Who Done Houdini Read Online Free PDF

no identification. Emergency vehicle called to scene. Subject taken to Grace Hospital Emergency for observation.
    I had the number for the hospital in my desk index, but I knew it by heart, having called it so often. GLendale 0090.
    â€œHello, this is Timothy Wiggins of the Free Press. I cover the police and crime beat. I just got a report of an unidentified elderly man being taken to your hospital. Has he been admitted?”
    â€œYes,” a female voice answered. Luckily it didn’t sound like the woman who had greeted us on our afternoon visit. “Do you know who he is? He doesn’t seem to be able to tell us.”
    â€œI think it may be my uncle. Does he have an English accent?”
    â€œYes. Sort of like yours.”
    â€œThen I’m sure his name is Ralph Howard—at least that’s the way it’s spelled. It’s pronounced ‘Rafe.’ He left the house without telling us where he was going this morning, and we haven’t heard from him since. We’ve been worried about him. What’s his condition?”
    â€œHe’s awake and alert, though he seems quite agitated. We thought he might have had a heart attack or stroke, but all his vital signs are fine.”
    â€œWould you kindly ask him if ‘Rafe’ is his name? I’m sure he’ll answer to it. If it is, please call me back, and I’ll be down to pick him up later on this evening.”
    â€œHis doctor wants to keep him under observation for the night, but we should be able to release him sometime tomorrow.”
    I paused before continuing. “I’m sure he won’t want to spend the night alone, and he can be rather difficult. Assuming it is Uncle Ralph, would it be permissible for me to stay overnight with him?”
    â€œI’ll have to ask the doctor, but I’m almost certain it will be. May I have your phone number?”
    â€œRAndolph 8911. Please see he gets a private room. I’ll bring a draft for the hospital charges with me when I arrive.”
    Ten minutes later I got the call. The elderly man was indeed “Uncle Ralph.” The doctor said I’d be welcome to stay the night with him.
    After handing my article to Harold Mitchell for final editing before going to press, I called Violet to let her know I wouldn’t be home that night. I knew what would happen. She tee-heed in excitement and demanded I tell her everything to the tiniest detail when I returned. My shin still hurt where she kicked me, so I promised I would.
    Remembering the receptionist might still be on duty and recognize me, I pulled the slouch hat I kept at the office low over my eyes, then bundled myself in the bulky Chesterfield to help to disguise my size. Charlie Hoffman covered his mouth and snorted when he saw me.
    The weather had turned colder since that afternoon, but not yet wintry. I hoped I wasn’t too conspicuous. Strolling at a leisurely pace to kill time, I still got to the hospital in fifteen minutes.
    I sighed in relief when I found a different receptionist at the desk. A young blonde woman, well-doused with Evening in Paris, snuffed out a cigarette before handing me a clipboard and pen. A new-fangled tall radio set behind her desk blared out a turkey trot. It was the first time I had ever heard music over the airwaves and wondered if this would be a major part of that fascinating invention’s future. Turning down the loudness, she said, “Your uncle is in E wing, room 611. Please sign in on line five.”
    I scribbled a signature, making it as illegible as possible. I didn’t want Andre Beaufort to be able to read it if he checked the guest roster. I knew I would likely become persona non grata at the hospital if he discovered it was me. That’d end my crime beat with the paper for sure.
    â€œI’ll have an attendant escort you, Mr. . . . Uh . . . I’m sorry, what does that say?”
    I smiled. First hurdle cleared. “Higgins. Jimmy