else and instead pondered the complexities of his friend. No, he's anything but subtle, Doyle considered as they walked. Is it part of being an American, Doyle wondered. He can be closed off certainly, usually when he's hurt or ill, but most of the time his emotions are an open book.
Harry, for his part, walked along in companionable silence. Doyle watched how he tracked people and objects as they walked. Waving or smiling at the people who called out his name.
"Doesn't that ever bother you?" Doyle asked after yet another stranger called out to the magician. He himself had a rather uneasy relationship with the fans of his books. At best they were polite, though since he'd killed off Holmes, most were now haughty or felt free to tell him exactly why they thought he was an idiot.
Houdini grinned. "Well, I at least, didn't kill off their favorite fictional character for a start," he replied, eyes twinkling, seeming to read Doyle's mind. Doyle tried to glare back at the other man, but Harry's sense of humor prevented him from meaning it. "It's what I do, Doc. I make people happy."
Arriving at the crime scene, Doyle and Harry listened as Adelaide explained what happened the night before to Barrett Underhill. It sounded like a garden variety murder, or weird accident, nothing mysterious or supernatural. At least not until the doorman told his story of seeing a gravity-defying creature leaping from the roof of the building.
Harry waited until the doorman returned to his post and the trio had walked half a block away, before he started laughing. "A dark phantom, leaping from the roof?" he asked. "Come on, what was he drinking last night?"
"There have been stories," Doyle started to explain.
"Stories don't kill people," Houdini asserted.
Doyle shook his head. "Those stories had to come from somewhere," he retorted.
Doyle watched as Harry took a deep breath and let it out again. "The stories are there to explain the unexplainable," Harry said patiently. "We can explain these things now. That's what science is for."
"Either way we still need to report to Chief Merring and see what he wants us to do," Adelaide interjected stepping between the two men stopping the argument.
"Does Chief Merring know we're coming?" Doyle asked as he followed her toward the police station.
He was surprised Adelaide looked guilty. "Not exactly," she said with a small smile.
H&DH&DH&DH&D
After the meeting with Merring, Doyle and Houdini set about planning which livery stables to visit.
"I really think Merring is starting to warm up to us," Harry said as he watched Doyle read through a listing of stables in the London area. Arthur added another name to the running list at his elbow and looked up from his research.
"Somehow I doubt it," Doyle said in a low voice. "We're going to need transport to get to a few of these," he added after another moment. "I think I have just the thing." He jotted a note on a spare piece of paper and gave it to one of the many boys used for running errands. "It will take him about fifteen minutes to delivery the note and get back with what we need. In the meantime you can help me clear away this mess before Constable Stratton sees the state of her desk."
Doyle gathered together his notes and files and started to protest as Houdini put on his suit coat and headed for the door. "It really wouldn't hurt you any to help," he said to the empty space near the desk where Harry had been standing.
A few minutes later the pair walked out of the station and Doyle stopped at an automobile parked at the curb.
"This will do, then," he said reaching into the front of the automobile for a hand crank. He handed the crank to a gaping Houdini and walked around to the other side and climbed aboard.
Harry stood with the crank in his hand, staring from Doyle to the roadster and back again. "When did you buy a car?" he asked.
"It was ordered several months ago, but I've only had it a few weeks," Doyle answered smiling to himself as he watched Harry. It's not often you get to surprise a magician, he thought. "Just give it a crank so we can go. Tuttle's Livery is on the outskirts of town."
Doyle manipulated the choke and gave Harry a nod to turn the crank and with a cough and a slight jolt, the roadster started.
The conversation as they drove along was pleasant enough until Houdini asked about Adelaide and her catarrh. The reminder of an illness turned Arthur's thoughts back again to his sick wife and the happy moment ended. He heard the worry in Harry's voice as he tried to get him to open up; but Doyle refused to unbend, to show any of the fear he felt for his wife. I'm not like you, he thought glancing at his passenger. 'The world doesn't like a whinger', echoed in his mind from the past.
