Several bobbies had come running at the sound of Adelaide's whistle, one was sent pelting back to the precinct to let Chief Merring know what had happened and to bring reinforcements to help contain the now panicked audience. Within fifteen minutes, an additional ten men were at the theater and the officers soon had the crowd calmed down. Once they had names and addresses, the patrol officers let the audience members exit the theater. Reporters drawn to the scene by the whistle and the activity, waited outside with poised pencils to hear the details from anyone willing to talk.
Harry opened the curtain again once the audience left and watched as Adelaide directed a few of the bobbies to chase off the reporters. Sergeant Gudgett stood near the side door making notes.
Doyle stayed near the body, now covered with a sheet a stagehand had found in one of the backstage rooms. Lawrence Stevens sat in one of the chairs the trio had used on the stage; Harry noticed he would look anywhere but at the shrouded body next to Arthur.
A few minutes later, Thornton Shea appeared from the wings and stood beside Stevens and wiped at his face with his handkerchief. "Does he need to be here?" he asked Harry and Doyle as he put away the kerchief and nodded his head down at the assistant.
"The police will want to talk to him, I'm afraid," Doyle said.
"I was only going to take him to the rehearsal room backstage," Shea replied. "So he doesn't have to see …."
Harry glanced out at the theater seats where Adelaide and Gudgett were still busy wrapping up some details as they waited for the coroner to arrive. The chandelier near the center of the stage rocked slowly back and forth.
"The ghosts are playing tonight," Shea said.
"What?" Harry asked and glanced at Doyle who raised his eyebrows.
Shea laughed humorlessly. "You know the theater is haunted, don't you?" He pointed to the still tinkling crystal light. "When the chandeliers start moving for no reason, the ghosts are playing with them." He turned back to Stevens, "Come along, Lawrence. Let's find you a stiff drink. We could both use one." Shea pulled Stevens to his feet and led the young man backstage.
Harry stood next to Arthur and watched as the swaying light slowly stopped moving. "Don't say it," he muttered.
Doyle smiled at Houdini. "I told you the theater haunted."
Harry grimaced and shook his head. "I said, don't say it."
The coroner's wagon arrived and Harry wiped the smile off his face as the attendants entered with a stretcher. After conferring with Doyle, the attendants made a cursory exam and agreed Diana had likely been poisoned. The two young men replaced the makeshift shroud with their own white sheet and carefully moved the body to the stretcher and back out to the waiting wagon.
Harry ignored the activity and stood with his hands on his hips as he studied the table and chair inside the spirit cabinet. The wine glass, now empty, lay on its side next to the candle; someone had picked up the scattered playbills and haphazardly stacked them on one side of the table. Harry picked up the silk cords Stevens had used to tie Diana to the chair and ran his hands up and down the ropes before dropping them on top of the playbills on the table.
He had a good idea what had happened and turned to tell Arthur his suspicions.
Doyle however stood at the edge of the stage and watched Adelaide talk to Sergeant Gudgett. Harry could tell the conversation was civil at best and wondered what the sergeant's complaint was with their investigation.
"What do you think that conversation is about?" Harry asked as he walked up to Doyle and watched Adelaide and Gudgett.
"I suspect the sergeant isn't happy with the progress of the case," Doyle replied as Adelaide walked away from the sergeant and joined them on the stage.
"Everything all right?" Harry asked her.
"Sergeant Gudgett was just explaining how much Chief Merring is not looking forward to reading the newspapers in the morning," Adelaide replied with a sigh.
Harry turned back to the spirit cabinet in the middle of the stage. "Well I can at least tell you how she was poisoned."
"It had to be before the show," Doyle said as he followed Houdini.
"Why?" Harry sat in the chair inside the cabinet.
"Because she was restrained while on stage," Doyle explained and held up one of the silk ropes.
Harry just grinned and pointed to the tipped over wine glass. "She drank it. Right here."
Adelaide picked up the wine glass carefully and examined it through the strong stage lights. "There does seem to be something in the bottom of the glass."
"It's a burgundy wine. Sediment isn't unusual, Constable." Doyle glanced at the glass, then back to Houdini.
"Trust me," Harry said. "I'd get the rest of that bottle tested. I'd bet any amount you want to name, you'll find some sort of poison."
