“God, I’ve always wanted to do something like that,” Marty said. “I’d almost take on this case for nothing for the pure satisfaction of this moment. Almost.”
Gunther applauded. We joined him. Marty dropped his head in a near bow, and Cawelti turned bright red as Shelly came back through the door. The dentist was zipping his pants and pushing his glasses back on his nose.
“What did I miss?” he asked, looking around.
“Sit down!” Cawelti boomed.
Shelly hurried to sit, and Pancho whispered into his ear to explain what had happened.
“Would you like to see another one?” Marty asked.
“No,” shot Calwelti.
“So,” said Marty, “are you going to arrest my client? Put him in handcuffs? I’ll give you a hundred dollars to your ten that he’d be out of them in less than eight seconds. Was my client wearing gloves when all this happened?”
“What?” asked Cawelti.
Marty looked at us.
We all shook our heads.
“Well,” said Marty. “I’ve just been told by Joe Moark, one of your men, who’s in the ballroom, that there are no fingerprints on the murder weapon.”
“That son-of-a-bitch,” said Cawelti. “Blackstone could have dumped the gloves.”
“Where?” asked Marty. “Have you searched my client?”
Cawelti didn’t answer.
I thought of some place Blackstone could have dumped a pair of gloves, plus the missing black satchel.
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’” Marty looked at Blackstone, who nodded. “And you’ve searched everyone in this room?”
We all nodded “yes.”
“He dropped them somewhere in the confusion,” said Cawelti.
“Let me know when you find them,” Marty said, snapping closed the cigar box and returning it to his briefcase. He pulled a folded sheet of paper from the briefcase and held it up as if he were going to do another trick.
“Signed by Judge Froug,” he said, handing it to Cawelti.
Cawelti didn’t go down easily. He looked at the paper, refolded it, jammed it into his pocket, and said,
“In my office, tomorrow morning at nine.”
In the lobby, Blackstone moved to Marty’s side and said, “Marvin Morosco.”
“Marvin Morosco is right,” said Marty.
“Who’s Marvin Morosco?” I asked.
“The dove in the cigar box,” said Blackstone. “It’s one of his.”
“Ah, yes,” said Marty. “I borrowed it from Mr. Morosco. I came across him in the lobby before the show I did for Detective Cawelti. It will go on your bill for my services, of course.”
“Of course,” said Blackstone. “And what would you have done if Detective Cawelti had taken you up on your offer of a second piece of magic?”
Marty shrugged his shoulders.
“I would have resorted to the last refuge of a gifted lawyer, verbal prestidigitation. Nine, tomorrow. My office.”
He handed Blackstone a card and walked confidently away.
On the street in front of the hotel we formed a huddle, six mismatched penguins. If we had a tin cup and could carry a tune, we probably could have picked up some loose change singing
“There was definitely something about the dead Mr. Ott,” said Gunther.
“What?” I asked.
“I don’t know. But I will sit in my room this night in darkness and re-create the events of this evening,” said Gunther.
“You do that,” said Phil.
“We’ll solve it,” Shelly said, his face pink, a fresh cigar in the corner of his mouth.
He looked at Pancho who nodded, either in agreement or falling asleep. Shelly put a hand on Pancho’s shoulder and ambled away saying, “Great material for the movie, huh?”
“I have a question,” said Jeremy, who hadn’t spoken for the past half hour. He looked at Blackstone and said, “Your brother.”
Blackstone smiled.
“That’s not a question,” said Blackstone.
“Is it an answer?” said Jeremy.
“What the hell are you two talking about?” Phil asked impatiently.
“The illusion in the ballroom at dinner,” said Jeremy.
“Yes,” said Blackstone. “Would you like to explain how I did it?”
Jeremy looked up at the night sky. We all looked up wondering what he saw. There was nothing up there but stars.
“When the lights went out the first time,” Jeremy said, “you hid.”
“Under the podium,” Blackstone supplied. “I came to the hotel this afternoon and with the help of my brother, switched podiums, placed the new, larger one closer to the wall and when the lights went out, I ducked behind and under the podium.”
“And when the lights came on,” said Jeremy, “it was Peter, your brother standing near the door, not you. He clapped so that everyone would look in his direction and not at the stage.”
Blackstone nodded.
“And when the lights went out again, your brother went through the door and out and you stood up behind the podium.”
“You have the eye of a true magician,” said Blackstone.
“But neither the dexterity nor calling,” said Jeremy.
“Hold it,” I said. “Your alibi for the killing of Cunningham in the dressing room was that you were onstage. If Cawelti figures out how the trick in the ballroom was done, he might also figure that it was Pete onstage that night while you were killing Cunningham.”
“How likely is it that one of those magicians,” Phil said, nodding at the hotel entrance, “will figure out how you did the disappearing act in there?”
“At least six of them have already done so,” said Blackstone.
“Marty’s tomorrow at nine. I might be a little late,” I said.
“Why?” asked Phil.
“I’ve got to see a wild man about a thousand and one nights,” I said.
And I might have to see a dentist named Fred, I thought. My tooth definitely wanted me to know it was there and not happy. I reached into my pocket for the bottle of oil of cloves. It wasn’t there. I had left it in my room.
Jeremy headed for the entrance of the hotel.
“Where is he going?” Phil asked.
“To rescue the bird,” said Gunther.
Chapter 13
Place a hat on the floor. Drop a playing card. The card floats away, always. Invite others to drop a card. You take a card and drop it right into the hat. Solution: Hold the card shoulder high over the hat. Hold the card flat, level with the floor, with your thumb on one side and a single finger on the other side. Release the card. It will fall into
