Twelve

I have to confess that I uttered some words that should never escape from a lady’s lips. Actually some swear words that a lady shouldn’t even know. But I was alone and I figured they were justified at this point. This day had been one annoyance after another. And now to find that I would have to make that same unpleasant train journey all over again was a last straw. But it had to be done if I wanted this job. And I did want the job. Having witnessed the two accidents with my own eyes, I was itching to sink my teeth into this kind of case. And nobody ever said a detective’s work was easy. I took off my crumpled dress, washed it out, splashed cold water over my body, then put on a blouse and skirt before setting out once more.

It was now midafternoon and the heat radiated from the sidewalks and the brick of the buildings. It was like walking through an oven. I passed a horse that had collapsed while pulling a cart loaded with barrels. Small boys stood around staring curiously while the driver cursed and attempted to free it from the harness as it lay dying. I stared at it with pity, wishing there was something I could do, but dead horses were an all too frequent sight in New York in summer. As my train bore me northward again I thought longingly of Central Park and the boating lake and ice cream sodas and I told myself that when I was a married lady, I wouldn’t have to venture out on hot afternoons if I didn’t want to.

When I alighted, I came down the steps to a lively scene. Small boys had set off a fire hydrant and were running through the jet of water, squealing with glee while a constable tried to drive them off, and grownups stood around shouting encouragement and applauding. I stood watching for a while, enjoying the feel of the spray floating toward me, before I dragged myself off. I turned back once, as the scene brought back memories of my childhood in Ireland. I recalled a small skinny girl running through the spray as giant waves crashed onto the beach, daring my brothers to follow me. Then, of course, I remembered the beating I had received afterward for running around in my underclothes and for leading my brothers astray. Life was not all easy, even in those days. I sighed and set off to find the address on Ninety-fifth Street and Park.

I suppose I was expecting a hospital, but the red-and-white brick house wasn’t bigger than those surrounding it. In fact I would have walked right past it if a polished brass plate to one side of the front door hadn’t caught my eye. It said ASHER CLINIC. Dr. Frederick Asher. I rang the doorbell and it was opened by a nurse in a smart, crisply starched uniform.

“Yes?” she said, appraising me and my somewhat crumpled skirt and cheap straw hat.

“I believe you have a Mrs. Harry Houdini here at the moment?”

“No,” she said. “There is nobody of that name here. I’m sorry.” She went to close the door.

“Wait.” I attempted to put my foot into the closing door. “This is the address she gave me in her note. I was told her doctor wanted her to stay here and rest.”

The nurse was staring at me in that impassive way that only nurses can stare. Suddenly it dawned on me. Houdini wasn’t their real name. I tried to recall the conversation in the dressing room. Bess had laughed when I suggested that her husband was Italian. She had said that he was Jewish and Houdini was his stage name and his real name was . . .

“Weiss!” I said triumphantly. “Do you have a Mrs. Weiss?”

“We do,” she conceded, “but the doctor has ordered complete rest and I am under instruction to admit no visitors.”

I fumbled in my purse and produced the note. “She wrote this to me today and asked to see me.” As I handed it to her I wondered how Bess had managed to have the note delivered to me past this dragon.

She took the note and examined it. “Please wait here,” she said. Clearly I was not to be admitted. There was no shade on the sidewalk as I stood and waited, getting more annoyed by the second. Was she going to keep me waiting so long that I gave up and went away? Then I saw someone coming toward me and recognized the well-cut suit, the homburg, and neat blond beard at the same moment that the man recognized me. It was Dr. Birnbaum, an alienist from Germany whom I knew quite well.

“Miss Murphy,” he exclaimed, tipping his hat to me. “What an unexpected pleasure.”

“Dr. Birnbaum. How good to see you,” I replied.

“What brings you to this part of town?” he asked in his clipped German accent. “I hope you are not attempting another dangerous assignment?” He laughed at this, remembering, I presume, the time when he had helped to rescue me from an insane asylum.

“I am attempting to visit a friend who is a patient at this clinic,” I said. “My friend sent me a note this morning, asking to see me, but I seem to be unable to get past the dragon of a nurse at the door. She has left me standing in the hot sun for at least ten minutes.”