H&DH&DH&DH&D
Arthur sat at his desk organizing the papers and files he'd spent the afternoon compiling. He wasn't sure how much they had learned from Mr. Tuttle. Harry was sure Tuttle was mixed up in Underhill's death somehow; his attitude toward the livery owner was unmistakable, Houdini had been almost looking for a fight. Doyle, however wasn't so sure there wasn't something else going on, something besides a man fighting to save his livelihood. As he had tried to tell Houdini before, there were stories of a phantom, legends of a leaping devil who had terrorized London in the past.
Doyle was sorting files when he heard something out of place, it almost sounded like laughter. He waited a moment and when the sound came again he decided to investigate; though he'd missed the sound of his children happy, giggling children rarely meant anything good.
As he followed the sound of his children's laughter, he heard a new noise, a voice he was very familiar with, encouraging one of them to pick a card. Doyle stopped in the hall in shock. He had sent Houdini a note asking him stop come by the town-house; he'd wanted to show Harry just how much evidence there was for a historical phantom in the city. He had expected Harry to come in the front door and meet Doyle in his study; as usual, though, Houdini did the unexpected instead.
He must have come to the kitchen door, Doyle thought. He suddenly remembered something Harry told him the night he found Touie unresponsive again. 'I'll do whatever I can to help … Just let me know.' Harry had tried to help him in the auto this afternoon. Now he was making the effort to help his children.
He heard laughter again and peered around the door to see what was happening. Harry saw him immediately but ignored him in favor of telling Kingsley they needed to find the missing card.
He watched as Harry made his sextant disappear and then felt a wave of pride as Kingsley said he wanted to be a writer when he grew up. Harry glanced up at him, Doyle, almost as if to say, See they're fine, and then of course ruined it by proclaiming writers just got fat sitting behind a desk.
"That's enough of that, thank you. Run along, children," Doyle said joining them.
Harry continued to smile after the children left the room.
"Thank you for that," Doyle said nodding toward the door the children had left through moments before. "There hasn't been much laughter around here of late."
Houdini tucked the red handkerchief back up his sleeve, the sextant was still missing Doyle noted. "It's not a problem, Doc. I said I'd help any way I could, this is me helping."
Doyle wanted to say something more, but couldn't bring himself to admit, even to Harry, his true fears. Instead, he laid a hand on Harry's shoulder, squeezed once and led the way back to his office.
I should really think twice before doing things, Harry thought to himself as he walked away from Miss Kroshenko's house. His spine and ankles had not appreciated the jolting from his landing outside the garden door and he hoped the walk would be enough to ease the ache.
He walked a few blocks from the house, just enough to buy a bouquet of flowers and make sure he wasn't spotted by Doyle, then hopped a cab out to Adelaide's flat. Adelaide missing out on an investigation was odd and he wanted to make sure she was all right without listening to Doyle tease him about her refusal to go on another date with him.
His surprise being discovered by Doyle was nothing compared to Adelaide's anger when she found the pair of them in her flat. No amount of smiling, explaining or apologizing worked, she threw them both out and slammed the door behind them.
"That could have gone better," Harry said to Doyle as they climbed the steps back to the street. "I told you we should have stayed outside." Houdini smiled as Doyle rolled his eyes.
"The point is, though, she is obviously not ill," Doyle said, looking back down the stairs into the kitchen window. He could see Adelaide pacing back and forth across the small room. "Who is this Nigel Pennington person and why won't she tell us about him."
"Good point," Harry replied. "And did you notice, she wasn't dressed for visiting dusty, dirty stables. She looked like she'd just come from a park or something."
They walked along in silence for a block before Harry said, "I still think Tuttle is up to something. I'm gonna go see if I can find him and find out what he's hiding." When Doyle gave him a disbelieving look, Harry continued, "No, really. I'm really going to find Tuttle. Why don't you see what you can dig up on this Nigel Pennington person."