"You still haven't explained how she drank the wine on stage," Doyle countered.
Harry stood, took off his suit coat and dropped it on the stage. He unbuttoned his shirt sleeves and rolled them up to his elbows then settled back in the chair. "Tie me up," he said with a smile.
"What?" Adelaide asked in a startled voice.
"Sergeant," Harry said to Gudgett as he walked past the front of the stage. "I'm sure you'd like nothing better than to make sure I can't get out of this chair. Go ahead."
Sergeant Gudgett paused for a moment glancing from Houdini to the ropes in Doyle's hand then gave Harry a smug smile. "Why not," he said as he stuffed his notebook in a pocket and jumped on stage. He took the cords from Doyle and turned to the chair.
Harry placed his arms on the chair arms and braced his feet against the legs. "Tie it however you want, Sergeant. As tight as you like."
Gudgett looked slightly pleased with himself as he knelt in front of the the magician and tied Houdini's arms and legs to the chair. Harry let out a few winces as Gudgett tightened the ropes, but he didn't try to stop the police sergeant.
Harry pulled slightly at the ropes as Gudgett stood back. "You're happy with the knots? Nothing you want to change?"
"Don't think so," Gudgett replied with another smug look.
"Doc, go ahead and pull the curtain on the front of the cabinet closed and stand back," Harry said still testing the ropes around his arms.
Doyle looked at Harry as he took hold of the edges of the curtains. "What are you doing?" he asked in a whisper.
"Proving a point," Harry whispered back.
Arthur shook his head but dutifully pulled the curtains closed and Harry heard them take a few steps back from the cabinet.
Gudgett had done a good job with the knots, but the sergeant had missed the fact Harry had his arm muscles flexed while the ropes were tied. It was tighter than he was used to, and he lost some skin on his right arm as he wriggled out of rope, but it didn't take more than a minute before he was free.
He leant forward and tossed a few of the handbills from the table over the top of the cabinet. He heard someone, probably Adelaide, make a startled yelp and someone else jumped as the papers fluttered down to the stage. Harry grinned to himself and quickly slipped his arm back under the rope still tied to the chair arm.
He had just settled back in the chair when Doyle jerked the curtains open again. Harry sat in the chair, his arms and legs seemingly still tied, and grinned back.
"How did you do that?" Doyle asked and looked at the still knotted cords around Harry's arms and legs.
"It doesn't matter how I did it. The point is, I did it. And Diana Abberton did the same thing. She was a fraud, just like Evert Campbell said she was. She drank the wine the same way she threw the playbills around and rolled that skull out of the cabinet."
Doyle untied the ropes around Harry's wrists and ankles as Adelaide and Gudgett carefully wrapped up the wine bottle and glass and handed them to the patrol officer still standing near the side exit. Arthur saw the red marks along Harry's right arm, but Houdini just shook his head and rolled down his shirt sleeves before Adelaide or Gudgett saw them.
"She was drinking port before the show," Doyle said as his stood up. "How do you know the poison wasn't in that bottle?"
"You saw the body. What kind of poison would do that to someone?" Harry toyed with the cuffs of his shirt and looked up at Doyle.
Doyle paced a few steps away and reviewed what he remembered of Diana Abberton as the curtains were pulled back. "Lips blue, slightly pinkish skin, evidence of seizures," Doyle mumbled out loud. He looked back at Harry, "Potassium cyanide," he said. "It would be very fast if she ingested a large enough dose."
"Exactly," Harry exclaimed. "She was fine when she came out on stage. She had to be poisoned right here in this cabinet. The only thing it could be is the wine used to entice Campbell's spirit to talk to Miss Abberton."
Harry waited until Gudgett and the officer left the stage before he stood and tugged at his sleeves again. He grabbed his suit coat and looped it over one arm.
"Mr. Stevens was the last person to touch that wine bottle," Adelaide said in a low voice as they turned toward the backstage area. "Do you think he poisoned Miss Abberton?"
Harry stood with his hands on his hips and looked out at the theater seats. "He seemed pretty shook up about her death," he said in a hesitant voice.
"He's the only person with ties to both Diana Abberton and Evert Campbell," Adelaide pointed out and led the way to the hallway behind the stage.
