Twenty-three

It was close to lunch hour by the time I arrived home. Washington Square was deserted in the midday heat. Even the customary little boys who made the constable’s life a misery by trying to climb into the fountain had given up and gone home. I felt my dress sticking to my back as I hurried up Patchin Place. It was no weather for hurrying, but on the train ride home I had come to a decision. I was going to go to Atlantic City today. So what if Daniel had forbidden me to go? He didn’t yet have authority over me, and I suppose part of my decision was simply to prove this fact to myself. And the more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that Houdini’s brother Dash had to have participated in switching the trunks. I also had reluctantly come to think that Houdini himself had to have been involved. Would he not have noticed and done something if the trunk had been placed differently from usual? I sighed. Poor Bess. Either her husband was a wanted criminal or a kidnap victim.

This last thought made me reconsider my rash decision. I was leaving Bess alone when she needed me and I was going to visit someone who may have just killed a man most brutally—who may have even killed two men. Then I told myself I had been hired to find out the truth not be a nursemaid. I was just doing the job for which she had hired me.

I was approaching my house when I saw Gus waving from her front window. She opened the window and beckoned me over. “Ah, there you are,” she said. “There was a man at your door not too long ago.”

“What kind of man?”

“Ordinary looking. Respectable. Young.”

“Do you know what he wanted?”

She shrugged. “I was painting up in my studio. I heard the knocking, looked down, and spotted him, but by the time I had come down two flights of stairs, he was gone.”

“I wonder if he left a note,” I said. I opened the front door. The letter box was empty.

“No note,” I said. “Ah, well, if it’s important no doubt he’ll call back. If you see him again would you tell him that I’ve had to go to Atlantic City, but should be back tomorrow.”

“Atlantic City, how delightful,” she said with great enthusiasm. “A breath of sea air is what we all need in heat like this. Maybe Sid and I should come with you. I’ve a great desire to dip my toes into the Atlantic again, haven’t you?”

“I’m afraid I’m going there on business,” I said. “I’ll have no time to dip my toes into the Atlantic.”

“Nonsense. Anyone can make time for a lovely dip in the ocean. So refreshing,” she said. “And come to think of it, I have a cousin who spends her summers there. Why don’t we come and keep you company, then we can all stay with my cousin.”

“I think I’d better go alone,” I said. “I have to interview a suspect there. I’d rather be as unobtrusive as possible.”

“Interview a suspect. My, doesn’t that sound impressive.” Her eyes lit up. “If you wait a minute, I’ll write a letter of introduction to my cousin. At least you’ll have good company for dinner and a comfortable bed for the night.”

“Thank you, but I’ll probably just stay the night at a boarding house near the station,” I said.

“But Molly, it’s Atlantic City. You have to stay near the boardwalk and enjoy the ocean breezes and take a stroll down the pier,” she said. “And my cousin is utterly charming. One of the few members of my family who would still welcome me into her home, in fact.”

I was anxious to be off but trying not to offend Gus in the process. Lord knows, she and Sid had been good enough to me.

“You’re very kind, but no thank you. I make it my policy not to mix business with pleasure. And I may be out and about until late evening, which would be very rude to any hostess.”

“As you wish,” she said. “You do have our new telephone number, don’t you? I’m sure there is a line all the way from Atlantic City these days and you could put through a call to us if you find yourself in any kind of jam.”

“Thank you again. I must be off.”

“You never seem to have time for civilized chats these days. You are working yourself too hard,” she said.

“I know, but just think, soon I’ll be married and have all the time in the world for civilized chats,” I said.

“I can’t see that happening.” Gus laughed. “Besides, your lord and master will forbid you to mix with people like us, just you see.”

“I will never have a lord and master. I can tell you that right now. And I’ll mix with whom I please.” I pushed open my front door and went inside. It felt delightfully cool and I had visions of soaking in a cool tub, then eating lunch. But I had no time. I rushed around, packing essentials into an overnight bag, made myself a cheese sandwich and grabbed a couple of plums for the train journey, and I was out again, heading for the ferry across the Hudson to Exchange Place on the Jersey shore, the terminus where the trains left for Atlantic City—there being no way to bring a railway line across the mighty Hudson. On the way I wondered who the mystery man at my front door had been. Another client, maybe? That would be useful, as this case might not be continuing if my suspicions proved to be true. I’d probably not be paid, either.