Houdini found Tuttle as the livery and waited for most of the afternoon for the man to leave. When the livery owner entered a brothel a few miles from the stable Harry couldn't help but smile evilly to himself. Arthur will absolutely hate this, he thought to himself even as he sent a boy off with a note to Doyle saying where he, Harry, was waiting for him.
Houdini entered the brothel and greeted the girls with smiles and kisses. He explained whom he was looking for and was directed to Sophie in one of the public rooms of the house. He bought her a bottle of wine and a quart of milk for himself, listened to what she could tell him about Tuttle, and waited for the show.
Harry wasn't disappointed in his entertainment as forty-five minutes later, he could hear Doyle stammering and explaining his way through the brothel.
"You couldn't have met me outside?" Doyle asked.
Harry just stared at him. "Could've." he replied cheekily glancing from Doyle to Sophie and back.
Harry watched Doyle's face as he heard Sophie's story about Tuttle and the fact that he was at the brothel the night of the two attacks.
"We should let Constable Stratton know about Tuttle," Doyle said a few minutes later outside the brothel.
Harry nodded and started to walk down the street. "She would have to be speaking to us first, you know."
Doyle grimaced in agreement. "We could tell Sergeant Gudgett about Tuttle's alibi; there's no reason for the police continuing to investigate him at this point."
"Did you find out anything about Pennington while was I was busy with Tuttle?" Harry asked changing the subject.
"Not much. I have a friend at the paper who thinks he's heard the name before. This friend is going to look through the archive for me and let me know if he finds anything."
"I don't understand it," Harry mused. "What's so scary about this man that she won't let us help her?"
"Obviously she feels it's none of our business, " Doyle replied. "She is rather independent, maybe she feels she needs to handle this alone."
Houdini shook his head. Why won't she trust us … me, he thought as he walked along.
"If someone out of your past came back and started sending you telegrams and wanting to explain something, would you tell us about it?" Doyle challenged. "You are both eager to help others, but so afraid to accept help when you need it," he finished.
Harry stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked a few paces in silence. You're one to talk, Doc. Forgotten our conversation in the automobile the other day already have you?
"No," he finally said. "A few months ago, I would have dealt with something like that alone. I would have thought it wasn't anyone's problem but my own." Harry sighed. "But now? Now, I'm not so sure. I've spent most of my life dealing with things alone. It's kind of nice knowing there are one or two people willing to help out if I need it."
He could see Doyle was surprised by his answer. "In that case we can only hope the Constable, eventually comes to the same conclusion," the doctor said, turning toward his town-house while Houdini crossed the street and headed back to the Metropole Hotel.
H&DH&DH&DH&D
Stories? That's what Biggs thought he was writing, just stories. Harry wasn't sure what made him more angry, Biggs' lack of journalistic integrity or his attitude toward Adelaide. Doc is right, Harry thought, he really is vile.
The cab ride to Scotland Yard was made mostly in silence. Adelaide had already left the scene by the time Harry caught up with Doyle so the two men shared a cab. Harry sat and considered something else he'd heard that morning instead of continuing to bicker at Arthur. More attacks, random attacks. What if they weren't so random?
Harry stepped from the cab still considering the wild idea he'd just had. "I just had a thought."
Doyle stopped before entering the building and turned around. "What sort of thought?"
"It was something Biggs said, and Adelaide. How many attacks were there overnight?" Harry asked pacing back and forth in front of the station.
"According to the Constable, several, not counting Mr. Ogilvy."
"Right, and Biggs mentioned a couple more. Several attacks all scattered around town."
Doyle stared at Harry and said impatiently, "Yes, what's your point?"
Harry stopped pacing and faced Arthur. "My point is we can't prove most of them. People are just saying they've seen something."
"Which rather proves they saw something," Doyle interrupted.
"But what did they see, Doc? That's the question." Harry thought for a moment then said, "Have you ever heard of something called mass hysteria?"
Doyle scoffed and turned back to the door of the station. "Your grand idea is this is all in people's heads?" He asked incredulously.
"Yes. And I can prove it." Harry opened the door to look for Constable Stratton and randoming scratched at his arm.