H&DH&DH&DH&D
Mort hid in one of the dressing rooms as the police once again searched the theater. He peaked out the door occasionally to see what was going on and from his vantage point, he saw the small bottle tucked behind the crates along the hallway backstage that he'd been meaning to move. The young police officer searching the area didn't see the bottle and Mort was still trying to figure out the best way to get the man's attention when the officer pushed the crates back against the wall and walked back up the hall toward the stage.
Once the young man left, Mort came out of the dressing room and looked again at the bottle wedged between the crates and the wall. It was a small glass bottle with a corked stopper in the top and Mort read the word cyanide on the part of the label he could see.
Cyanide. He'd been backstage when Doctor Doyle had mentioned it as the poison that had killed the medium. This then was what the police were looking for. He needed to tell someone what he'd found.
H&DH&DH&DH&D
Adelaide led the way through the door backstage and down a short hallway to a door with a police officer standing outside it. The man saluted with a finger at his forehead as Adelaide approached and said, "Mr. Stevens and Mr. Shea are both inside. Hopkins is with them." He stood aside as Adelaide reached for the door handle and entered the small room, Doyle and Harry followed behind her.
The rehearsal room was small, only a few chairs placed around a wooden table, the twin of the one Diana had used on stage. There were racks of costumes along one wall, a large mirror dominated another wall near the table. Opposite the door, was a shelf with a few books, glasses, and bottles wine and other spirits.
Thornton Shea and Lawrence Stevens were sat at the table, Officer Hopkins stood a discreet distance away; he saluted Adelaide as she entered the room. Stevens had his arms crossed on the table and his head rested in the crook of one arm. Shea sat next to him, saying nothing, a half-empty bottle of scotch and two glasses sat on the table between the two men.
Adelaide took the last chair while Doyle and Harry stood behind her near the mirror. She tapped Stevens gently on the arm. "Mr. Stevens, I'm very sorry for your loss," she said and waited for him to respond. When he didn't move, she continued, "We do need to talk to you about what happened."
Stevens let out a shuddering breath and raised his head. Adelaide could see his eyes were red.
"Mr. Stevens, can you tell me where the bottle of burgundy came from?" she asked as she took a notebook from her pocket.
Stevens stared at her in confusion. "Burgundy?"
"The bottle of wine on the table inside the spirit cabinet," Adelaide explained patiently.
Stevens sat back in the chair and pushed his hands through his red hair. "Oh, the wine. Umm. It belonged to Evert, he kept it in his dressing room." He pointed vaguely out the door. "Mr. Shea offered to bring it on stage while I set up the rest of the cabinet."
Adelaide turned to Thornton Shea. "Mr. Shea, did you bring the wine bottle directly from Mr Campbell's dressing room the stage?"
Shea blinked and nodded, and she wondered if it was grief or the scotch that made him so vague. "Y-Yes, Diana said she wanted some of Evert's things on the stage with her. I suggested the wine. Evert was always bragging about his taste in wine and he said this burgundy was one of his favorites."
"Was the bottle open?" Doyle asked.
Shea jumped slightly in his chair and stared at Doyle and Harry standing in the corner. "Open? Yes, it think it was." He paused to pour a bit more scotch in his glass. "Yes, I'm certain it was. Evert had some the other night after his performance. That's when he told all of us how excellent it was." He gulped down the scotch and poured some more.
"The other night?" Doyle glanced at Adelaide. "Do you mean he drank from that bottle the night before he died?"
Shea stared into space for a moment muttering to himself. "Umm, yes I guess that's right."
"Did anyone else have any of the wine that night?" Adelaide asked.
"No. Evert would sometimes give the rest of us a taste of his latest discovery, but this one he said was special, an exceptional year for pinot noir or something."
"But he kept the bottle here at the theater? Why not in his hotel room?" Adelaide asked.
Shea smiled slightly. "You have to know actors, Constable Stratton," Shea explained. "They spend more time in theaters than in their hotel rooms. Evert liked his wine, he liked bragging about his wine. He couldn't do that if the bottles were in his hotel room."
"Was his dressing room locked?" Harry asked.
Shea shook his head. "I doubt it. We're a pretty close-knit bunch, you know. Some of my actors have been with my shows for years. No one would dream of wandering into Evert's dressing room when he wasn't there."