I enjoyed the hint of cool breeze as the ferry chugged across the Hudson. Then as I entered the train station, I felt the excitement one always senses at a place where great journeys begin and end. I bought my ticket and was on my way to the platform when a man came up beside me.

“Here, miss. Let me help you with your bag,” he said, tipping his hat to me before he tried to take the bag from me.

“You’re most kind, but I don’t need any kind of help,” I said. I gave him a long look. He seemed respectable enough—young, clean shaven, straw boater, light-flannel trousers. I wondered if he made a habit of making advances to young women on railway stations.

“Where are you heading?” he asked.

“Atlantic City. And yourself?”

“As luck would have it, we’re going the same way,” he said, giving me a friendly smile. “Why don’t you let me carry your bag? You seem encumbered and as you notice, I have no luggage of my own.”

“I’m really just fine, thank you. I’m a strong, healthy woman and I don’t need any help.”

“But at the very least you’ll let me escort you to your carriage,” he said. “I find train journeys so tedious and the thought of sitting beside a pretty girl has cheered me no end.”

He was beginning to annoy me. There was something about his overfriendliness that made me wary. “I have to warn you that this pretty girl is about to be married to someone else,” I said. “I would go and do your fishing elsewhere if I were you.”

He laughed. “And witty too. How delightful.”

I tried to walk ahead of him. He took my arm and steered me across the station toward one of the platforms. I really didn’t want to make a fuss amid all these people but I was going to clobber his straw boater if he kept this up.

Smoke swirled upward, then parted, revealing the destination board.

“Wait a second,” I said. “This isn’t the platform for the train to Atlantic City.”

“No more it is,” the man said, his grip on my arm tightening.

“Let go of me. What are you playing at?” I demanded. “Do you want me to scream for help?”

That’s when I noticed that a man had come up on the other side of me. I felt something dig into my side.

“I wouldn’t scream if I were you,” the second man said in a low voice. “There is a knife in my hand. I can slip it in between your ribs and you’ll be dead before you know it. Much less noisy than a gun. Now be a sensible girl and you’ll not get hurt.”

“Where are you taking me?” I asked.

“You’ll soon find out.” A train was already standing at the platform, puffing out steam as if impatient to be on its way. Down the platform they bore me, past families waving good-bye, porters wheeling trolleys of luggage. I couldn’t believe what was happening. A small voice in my head was saying, “You’re being kidnapped,” but it seemed too absurd to be true. My brain started racing, trying to think how I could escape from them. If I gave the one with the stiletto a hefty push and started screaming, would I have a chance to run before he could stab me? I could feel the prick of sharp steel against my skin so I knew his threat was not idle.

Before I had time to contemplate any longer the first man opened a carriage door. “In you get,” he said.

“Where are you taking me?”

“You’ll soon find out. Now sit down and shut up.”

He pushed me into the seat and sat on one side of me. The man with the knife had slid into place on the other side. I noticed that the compartment said RESERVED and that there was no corridor. The first man immediately pulled down the blinds. I glanced up at the emergency cord. If I caught them off guard, I could leap up and pull on it, but then they’d have killed me before the train came to a halt and the conductor found my carriage. I looked from one to the other, trying to decide who they were and what they wanted of me. They certainly didn’t look like the criminal classes. Nor did they look like entertainers. More like—more like the young man who had lain dead in the trunk. Bank clerks, shop assistants, respectable wage earners.

On the platform outside there was a piercing whistle and a shout of “All aboard!” Then the sound of doors slamming up and down the platform. The engine gave a mighty huff, and we lurched forward. At the last moment our carriage door opened and a man got in. My two captors nodded and jumped out. The train picked up speed. I looked at the man who had replaced my abductors. He was older than they, avuncular-looking actually, with a gray beard and horn-rimmed spectacles. He gave a sigh and promptly removed the beard and glasses. I stared at him again and gasped as I realized with a jolt of surprise that I recognized him.