The experiment quickly escalated and Harry had to yell to be heard over the screaming as people thought they were under a strange attack. It proved his point however, that most if not all of the sightings of Spring Heel'd Jack were false.
Truth be told, Doyle was still feeling guilty about the break-in of Stratton's flat and he wanted to make amends. He'd tried while at the station with Harry by offering to help Adelaide research Ogilvy's renters and recent evictions, but she was obviously still angry with him and refused his peace offering.
Harry also wasn't much help saying he needed to get ready for a show and left the station for the theater. Doyle wondered how he still had an audience since more and more people were staying indoors in fear of a possible attack.
Since Adelaide apparently didn't need his help, Doyle went back to the newspaper office to find out what his friend had found about Pennington. The newspaper man didn't disappoint. He had a picture of Pennington ready when Doyle arrived and a fistful of papers describing how the man was as loose with with his business principles as he was his morals.
Armed with this new information, Doyle wasn't really sure what to do with it. It was getting dark and he really should have gone home to the children, but he was still a gentleman, and thoughts of Adelaide walking through some of the less reputable areas of town to get home sent him back to the station instead.
Should I tell her what I found out about Pennington? Doyle wondered as he followed Adelaide through an alley. How do I explain even knowing he exists? he argued with himself. Harry, of course, would probably just tell her and damn the consequences, but he wasn't that impetuous and wanted Adelaide to know he … they … wanted to help not pry into her private concerns. Even if that's exactly what you are doing, he admonished himself.
He wasn't paying attention and earned a cosh to the ear by none other than Constable Stratton. As he tried once again to explain himself and apologize for breaking into her home, he realized Adelaide was only becoming more and more upset with him. Finally she stormed off and around the corner. You're only making things worse like this, he told himself. She just needs time. She's upset, and justifiably angry and you're only making it worse by pushing at her.
Doyle was ready to give it up and go home when he heard footsteps in the alley behind him. He turned to watch a man, Pennington? stop where Adelaide had turned. If he follows her, I'm following him, Arthur decided. Under no circumstance, would he leave Adelaide to deal with him alone, he'd never forgive himself if she was hurt because he'd left. Doyle waited until the man turned to leave then decided he needed to find the only other person he could trust. He went to find Harry.
H&DH&DH&DH&D
Arthur knew as soon as Harry opened the door something was wrong. The window was open even though the air was far too cool to be pleasant and Harry was sweating. Opium, and he's trying to hide it, Doyle realized. Just how bad is the pain, I wonder.
Leaving aside Houdini's smoking habit, Doyle explained what he knew about Pennington and how the man was following Adelaide on her way home. Harry called him on following the Constable himself, and voiced again his frustration in Adelaide for not telling them about the mystery man.
"You'd think she'd come to trust us by now," Houdini said.
"Is that concern I detect, or jealousy?" Doyle asked. He watched as Harry leaned more and more against the sofa. Speaking of concern … He decided to test Harry's newfound resolve to ask for help himself and asked about the opium. He was pleased to note Harry didn't deny he was smoking but it wasn't until after he left the hotel he realized Harry had openly discussed his dual sense of fear and thrill of living in the moment and had avoided the question of pain. There must be something other than opium smoking that would help, Doyle thought remembering the x-rays he'd reviewed a few weeks ago.
Doyle walked back to the town-house and considered his two friends. Adelaide was in obvious trouble regarding Pennington but refused to ask for help. Why? Pride? Fear? Was she worried for herself or for him and Houdini? She seemed unaware Pennington was following her, did she even know he was in London? She was distracted from the phantom case because of him that was for certain.