"So what you're saying is anyone could get into his dressing room at any time," Adelaide said with a sigh.
Shea started to deny Adelaide's statement then shrugged. "Yes, I suppose so. Why?"
Adelaide looked up at Doyle and Harry for a moment. "We think that's how Diana Abberton was poisoned," she replied before focusing on Lawrence Stevens again. "Mr. Stevens, do you know anyone who would want to hurt her? Did she ever say anything to you about being threatened or followed?"
Stevens rubbed his hands over his face as he slouched lower in his chair. "There were always people like Evert and him," Stevens jerked his chin toward Harry, "who didn't believe she was a real medium. I don't know anyone who would want to kill her, though."
Adelaide closed her notebook and signaled to Officer Hopkins. "Please escort Mr. Stevens and Mr. Shea back to their hotels." Hopkins nodded and waited for Shea and Stevens by the door. "Mr. Stevens, I'm sorry for your loss," she told him again. "Officer Hopkins will take you back to your hotel. I'll be in touch with you if we find any new information or if I have any more questions."
"Come on, Lawrence," Shea said and took Stevens' arm. "I'll keep you company."
Adelaide watched as Hopkins led the way back up the hall and to the stage exit door. He fought with the door for a few moments before it popped open and the three of them left the theater.
"So what do we do now," Harry asked as he sat in one of the recently vacated chairs, and dropped his suit coat on the chair beside him. "We know it was the wine that killed her and anyone could have gone into Campbell's dressing room to spike it."
Doyle stared into space and considered.
"You have that look again," Harry said, looking up at him with a smile.
Doyle rolled his eyes. "I was just thinking. How do we know the poison was meant for Diana Abberton? It was Campbell's wine she drank."
Adelaide crossed her arms over her chest. "You think Diana Abberton was poisoned by accident?"
"Oh, that's just great, a clumsy murderer," Harry said sarcastically.
"It's something we should consider," Doyle replied as they left the room.
Adelaide nodded. "I want to look at both dressing rooms, see if we can find anything that either ties these two murders together, or proves Diana Abberton was just an innocent victim."
They found Diana's dressing room first. Adelaide led the way into the small room and looked around. The wall opposite the door was dominated by a large dressing table and mirror, the mirror was cluttered with newspaper clippings and a few pictures. To the left of the door was a rack with a few dresses and other items, Adelaide recognized the grey dress Diana had worn when she interrupted Campbell's murder investigation the previous day. There was also a table with a small pull out drawer between the clothes rack and the dressing table. A bit of pale yellow cloth covered the wooden surface along with the port glass and bottle as well as a few other items.
Harry followed behind Doyle and headed to the right side of the room. There was a curtained off area and a large trunk against the same wall as the door. Harry pulled back the curtain and Adelaide saw a cot behind it with a book splayed open face down on the bed.
Adelaide and Doyle looked over the items on the dressing table while Harry searched through the trunk.
"Knew they had to be here somewhere," Harry muttered a few minutes later as he pulled out a long cylindrical cone and a bell. "All that's missing is the ouija board."
"What is that?" Adelaide asked and pointed at the metal tube.
"It called a spirit trumpet," Doyle said. "It's used during a séance to help a spirit communicate from the other side."
"Or," Harry countered, "It's used by charlatans to convince some poor weeping widow her husband is actually in the room with her when the so-called medium throws it at her in the dark."
Doyle frowned and turned back to the dressing table while Harry flipped the spirit trumpet in his hands a few times.
Adelaide looked up a few minutes later, a leather bound book in her hand. "This looks like her diary," she said and showed the book to Doyle.
Doyle took the book and paged through it. "Most of the entries talk about her performances either on a stage or at a private home," he reported as he flipped through pages. "Listen to this," Doyle said and started to read aloud. "'I have a wonderful opportunity to go to America. England is getting a little too warm, a change would be good for everyone.'" Doyle turned a few pages. "'Everything seems in order for the move. Not sure what I will tell LS, will need a fresh start in a new country.'"
Harry set the spirit trumpet and bell back in the trunk. "She was planning to leave Stevens behind."
"So it would appear," Doyle confirmed. He glanced through the last few pages. "It seems she had a lucrative offer from a man in Chicago."
