Who Done Houdini Read Online Free PDF Page A

and she turned her back to us. After an over-the-shoulder look in our direction, she picked up her phone. The call lasted longer than I expected, and Holmes and I traded quizzical glances. At last she hung up and returned. “Mr. Beaufort is on his way here to talk to you. He’s the hospital administrator.”
    â€œAdministrator?” Holmes echoed in an angry voice.
    â€œYes. He’ll answer all your questions.”
    I shook my head. “We were hoping to talk with the people who were here when Mr. Houdini was brought in.”
    â€œThat won’t be possible,” said a deep baritone voice.
    Andre Beaufort, more than six-feet tall and solidly built, stood before me. The perfect palace guard, I expected to see him cross his arms across his chest. Instead he greeted us with a cautious smile and welcoming hand.
    Mr. Holmes refused to shake it. I did, and nearly got my fingers broken.
    â€œWhat do you mean that’s not possible?” Holmes asked sharply. “Aren’t they on duty at this time?”
    â€œI’m truly sorry, but I can’t respond to that, either. All I can say is that the hospital is not allowed to answer any further public inquiries, only those from the police.”
    â€œHas there been an inquest?” I asked.
    â€œThat’s something you’ll have to find out from the authorities. I’m puzzled by your belated interest in Mr. Houdini’s death, Mr. Wiggins. He passed away more than a week ago, and we’ve kept your paper abreast of all the developments.”
    â€œYour reports have been sketchy, at best.” I said.
    â€œI’m curious as to why we can’t speak to his care providers,” Mr. Holmes said. “Is there some concern the hospital may face some liability for Mr. Houdini’s treatment here?”
    Beaufort glared at him. “None whatsoever. We did everything we could to help him. Unfortunately he was well past saving when he arrived. And to make things clear, it’s Mrs. Houdini who’s responsible for the suppression of information, and not Grace Hospital. Mr. Houdini was removed from here the day after his passing. From what I understand, no one has viewed the body since he died.”
    â€œWhy such secrecy?” Mr. Holmes asked. “It sounds as if someone is trying to keep something from the public.”
    â€œMake of it what you will. I’ve heard that Mr. Houdini’s brother has taken possession of all of the stage props and books, and Mr. Houdini’s body was sent back to New York in his stage coffin. As to what happened after the show Saturday night, that information will have to come from the police.”
    â€œThank you,” Mr. Holmes said in an icy tone. “We appreciate your help. Come along, Wiggins.”
    Beaufort stood in place and watched us leave the hospital.
    â€œThings get more intriguing all the time, don’t they?” I said lightly.
    Mr. Holmes squinted. “Indeed, but if good Mr. Beaufort thinks we can’t come up with other ways to find out what we need to know, he’s sadly mistaken.”
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    At 4:30 that afternoon, I was at my desk finishing my article for the morning edition when the teletype machine in the next room came to life. As a beat reporter for the Free Press, I had a direct link with the downtown police precinct. I immediately turned on radio station KOP for further details. The Detroit Free Press and Detroit News also have their own stations, WCX and WWJ respectively, and I once jokingly asked why people would pay a nickel for our papers when they could get their news by radio for free. The first reports of Houdini’s illness came over KOP at eleven o’clock at night on Halloween Eve.
    The new alert had more than the usual interest for me.
    Officer McDaniels reports elderly man— I smiled at the words —unconscious on sidewalk in front of Vinton Building at Woodward and Congress. Subject poorly dressed and has