He entered his office and sat behind the desk. Then there was Houdini and his uniquely American way of thinking. 'It's only when you admit you're afraid, that fear loses its power over you.' It was completely counter to everything Doyle knew. He was taught to deny fear, that any sort of fear only made you weak. Over the past month, Doyle had denied any number of fears, number one his fear of Touie dying. But he was also afraid of how to raise two children alone. He had been afraid a few weeks ago when Harry was so ill he thought he would lose his friend. He feared becoming his father. 'It's only when you admit you're afraid …'
Harry had recovered from his illness as healthy as ever. Well as healthy as he can be, Doyle amended. And Houdini had shown him the children were happy enough and at the same time unwittingly proved Arthur was nothing like his own father. Three fears knocked on the head, Doyle realized smiling slightly at the realization. His moment of clarity abruptly ended when Kingsley started screaming for him.
H&DH&DH&DH&D
Doyle was angry when he walked out of the offices for the London Daily the next day. Kingsley had been inconsolable after the incident in his room and Doyle was determined to stop Biggs from scaring anyone else. He wasn't surprised to see Houdini waiting for him outside, somehow the magician always knew where to find him. He was surprised, and happily so, to see Constable Stratton standing with Harry.
He listened to her explain how she had found a link between Mr Ogilvy and Miss Kroshenko and agreed after speaking to the young woman again, they probably had their Spring Heel'd Jack dead to rights in the form of a Russian gymnast.
Constable Stratton was thorough in her questioning of Vladimir Palinov and Doyle wandered over to a nearby prep stand as he listened to her questions.
"I'm here every night," Palinov said defensively. "Speak to people I work with. You will see, I am not responsible."
"Not responsible for what exactly?" Doye interrupted and Harry stepped between Palinov and the wagon to prevent him from disappearing.
"These chemicals, when mixed the correct way would give off the effects reported by witnesses who saw Spring Heel'd Jack, namely the red eyes and the blue flames."
Palinov moved toward Doyle and the table and Harry stayed in step with the Russian.
"I told you. It wasn't my idea," Palinov said again. "All I did was what I was told."
"Who was giving the orders, then?" Harry asked as he stood next to Doyle and made sure the Russian didn't try to run.
All of the were shocked when Palinov told them.
H&DH&DH&DH&D
"This isn't going to work," Doyle said even as he helped Harry with the costume later that evening at Scotland Yard.
"Why wouldn't it work," Harry asked. "I've already shown you how he leapt over Miss Kroshenko's garden wall. This isn't any different."
"Of course, this is different," Doyle said exasperated. "A six foot wall is not the same as a five story building. You miss your footing this time and you could be seriously hurt."
"So I won't miss. Relax, Doc. All I have to do is confront him and hopefully he confesses right there. If he doesn't, well Adelaide already has Palinov's statement and we can still arrest him."
"We really need the confession, though, Mr. Houdini. English courts like to have cases neatly tied together," Adelaide said coming into the station room where Harry was changing. "Mr. Palinov is booked and waiting for his court date. It would be nice to have both of them in that courtroom together."
"I'll get him to confess," Harry said again, and walked over to a map on the desk. "The rag he writes for is here, on Fleet Street. He has to go through this alley to get back to his flat." Harry pointed to the area on the map. "If you two wait in the alley, I'll set him up there and then all three of us can act as witnesses to his confession." Harry looked a Doyle as he emphasised the last word.
Doyle didn't realize he was holding his breath until Adelaide nudged him and said, "Breathe." He had to admit Harry did look a very convincing Spring Heel'd Jack himself as he followed Biggs into the alley from the rooftops above. He and Adelaide heard every word of Biggs' confession of hiring the Russian to act the part of Jack in order to sensationalize his Spring Heel'd Jack story.
As Adelaide handcuffed the newspaper writer and led him away, Harry slumped against the wall of the alley. Doyle, concerned he had managed to hurt himself somehow after all, leaned against the wall next to him and waited.
"What's the matter?" he finally asked when Houdini showed no inclination to speak.
"I guess I never really thought about it before," he replied taking off the costume gloves and stuffing them into the mask in his arms. "Biggs and other reporters always wrote up big stories about me and my act. I alway saw it as added fun for the show. They talked it up big and I gave a big performance. I always thought people coming to my shows got their money's worth."