"But would he really kill her just because she was moving on to a new opportunity?" Adelaide asked as she took to book back.
Doyle thought back to Stevens' reaction when the curtain was pulled back and he saw her dead. "I think she was much more than just an employer," Doyle said in a low voice.
"He was in love with her," Harry finished.
"The jilted lover seems to run in his family," Adelaide said. "Diana Abberton told me she'd met Mr. Stevens after his sister died. From the way she spoke, it was clear the sister had committed suicide after someone she loved married another woman. What if Stevens decided to kill Diana instead of lose her?" She closed the diary and started for the door. "I need to go talk to Mr. Stevens."
"We'll come with you," Harry offered as he closed the trunk and stepped to the door.
"No, we still need to look at Evert Campbell's dressing room and see if there is any evidence the killer left behind."
"But, Stevens could be dangerous," Harry pressed.
"As I've told both of you several times, I am a police officer. I can handle Mr. Stevens. You two stay here and see what else you can find." She turned and left the rehearsal room.
"Come on, Harry," Doyle said and moved around Houdini to the door. He glanced back and saw the frustrated look on Harry's face. "Adelaide can take care of herself. We can help by doing what she asked and search Campbell's dressing room."
Harry sighed but followed Doyle to the dressing room at the end of the hall as Adelaide turned the other way and went back up the hall to the stage exit Officer Hopkins had used earlier.
H&DH&DH&DH&D
Adelaide didn't realize until she stepped off the subway it was nearly eleven at night. She didn't want to put off the interview with Stevens, but realized she may not have a choice. She entered the Majestic Hotel and bypassed the front desk in favor of checking the lounge for Stevens hoping to avoid another wrangling session with the hotel management.
The fire in the room still burned, the wood crackled and snapped loudly in the still atmosphere, and provided the only light for the room. She glanced around and had resigned herself to confronting the night manager for Stevens' room number when she spotted him in the far corner of the room. A glass and decanter sat on the table in front of him, the glass still had a finger of scotch in it, the carafe was nearly full. Stevens sat alone.
She approached him slowly and when she was a few feet away she said, "Mr. Stevens, we need to talk."
Stevens sat in one of the leather chair, his head lowered in his hands, the picture of abject misery. "You know." He looked up at her. "Don't you."
Adelaide sat in the chair across from him and asked, "What do you think I know, Mr. Stevens?"
Stevens leant forward and picked up the glass. He took a swig of the scotch and held the glass loosely in one hand. "I loved her," he said in a whisper. "She was old enough to be my mother, but I didn't care. I loved her, and now she's gone."
Adelaide leant back in her chair and studied the man in front of her. Was this true grief, or was it an act put on for her benefit? "I believe you loved her, Mr. Stevens," she finally said and waited to see what he did next.
Stevens sniffed and wiped his eyes with his other hand and looked out the window at the night.
Adelaide waited and when it was obvious Stevens wasn't going to say anything else, she prompted, "That's why I have to ask you a few questions."
He looked back at her. "I told you everything already."
"We found Diana's diary."
Stevens stiffened in his chair.
"Did she tell you she was planning to leave England and move to America?"
Stevens nodded. "She didn't want me to come with her. She wanted to start over in the States. I told her then. That I loved her. I didn't want her to leave me behind."
"And what did she do?"
Stevens smiled. "She told me it was just puppy love. That I'd get over her in time and find a girl my own age."
Adelaide phrased her next question carefully. "What happened after that meeting, Lawrence?"
Stevens chuckled drily. "Nothing. That was the day before Evert was killed. That's why I spent the next day here at the hotel. I was trying to figure out a way for her to take me with her. I wanted to show her that my feelings were real, and we could be happy together. Then she called me and told me Evert was dead. You know the rest."
"Diana told me you've worked with her for two years."
Stevens nodded. "When my sister died. Mr. Shea suggested I contact her when some strange things started happening in my parents' house."
"Mr. Shea. Mr. Thornton Shea?"
"No, no, Clayton Shea. He's Thornton's brother. I was working on one of his fishing boats when Lizzie … died."
"So you were a fisherman before an actor?"
