Harry Houdini Mysteries by Daniel Stashower Page B

replacement, and the rest of the meal passed without any noticeable disruption. More than once I looked down to find that my setting had changed or my glass had been filled without my having noticed.
    Mrs. Clairmont kept the conversation light and the wine flowing, though her brother partook of neither. A decanter of whiskey had been set at his place, and he spent the duration of the meal steadily draining it, growing more and more truculent with each swallow. Mr. Grange, by contrast, drank nothing but ate ravenously, occasionally glancing at the table and furnishings with a certain proprietary interest, as though contemplating a purchase. Dr. Wells, for his part, spent much of the meal attempting to extract information on the state of European medicine from my brother, whose faltering replies were skillfully embroidered by Kenneth. As Biggs had foreseen, there was an uneasy moment when Harry attempted to address a lobster galantine with a pair of snail tongs, but once again Kenneth Clairmont managed to salvage the situation. “I see,” he declared with a note of admiration, “is that how they do it in Budapest, Doctor?”
    I must say that there were no further gaffes from my brother during the meal, largely because he had been stunned into immobility by the sight of a sautéed rabbit, which had been made to stand upright with its paws crossed in a disturbinglylifelike way, with a sprig of cauliflower tucked in where its tail had been. The greenish tinge behind my brother’s monocle and false moustache told me that his thoughts were with his beloved lop-eared Selma.
    Presently, when the remains of a magnificent prune flory had been cleared away, the gathering repaired to the sitting room for port and cigars.
    “You must forgive me, Mr. Hardeen,” said Mrs. Clairmont, taking my arm as we walked back down the central corridor, “I haven’t had a chance to say more than two words to you all evening.”
    “I’m afraid I would not have been much of a conversationalist,” I replied. “Not while my attention was absorbed by that wondrous saddle of mutton.”
    “I do like to see my guests well fed. Now, tell me, Kenneth mentioned that you are a friend from school. Are you a newspaper man, like that young Mr. Biggs who was here the other night?”
    “Well, I have studied journalism,” I said, which was, in fact, the truth. “At present, however, I am involved in the theater.”
    “The theater! How exciting! In what connection?”
    “Management,” I said.
    “You must see all the new plays. Tell me, is the latest Sardou as wicked as I’ve heard?”
    “Actually, I haven’t—”
    “And what about this clever young Harry Houdini?” asked my brother, stroking his moustache. “I hear he is poised to become the toast of New York!”
    “Never heard of him,” I said drily.
    “No? But I understand he has just completed an engagement at the Belasco.”
    “Doesn’t ring a bell.”
    “Can it be? I understand that no less a journal than the Milwaukee Sentinel was inspired to remark that—”
    “Tell me, Mrs. Clairmont,” I said, turning away from mybrother, “when might we expect to begin our sitting with Mr. Craig?”
    “Very shortly, I expect. It is Mr. Craig’s habit to fast prior to his demonstrations, but Brunson informs me that he has ordered a Coquette de Volaille to be ready in one hour’s time.”
    “He’s what?” cried Edgar Grange. “Augusta, this man has made himself too much at home. He is too free with your hospitality.” He reached out to take a cigar from the humidor Brunson had offered.
    “Not at all, Edgar,” Mrs. Clairmont answered. “Lucius Craig is above material wants and desires.”
    Mr. Grange continued to voice his objections as Brunson made his way around the room with the humidor. Harry, listening intently, gave me a withering look as I reached out and selected a belvedere. “Dash,” he whispered, “tobacco is a—”
    I cut him short. “A serious obstacle to the proper