Who Done Houdini by Raymond John Page B

brushed against boxes. Otherwise our path was remarkably clear. As we continued on, we heard sounds coming from somewhere ahead and slightly to the left.
    My shin brushed against something hard, but it didn’t move and there was no sound. “Careful,” I whispered.
    Another few steps ahead, a bright yellow line on the floor stretched from the next room. Trembling with every step, I stopped when my outstretched hand encountered a door.
    We stood in silence for a very long time. Then we heard footsteps and muffled voices from guests arriving above us.
    How was that possible?
    Unable to crouch any longer, I stood. At that moment, the narrow yellow line disappeared.
    â€œHe turned off the light. He’s getting ready to go upstairs,” Holmes whispered.
    We heard a very slight whir of machinery that lasted for a few seconds, and then abruptly stopped.
    â€œOpen the door, Wiggins. We don’t have much time.”
    A low-wattage light bulb burned from a socket in the wall in one corner of the room. A heavy metal column, the base of a lift, stood near the opposite wall. A panel with a single button protruded from the wall next to the pole.
    Mr. Holmes pushed the button. Seconds later, a platform began a slow descent from the ceiling.
    â€œI’ll go up first,” he said. “Push the button when the lift stops. It’ll come back down to you.”
    Pushing the button again, the platform slowly began to rise.
    It stopped and I heard Holmes’s voice. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Forgive the interruption, but I’m here tonight to finish the job Harry Houdini was unable to complete.”
    â€œWho are you?” an angry male voice demanded. “What’s the meaning of this?”
    â€œI recognize the voice,” Myrtle said. “He was one of the men who said he worked for the London Times.”
    â€œI apologize for my ruse,” Mr. Holmes said. “And I want you to know I’m sure you know very little about your employer. However, my identity is of no consequence. All that matters is that Mr. Baker is nothing but a fraud.”
    Barely able to stand the wait, I pushed the button and the platform started down.
    â€œHow dare you!”
    â€œFor years, Mr. Becker, who now calls himself Baker, has been conducting séances. You all saw him appearing to walk through a wall when he came into this room. It’s an illusion, and easily explained. I used the same elevator to join you, and if someone would turn on all the lights, you’ll see my associate appear shortly.”
    The lift stopped and I got on.
    â€œIf you listen carefully, you’ll hear the sound of machinery,” Holmes said.
    I heard a low cacophony of muttered voices.
    The lift stopped, and I was greeted with wide stares from the guests. Holmes stood next to the table with the attendees in front of him and facing Becker and Myrtle.
    â€œNow, let’s continue with our so-called séance.”
    Myrtle got up from her chair. “I’m calling the police.”
    As she tried to move around the table, one of the female guests took her by her arm and made her sit. “Don’t. I want to hear what he has to say.”
    â€œI do too,” said a second. “I paid a lot of money for this séance.”
    â€œMr. Becker reputedly conducts his séances with the assistance of his dead brother, Sidney,” Holmes continued. “As I understand it, Mr. Becker calls Sidney’s name and goes into a trance.”
    He turned toward Myrtle. “If you’ll kindly give me your chair, my dear.”
    Myrtle’s captor jerked her to her feet.
    â€œThank you. I will now introduce my own dead brother Nigel to our gathering.”
    He settled into the chair and closed his eyes. “Nigel, please make your appearance.”
    â€œI am here, dear brother.” The guests traded gasps at the ghostly voice seemingly coming from Holmes’s stomach.
    â€œThat