He stroked at that neatly pointed beard in a characteristic gesture. “It so happens that I am here to visit with Dr. Asher. Let us see what we can do, shall we?”

He rapped loudly on the door with his sliver-tipped cane. The same dragon nurse opened the door. When she saw who was standing there, her demeanor changed instantly. She was all smiles, almost coy. “Good morning, Doctor. How very good to see you again. Dr. Asher is expecting you—please do come in.”

“There is the small matter of this young lady who is about to expire of heatstroke if she is left in the street much longer.” Dr. Birnbaum looked back to me.

“I’m afraid Dr. Asher said no visitors today,” she said abruptly. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting out here. I got waylaid. A difficult patient trying to get out of bed.”

“Ah, that would be the young man that Dr. Asher has summoned me to see,” Dr. Birnbaum said. “The one who thinks he is a bird? Maybe you should take me straight to him. He sounds like a fascinating case.”

“Certainly, Doctor, if you’ll come this way,” the nurse said, glanced back at me once, then started to walk briskly across the foyer. Dr. Birnbaum motioned quickly for me to follow him into the building. I needed no second urging and slipped into the cool darkness of the marble foyer. The nurse continued up the stairs, her back to me. Dr. Birnbaum followed her. I waited just inside the front door, my heart pounding, not sure what to do next. Find out which room Bess was in, obviously. It wasn’t a very large building. It shouldn’t be too hard. There would probably be some kind of office or command center in which the patients were listed, but I ran the risk of bumping into another nurse there. It was also possible that the patients’ names were on their doors.

I crept up the first flight of stairs and saw plain wood doors adorned with no nameplates. The landing was pleasingly furnished with bright pictures on the walls, wicker rocking chairs, and a large potted plant—more like a hotel than a clinic.

On the floor above me I heard a door open, and men’s voices: Dr. Birnbaum had obviously met Dr. Asher. Then the door closed and I could hear the voices no longer. They were both safely occupied in a patient’s room. That left only the dragon woman to be outsmarted. Sure enough, I heard light tapping of feet coming across the floor above me, then starting to come down the stairs. I ducked behind the potted plant. The nurse passed me, her starched skirts almost brushing my bare arm. I held my breath but she continued down to the ground floor, then I heard the sound of a door closing. I was safe for a moment. Cautiously I opened one door after another. Some rooms were empty, some contained sleeping patients. One contained an old lady who sat up excitedly as I came in. “For heaven’s sakes!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing on this train, Mabel?”

I gave her an encouraging wave and hastily retreated again. Then I tiptoed up the next flight of stairs to the third floor. There was a broad skylight in the middle of the ceiling, sending rainbow colors onto the polished wood floor below. If Mrs. Houdini was supposed to have quiet, then her room would surely be at the back of the building. The second door I tried revealed a small, dark head curled up amid white sheets. What’s more, she was alone. I heaved a sigh of relief, slipped inside, and closed the door behind me. Bess didn’t stir. Then, of course, it occurred to me that sedation means sedation. She might remain asleep all day and I was wasting my time.

It was a pleasant room, with a more homey feel than a hospital. The window was open to admit any breeze and looked out onto a small back garden with a big sycamore tree. Birds were chirping and the city seemed far away. I went over and stood beside the bed. Her eyes were closed and I watched the sheet rise and fall with her rhythmic breaths. Now that I was here I didn’t like to wake her; in fact I reasoned that trying to wake her from an induced slumber might do more harm than good. But she’d asked to see me as soon as possible, hadn’t she? She had taken the trouble to write that note from a hospital bed when she was in a most distressed state. I paced the room uncertainly. If I made it successfully down to the front door without being caught, the chances of my gaining reentry were nil.

At that moment the whole thing was decided for me. Heavy footsteps came up the stairs, tapped across the marble foyer, and straight to the door of the room. I looked around for somewhere to hide, but there was nowhere, no curtain, no closet. I half considered trying to slide under the bed, but there was no time. The door was flung upon and Houdini himself entered. He saw me standing beside Bess, obviously looking guilty, and with a roar of rage he leaped at me.