Stevens smiled. "I'm not an actor, now. I just help … helped … Diana. Before that I worked fishing boats. Clayton runs, well ran now I guess, a fleet of boats out of East Anglia. I was a bit of a wild kid and ran off to seek adventure. I worked all sorts of odd jobs. Even thought of joining a circus, but I didn't have any useful skills. Eventually, I found my way onto the trawlers. Hated almost every minute of it." Stevens laughed. "I can understand now why Thornton got out of the family business."
"Did Thornton Shea know Miss Abberton outside of the theater?"
Stevens shrugged. "Maybe. When Clay suggested I write to her to help with my parents' house, he told me they'd met years ago when he nearly had a riot on his hands with one of his crews. They were convinced their boat was haunted and the whole company was cursed. Miss Diana, was called in to exorcise the ghost. Thornton was still working one of the boats at the time, he probably knew about her at least.
"A few years later, she found out Thornton Shea had left the fishing business and was running revues. Diana told me she wrote to him several times to see about working in one of his shows."
"But Thornton Shea didn't like that idea."
"I don't know that he didn't like it so much as he felt it was too silly. He's never really believed in Diana, he thought his brother was crazy for hiring her. He thought Clay should have just fired the men and hired new. But he liked her enough to put in a good word with any theaters he booked and she, and later we, just kind of followed Shea's revues as they moved around. It was as close as we could get to top billing somewhere."
"And she was going to have that top billing in Chicago?"
"Yeah," Stevens said a bit wistfully. "She had finally made it."
"Why did she work in theaters? I thought most mediums were more private."
"Diana loved the crowd. She said it gave her the energy she needed to bridge the divide between this world and the next. She would let the spirits through and pass along their messages to any loved ones in the audience." Stevens sighed. "She did a few private readings from time to time, but her first love was a large group."
They sat in silence for a few minutes. Stevens poured himself another finger of scotch and sipped at it. Adelaide watched him and tried to make up her mind if he was a killer or just a grieving friend.
"Did you kill her, Mr. Stevens?" she finally asked in a low voice.
Stevens squeezed his eyes shut and clenched the scotch glass tight with his fingers. "No. I could never hurt her."
"Even though she didn't love you and planned to leave the country without you?" she pressed.
"I could never hurt her," he repeated. "I loved her."
Adelaide watched him finish the scotch in the glass. He refused to look at her, instead he either stared out the window or toyed with the empty glass in his hand. When his breathing hitched and he shut his eyes again, she stood and left the room.
She walked out of the Majestic Hotel a few minutes later. As she passed the window for the lounge, she glanced into the room and saw Stevens pour himself another drink. His hand shook as he set the decanter back on the table and Adelaide walked back to the subway and the precinct. She hoped Harry and Doyle had had better luck with Evert Campbell's dressing room.
H&DH&DH&DH&D
The door to Evert Campbell's dressing room was closed when Doyle and Harry found it, but when Doyle tried the knob, it opened easily. He pushed open the door and flicked the light switch and was immediately greeted by posters of every size announcing the talents of one Evert Campbell.
"At least his head isn't quite taking up the entire wall," Doyle muttered.
Harry heard the comment and laughed lightly as he pushed into the room. "So what are we hoping to find in here?"
The room was twice as large as Diana's and along with the dressing table against one wall and the rack of clothes and costumes, Campbell's room also included a large desk and a full sized sofa. No cot for the headliner act of the revue.
Harry dropped his suit coat on the sofa and walked over to the dressing table. Just like Diana's room, there were a few pictures tucked in the frame of the mirror, all of Evert in one costume or another a few included other members of the revue. Harry thumbed through the pictures and pulled open a few of the drawers in the table.
Doyle wandered over to the desk, sat down in the chair, and looked through the papers stacked on its surface. Most of them were playbills for the revue, there were a few receipts as well as newspaper clippings of reviews of the show; Campbell had underlined the comments about his performances with a pencil.
"There are receipts here for wine he'd purchased," Doyle said and turned to show Harry a yellow piece of paper. "What was the wine used in the séance?"
Harry stood by the dressing table and shrugged as he looked around the room. "No idea. I saw the label, something about a cru and it was a red wine."
"This is it then," Doyle read through the receipt. "According to this, Campbell bought six bottles of that wine. I wonder where the rest of the bottles are?"
