Who Done Houdini by Raymond John Page A

closest houses were beyond sight of where we were waiting. Across the road, a heavy copse of trees covered the side and back of the manor.
    I opened the trunk for Holmes to remove his equipment. He said he had dealt with dogs many times before and knew how to handle them. Even though I trusted his word, I wasn’t thrilled at the thought of meeting an angry guard dog charging at me.
    After making sure the coast was clear, I slipped my mask on, then crossed the road to enter the woods. We met some cranky brambles and annoying low vines on our way, but we were able to get within sight of the manor before complete darkness.
    At the edge of the clearing surrounding the house, we heard the first barks.
    Holmes coolly began to extend the sections of his telescoped metal pole before stepping forward.
    Apparently, we already were unwelcome. A dark form charged toward us, barking.
    â€œIt appears we’ve been noticed, Wiggins.”
    Under other circumstances, the understatement would have been laughable. I found nothing funny about the dog. It stopped some ten feet in front of us, pacing back and forth and warning us to leave with growls and increasingly menacing barks.
    I didn’t have to be an animal psychologist to know the German shepherd realized mere threats weren’t working. The growls got louder.
    I threw a nervous glance in Holmes’s direction. He calmly lowered the pole and removed a noose from one end. He was still puttering with his device when warning turned to action.
    The dog rushed at me, tensing to leap.
    â€œHurry!” I shouted.
    The dog’s feet left the ground. I backed away, raising my arms and closing my eyes, waiting to be knocked to the ground and feel sharp teeth tearing into my flesh. Then I heard a strangled whine and the sound of something dropping heavily to the ground.
    â€œGot you,” Holmes said.
    I opened my eyes to see the dog on the ground at my feet thrashing its head from side to side.
    â€œHurry, Wiggins. Put the muzzle on before it breaks free.”
    My heart pounded. In the near-darkness I could see the animal getting back on its feet, desperately trying to free its head from the noose around its neck. The pole in Holmes’s hands bent forward in a writhing arc.
    â€œFor God’s sake, Wiggins, hurry.”
    I straddled the dog and gripped its neck tightly between my knees. The animal dropped to the ground, trying to free itself from my grip with hoarse gasps for breath. I waited until it stopped struggling and lay its foam-covered head on the ground.
    Now barely breathing, the luckless German shepherd put up no resistance when I pulled the leather muzzle over its snout.
    Holmes handed me the end of a rope. “Slip this through the collar. I’ll tie the other end around a tree.”
    My heart went out to the helpless creature doing nothing more than trying to protect its owner. I ran a consoling hand over its head.
    â€œThat’s how the constabulary does it in Sussex,” Mr. Holmes said, barely breathing hard. He telescoped the rod back into its handle. “Now let’s find our way into the basement.”
    We heard sounds of autos pulling into the driveway and saw headlight flashes that somehow had sneaked around to the back of the house.
    We found only two windows on the rear side. Both were above my head and I couldn’t see how we could get in through either of them. The door was securely locked. On further inspection, I noticed a small door at ground level. I pushed on the latch, but it wouldn’t open.
    â€œCan you pick a lock in the dark?” Mr. Holmes asked gesturing at the slot in the round hole.
    I raised my head haughtily. “That is an insult, sir.”
    Though somewhat rusty, the lock gave up in short order. The door opened to show three steps leading down into total darkness.
    â€œAfter you, Wiggins.”
    We tottered forward, baby steps at a time. Every so often we heard the rustle of cardboard as we