I unbuckled my belt. “I told you. Snooping around. Who’s gone?”
“Cecily Fitzwilliam. She was here. ”
I stepped out of my pants, flung them onto the bed. “What’d she want?”
“She said she wanted to talk to you. But she wouldn’t go away, Phil. She kept pounding on the door, demanding that I open it.”
I stalked over to the wardrobe. “But you didn’t, right?”
“Of course not.” Indignant.
“Good for you, Harry.” I snatched a clean shirt from the hanger, put it on.
“Why is this woman harassing me?”
“Maybe she’s still smitten,” I told him. I took out the dress pants and the suspenders, both of them rented in London, and buttoned the suspenders to the back of the pants.
“Phil, you said this would not happen again.”
“I’ll talk to her, Harry,” I said.???
The mood at dinner was strained. No one was supposed to know that the Earl was dead, but I think that everyone did, except maybe Mrs. Allardyce, and maybe Miss Turner. Lord Bob never showed-Lady Purleigh said that he wasn’t feeling well. She was wearing a regal black dress that could have been a mourning dress, if you wanted it to be, or just a regal black dress, if you didn’t. She looked tired, but from time to time she smiled, a fragile smile, and from time to time she encouraged this guest or that one to talk. Some of them tried for a while, chattering away until they heard the sound of their own voices echo in the surrounding silence. And then they slowed down, like sightseers nearing the lip of a chasm, and then suddenly they stopped.
Miss Turner never said a word. She again only sat there and glanced around the table. Whenever she caught me catching her at it, her glance skittered away. I wondered what went on beyond that bright blue dazzle.
I think that everyone was worried that too much enthusiasm would bother Lady Purleigh.
Everyone except Mrs. Allardyce and the Great Man. The Great Man’s conversations were usually monologues, even in better times, and he had never in his life worried about bothering anyone. Mrs. Allardyce kept feeding him questions, and he kept giving the rest of us his answers. He told us about his incredible dip beneath the ice in the Detroit River. He told us about his incredible escape from the prison wagon in Moscow. He told us about his incredible single-handed airplane flight in Germany in 1909, and his incredible award-winning flight in 1910 in Australia, the first ever in that country. The airplane stories were mostly true.
Almost all the guests listened politely, even Madame Sosostris and Mr. Dempsey-and both of them had to know that the Great Man was there to prove she was a fake.
But not Sir David. He scowled occasionally, or looked deliberately away. Now and then he leaned toward Mrs. Corneille, who sat beside him, and whispered something. Whatever it was, usually she frowned at it, or ignored it. Once he whispered while she was cutting a bite of roast beef, and she froze in mid-cut and turned to him with a stony look and spoke quickly under her breath. He smiled, blandly, and ate another forkful of creamed peas.
It seemed to me that trouble was coming, but I knew there wasn’t much I could do about it until it arrived. If it did.
I hadn’t had a chance to talk to Cecily alone. But she didn’t seem very anxious to talk to me. She spent most of her time watching the Great Man. Like her mother, she smiled wanly but in all the right places.
The trouble arrived in the drawing room. We were all sitting around at different tables. Doyle, smoking his pipe, was telling me about the afterlife, and how life was better there. On Doyle’s right, Sir David and Dr. Auerbach and Mr. Dempsey were sitting with Lady Purleigh, Mrs. Corneille, and Madame Sosostris. On my left, the Great Man was telling Mr. Dempsey, Mrs. Allardyce, and Miss Turner about his stomach.
“Years of conditioning,” he said, “have turned Houdini’s muscles into steel.” He stood up and yanked open his dinner jacket. Doyle and I looked over. “Here,” the Great Man said to Mrs. Allardyce. He nodded toward his stomach. “Go ahead. Hit me.”
Mrs. Allardyce sat there. “I beg your pardon?” she said.
I saw Sir David put his cigar in his mouth, watching.
“Hit me,” said the Great Man. “Feel free.”
The others were watching, all of them. I was watching Sir David.
Mrs. Allardyce blinked again. “You want me to strike you?”
“Yes, of course,” said the Great Man. “As a demonstration.”
Mrs. Allardyce blinked some more. “But really,” she said. “I couldn’t. ”
“But I could,” said Sir David. He set his cigar in the ashtray and stood up. “With great pleasure.” He was almost a foot taller than the Great Man.
“Ah,” said the Great Man, still holding open his dinner jacket. He smiled. He was pleased. This was a chance to prove his superiority over someone he still thought was vermin. “Feel free to hit as hard-”
Sir David rammed his right fist into the Great Man’s stomach, pivoting on the ball of his left foot, slamming the weight of his heavy shoulder behind the punch. Hissing, the Great Man doubled over and grabbed at his belly.
Doyle pushed himself up from his chair. “Now see here!”
Sir David stepped back, smiling. The Great Man hung there, bent forward, clutching himself. Sir David said to Doyle, “It was his idea, after all.”
“But he wasn’t prepared!” said Doyle.
The Great Man abruptly threw out his right arm and held it there, parallel to the carpet. For a moment no one spoke. Holding his left hand to his stomach, he slowly raised his torso until he was fully upright. He let both his arms fall to his sides. His face was white and shiny.
But when he smiled, his smile seemed perfectly normal. “Sir Arthur is correct,” he said to Sir David. “I was unprepared.”
His voice was slightly higher than normal, but no one could hear the difference unless they knew him well. “So,” he said, “if you do not object, we shall not count that punch.” He drew back his jacket, put his balled fists on his hips. “Now,” he said.
Sir David smiled at the Great Man. “I should tell you,” he said, “that I got my Blue for boxing when I was up at Oxford.”
“That,” said the Great Man, “is completely irrelevant.”
Sir David planted his feet on the carpet like a lumbegack, drew back his right arm, and then hauled off and let go, knifing his fist into the Great Man’s midsection.
The Great Man’s upper body moved forward a bit, and I think that his feet skidded a few inches backward on the carpet. But he didn’t move otherwise. His smile hadn’t wavered. He said, “You see? Like steel.”
From the women came a smattering of applause. I glanced over to see who was clapping. Lady Purleigh, Cecily, Miss Turner.
“ Wunderbar!” cried Dr. Auerbach.
“Well done!” said Doyle.
Sir David frowned. He pounded his right fist into his left palm. “Once more,” he said.
“Nope,” I said. I stood up, and he turned to face me. The two of us were the same height. “You already had your shot,” I said. “Two shots. Next time, try it with someone who might hit back.”
Sir David grinned and pounded his fist into his palm again. “You, for example, Beaumont?”
“For example.”
“No, no,” said Doyle suddenly, and he stepped forward, putting his body between Sir David and me. He looked back and forth between us. “I won’t have this. Not in Lady Purleigh’s house. And certainly not on the night of a seance.”
Sir David smiled blandly. “You heard him, Doyle. He challenged me.”
“As any right-minded man would've done. Sir David, you oblige me to say that your behavior has been deplorable. I ask you to remember yourself, sir, and remember what is proper.”
Sir David raised his handsome jaw. “The man has challenged me.”
“There will be no violence here tonight,” said Doyle.
For a moment or two, Sir David looked like a man who was thinking about taking a pop at Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Then he nodded. Casually, he adjusted the fit of his coat. “As you wish,” he said. “Not tonight. I shall be