"I think I just found his hiding place," Harry replied and backed out of the rack of costumes holding a box with five bottles still in it. "Could someone have poisoned all of them even though these are still sealed?"
"I doubt it. But Adelaide should probably have them tested to be certain."
Harry dropped the box of wine bottles on the sofa next to his suit coat and prowled around the room again.
Doyle stuffed the receipt in his suit coat pocket and started opening the desk drawers.
"Here's a letter from Franny Dawson telling Campbell about her condition," Doyle said after a few minutes. "Here's another one asking why he didn't answer the first letter."
"Well that explains Jack Dawson's threat," Harry said and sat on the sofa. "Dawson doesn't have any connection to Diana Abberton though. He has no reason to do anything to her."
"Which means he didn't poison the wine," Doyle agreed. "Of course, we were already fairly sure he didn't kill Campbell either."
Harry looked around the room. "So who would want to kill them? Diana Abberton wasn't part of the revue. She and Campbell didn't share anything in common." He glanced at his pocket watch. "It's almost midnight. I don't think we're going to find anything else."
Doyle folded the letters and put them in the same pocket with the receipt. "I think you're right. There's nothing here." He stood from the desk and pointed at the box next to Harry on the sofa. "May as well bring that. Someone should still be around who can take it to be analysed."
Harry grabbed the box and Doyle led the way back up the hall. They saw Officer Hopkins was back and standing outside the rehearsal room they'd used earlier to interview Stevens and Shea and Harry stopped.
"We found these in Evert Campbell's dressing room," Harry said as he handed over the box. "It's the same stuff Diana Abberton drank on stage; Constable Stratton might want it checked."
Hopkins took the box with a nod and Harry and Doyle started for the stage.
"Hang on, I forgot my jacket," Harry said and stopped in the middle of the hall. "Go ahead, I'll meet you in the theater." He turned and headed back to the dressing room at the other end of the hall and Doyle kept going.
H&DH&DH&DH&D
Mort heard someone pacing around the house and peeked through a crack in the curtain. One of the two men he'd watched with the female police constable wandered around the space looking around. Mort remembered his name was Doyle and knew he would know what to do with the little bottle behind the crates.
He slipped out the door leading from the stage to the house and waited for Doctor Doyle to notice him.
H&DH&DH&DH&D
Doyle went back into the theater and stood off to the right side of the stage and studied the chandeliers. The one in the center seemed to quiver slightly as he walked around the seating area and slowly made his way around to the main entrance at the back of the theater where he gazed around at the space again. The center chandelier swayed a bit more and Doyle smiled. Harry didn't believe the theater was haunted, but Doyle was willing to entertain the idea there was more to the world than what he could see or touch. He wondered if the playful spirit was one of the resident ghosts or if Diana Abberton was right and Evert Campbell was still trapped in the theater trying to tell them something.
He caught a glimpse of someone from the corner of his eye and turned to say something to Harry only to discover it wasn't Houdini.
Doyle squinted back up to the right side of the stage and saw someone waving at him from the door on the stage. He took a few steps down the center aisle to see the newcomer better. The man was older, with grizzled hair and he was wearing an old black overcoat and fingerless gloves. Doyle didn't remember him from any of the police interviews and was about to ask the man who he was when the man pointed toward the back of the stage and gestured for Doyle to follow.
"What are you doing here?" Doyle asked not moving.
The man gestured again and turned back through the door.
Doyle took a few more steps down the aisle and asked, "Do you work here?"
Harry stepped out from the door on the opposite side of the stage and Doyle saw him glance up at the question.
The black-coated man ignored Houdini and gave Doyle a frustrated look and pointed at the backstage area again.
Doyle gave up on the questions walked back down the aisle toward the stage. He was almost at the stage, just under the chandelier, when he heard Houdini shouting behind him.
"Doc! Look out!" Harry yelled and tossed his suit coat aside. He pointed up toward the gyrating chandelier and started to run across the open area in front of the stage.
Doyle looked up in time to see the chandelier break loose from the ceiling. To Doyle it seemed to fall in slow-motion.
"Doc!" Harry yelled again just as Doyle felt something slam into him and the deafening noise of hundreds of crystal prisms crashing to the floor.