Doyle watched Harry's face as he spoke and was surprised to see guilt in his eyes. "It's not really the same thing, you know," he said kindly. "As you said, they sold the public on the idea of spectacle and you gave your audience just that."
Harry seemed unconvinced and Doyle wasn't used to being in the position of reassuring the younger man. "Come on," Doyle said clapping a hand on Harry's shoulder. "We need to find Constable Stratton and get back to the station before you start another Spring Heel'd Jack rumor."
Harry shook himself out of his dour mood and Doyle followed him out of the alley.
H&DH&DH&DH&D
"I need to see him," Harry insisted as he followed Doyle down the sidewalk. "I want to look him in the eye when he sees what the papers did with his so-called story."
Doyle knew he was going to regret asking, but did it anyway. "Why this man? Of all the cases we've solved, why him?"
Harry slowed to a stop and looked around. People were back out on the streets, children playing, women, men going about their lives again. "Because he is worse than a lot of those people," he said in a low voice. "Mind readers, fortune tellers, they fool and swindle a few dozen people. Biggs? He terrorized the whole city. Your kids were afraid to go to school. My mother wouldn't leave the hotel."
Houdini started walking again and they were soon at the lockup. "You don't have to come in and you don't have to wait," he said at the door.
Fifteen minutes later, Harry came out and Doyle was waiting for him. "Well?" he asked. "Do you feel better now?"
"Not really," Harry admitted. He didn't elaborate and Doyle wasn't ready for another verbal sparring match, he had another friend to check on this afternoon.
At the corner, Harry mumbled something about his show and turned toward the theater. Doyle continued on to Scotland Yard and was in time to see Adelaide leaving.
As he followed behind her, he realized she was heading back to her flat. He was at the top of the stairs in the same alley where she had hit him with the cosh when he spotted Pennington waiting for her. He watched Adelaide break away from the businessman and hurry away. Doyle decided enough was enough.
"I won't let you harm her," he told Pennington after stopping the man heading out of the alley.
"I intend nothing of the sort, I'm merely a friend of her husband." Pennington walked away.
Married? She's married? Why would she keep something like that a secret? he wondered. At least now he knew why she wouldn't go out to dinner with Houdini. Harry. Should I tell him about this? He should know about this latest encounter with Pennington at least.
He started at the theater and was surprised to discover Houdini wasn't there and hadn't been there since his last performance. He also wasn't at the hotel according to the manager. So where is he, then. He remembered Harry's mood after his meeting with Biggs and found the magician outside the row of apartments where Underhill died almost a week ago.
He told Harry about Adelaide's secret, Houdini told Doyle about Biggs' admission he didn't hire Polinov until after Underhill was dead. As they walked back along the sidewalk, Doyle spotted a new advertisement. Houdini's head still loomed over the street but now was the size of the entire advertising block for the building. He also noticed the new phrasing included his death-defying suggestion.
"Oh yes, that's much better," he exclaimed staring up at the artwork.
Harry laughed as they walked by the wall and explained, "I have this friend who thinks he's a writer. He came up with that great slogan. Death-defying … it really sort of says everything."
Doyle smiled at the teasing and they walked along enjoying the city and the restored bustling life of its citizens.
The Private Journal of Adelaide Stratton
Entry 04 (con't)
Doyle knows something. I'm not sure what, but he followed me home a few nights ago and was kind and solicitous and asking after me. If I'm honest, I might even have told him some of it at least if I hadn't also found both the doctor and Houdini breaking into my flat. I'm still rather mad about that actually. Whatever Doyle knows, though, it's a sure bet Houdini knows as well.
Nigel Pennington found me on my way home today. He stopped me, tried to grab me and insisted he needed to tell me something about Benjamin. I suspect he found out about my quiet investigation and wants me to stop, for my own good of course.
Maybe I should talk to Arthur and Harry about Benjamin. If anyone would actually listen and not immediately dismiss my idea, it would be them. I hope however to have the whole thing sorted soon and they never need know how my husband died; or that I even had a husband.
NOTE: Dialog for the episode Spring Heel'd Jack written by Carl Binder