smile of his. “The footprints, he announced, “are mine, naturally.”
Chapter Thirty-three
The Great Man knew how to make an entrance.
Inspector Marsh knew how to stand there and smile delicately. “Mr. Houdini,” he said. “What a pleasant surprise.”
The Great Man ignored him and he aimed his grin at me. “You see, Phil? Already I have discovered something absolutely crucial.”
“I see that, Harry. Where does it go?”
“There is a stairway here.” He held the lamp up to the opening in the wall. Inside, a narrow stone stairway led down into the blackness. He turned back to me. “It goes down to a kind of tunnel which seems to encircle all of Maplewhite. From this tunnel, additional stairways lead upward to various rooms of the house.”
“How’d you find it?” I asked him.
“Simple logic,” he said. He turned to Marsh. “May I explain?”
“But of course,” said Marsh. “I swoon to hear it.” He turned, dusted off the bedspread with a delicate hand, and sat down on the bed as if it were a theater seat. He put his hands on his lap and looked up at the Great Man with his eyebrows raised in attention, or maybe an impersonation of it. Sergeant Meadows was still looming with his notebook over by the window. He crossed his arms over his thick chest and leaned back against the sill.
The Great Man set the lantern on the floor. He rubbed his hands together. “Well,” he said. “We have been presented here at Maplewhite with a series of totally baffling events. Even Houdini was, for a while, baffled by these. But then it occurred to me that all of them were very similar, in form, to simple magic tricks, of the sort performed by mediocre magicians.” He looked at me. “And what do magic tricks require, Phil?”
I smiled. “You tell me, Harry.”
Inspector Marsh had lowered his eyebrows and his head, and he was carefully studying the manicured fingernails of his left hand.
“Timing,” said the Great Man. “Misdirection. And, of course, gimmicked props.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and he began to pace up and down as he talked. He spoke seriously and slowly, like a professor at a college for dimwits. “Now. In order to understand the mechanics of a successful trick, we must begin with no preconceptions. None whatever. But in the case of the Earl s death, even Houdini had in fact entertained some of these. I had believed that the Earl was paralyzed and bedridden. So had all of us believed. But Miss Turner’s story- of the Earl coming to her room, disguised as a ghost-clearly cast some doubt on this.”
I said, “I thought you didn’t believe her story.”
“Aha,” he said. “That was before I pondered my preconceptions. But suppose, I told myself, suppose Miss Turner’s story were true. Suppose that the Earl were, in fact, mobile. If he had actually invaded the privacy of her room on Friday night, how had he done so without being seen?”
Marsh looked up from his fingernails and he frowned. “It was the middle of the night. There was no one about to see him.”
“But could he be certain of that? A single witness would have given away his game. And, assuming that the Earl did, in fact, commit suicide on the following day, how did he obtain the pistol from the hall without being seen?”
Marsh held up his hand. “Yes, yes, all right. There are other means by which he could have accomplished that. But quite clearly there’s also this stairway you’ve stumbled upon.”
The Great Man drew back his head. “Stumbled upon? Hardly, Inspector Marsh. I worked it out, with complete logic. As to the Earl, you see, and his death, I considered the other possibility that he had not committed suicide. That he had been murdered. In such a case, how had the murderer escaped? I have examined that door very carefully, and I knew-”
“Yes,” said Marsh. “Mr. Beaumont has informed me. So you deduced there was another entrance to the room.”
“I deduced, yes, exactly! And I obtained this from the housekeeper, Mrs. Blandings!” He reached into his coat pocket and plucked out a cloth tape measure. He waved his arm through the air in a theatrical circle, so the length of yellow tape streamed into a single hoop. “And I came up here.”
He stalked to the door to show us, the tape rippling in the air behind him. On the bed, Marsh turned to follow him. The Great Man spun around. “I examined the room visually. Then I walked to the window.”
He strode to the window. Sergeant Meadows stood there watching him, his arms crossed, his face blank. “Excuse me,” the Great Man said, and reached out and took hold of Meadow’s hips, as though he were going to pick him up and drop him somewhere. Maybe he would have. But Sergeant Meadows looked at Inspector Marsh, who nodded once, and Meadows stepped aside.
“I examined the window very carefully,” said the Great Man. “Measuring, measuring.” Bending over, he showed us. He stood up. “Then I went all around the room, measuring its dimensions. All of its dimensions.” He waved the tape measure through the air. “Then I went to the room next door.”
For a second I thought he was going to stalk over there, expecting us to follow him. He didn’t.
“I examined its dimensions,” he said. “I-”
“Yes,” said Marsh. “I do believe I follow. You determined where the passage must have been.”
“Exactly! And then, when I rushed back here, I set about finding it. And, of course, I did.”
He went over to the opening in the wall. “It is an ingenious mechanism. You see.” He pushed shut the rectangle of stone. It moved back into place, silently and smoothly. The wall seemed completely solid now. “Counterweighted. Simple but effective. The key is here.”
He pressed one of the stones to his left. Silently and smoothly, the rectangle swung open.
Smiling widely, the Great Man turned back to us. “You see? Houdini succeeds before others even attempt.”
“How very enterprising of you,” said Inspector Marsh.
“Yes,” said the Great Man. “Thank you.”
“And have you by any chance examined this tunnel?”
“Only a small portion of it.” He folded up the tape measure. “I climbed up one of the stairways. It leads into another room. Not a bedroom. A small parlor.” He stuffed the tape back into his pocket. “But there are many of these stairways. I feel certain that one of them leads into Miss Turner’s room.”
“But you haven’t actually established that,” said Marsh.
“There is no question in my mind,” said the Great Man. “And no doubt one of the stairways also leads to the Great Hall.” He turned to me. “And so, Phil. The Earl could have removed the gun from the collection with no one being the wiser.”
“Or somebody else could’ve taken it,” I said. “And used that stairway to come up here and kill him.”
“Yes.” He nodded. “Both are possible, of course.”
“Oh?” said Marsh. He was smiling. “You don’t mean to say that you still remain baffled by something?”
The Great Man raised his head. “I shall determine the truth. And very shortly, I believe.”
Marsh nodded. “Yes. Mr. Beaumont has apprised me of your plan. By afternoon tea, isn’t that right?”
“Yes. That is correct.”
“ He that is proud eats up himself. Troilus and Cressida.”
“Pride is irrelevant,” said the Great Man. “What Houdini sets out to do, he does.”
“By tea time.”
“Exactly.”
“You will permit me to harbor a stray doubt or two?
“Harbor as many as you like. Harbor a fleet of these. I shall succeed, nonetheless.”
“Are you a betting man, Mr. Houdini?”
The Great Man drew himself up. “Houdini never wagers.”
“No,” said Marsh. “I shouldn’t have thought so.”
“But,” said the Great Man, “Houdini has been known, on occasion, to accept a challenge.” He looked at
