Abigail had no desire whatever to be confined alone in her stateroom with Maude until she was a good deal sleepier, and decided to take advantage of the opportunity of having two chaperons to finally ask the magician the question that had been bothering her since their first night out. "I pray you, sir," she said as he settled down next to her upon the curved settee after seating his wife and Maude in chairs facing them. "How did it come to pass that you knew I did not care to use a gun?"
"And would you use a firearm should the occasion arise?" he asked with a penetrating gaze.
"Never again." With a dark glance at Maude, she straightened her skirts so that they fell most becomingly. "I would very much like to know who told you."
Houdini smiled. "Then you do not believe I am psychic?"
"Mrs. Houdini told me how you worked the thought reading trick."
"Giving away all my secrets, my love?" He glared at his wife with a mock serious frown. "If you continue thus, I shall not be able to make a living."
"Miss Danforth was much too clever, my dear," she replied with a grin. "She guessed."
Ordinarily Abigail would have taken umbrage at the accusation that she had guessed instead of deducing an answer through logic. But in this case, the magician's wife was accurate enough in her use of the word, and she let it pass. "How many of your - ah - tricks, or shall I say, how much of the magic you perform depends upon having a conspirator?" she asked.
"Almost all, Miss Danforth," he replied easily. "Perhaps you would be easier in your mind about what I do if you considered me an illusionist."
Abigail was astonished. Not so much by the answer, but that he would admit to it. She felt a grudging admiration for his candor and, unfurling her fan, fluttered it delicately.
"I amaze and mystify," he said dramatically. "Only to amuse," he continued with a winning smile. "No harm done."
"Then might I ask how one of your more famous illusions is done?" Maude asked. "For the life of me I cannot imagine how you do it unless there is magic of some kind involved."
"It rather depends upon which illusion you are referring to, Miss Cunningham."
"How do you disappear from your horse?" she asked. "You vanish into thin air. There is absolutely no place for you to go. I would dearly love to know how you do it," she said, leaning forward eagerly.
"It is actually quite simple," Houdini replied with a shrug. "I disappear by becoming obvious."
"I beg your pardon?" Maude was utterly mystified.
"I will wager he has somehow taken a page from "The Purloined Letter", Miss Cunningham," Abigail replied.
"Exactly so!" he exclaimed.
"What on earth are you two talking about?" Maude asked. "What has a story by Poe to do with Houdini's disappearing from a horse in full view of an audience, pray tell?"
"I hide in plain sight," Houdini replied.
"But how?" Maude asked, losing patience.
"I am led on stage by my attendants who are all dressed in white. As I sit upon the horse, I am dressed in blue. My suit is made of paper." Holding out his hand toward Abigail to indicate that she should supply the answer, he added. "Need I say more, Miss Danforth?"
"How many attendants are there?" Abigail asked.
"Precisely!" he exclaimed.
Exasperated, Maude shook her head. "I fail to understand what you two are talking about," she said, casting a glance at Mrs. Houdini, who shrugged and waited to hear what Abigail would say.
"I would wager that under Mr. Houdini's paper costume, he is dressed like an attendant," Abigail said after thinking a moment. "When he is hidden from the audience by the cloth held high by more attendants, he tears off the suit, jumps off his horse and, placing a cap upon his head, mingles with the attendants on stage."
Maude is amazed. "Has no one ever thought of counting the number of attendants?"
"Did you count them, Miss Cunningham?" Mrs. Houdini asked.
Maude blushed. "Well, no, I guess not," she replied, fanning herself briskly.
"I fear my husband is not being fair to himself, dear ladies," Mrs. Houdini said with an adoring glance at her husband. "Most of his illusions are really quite dangerous, requiring much practice and dexterity on his part."
"Not so!" the magician exclaimed. "While they are designed to appear death defying, I would be foolish to perform them if I thought I would kill myself."
"But how do you escape when you are handcuffed, placed in a box which is shackled, and lowered into water?" Maude asked. "Is that not magic?"
"Not if he has a key about his person," Abigail said with an arched brow, and sly smile.
"But he is searched by an entire committee," Maude protested.
"Did he not tell us he always works with a cohort?" Abigail replied. "He could easily pass this slight of hand artist a key." She turned to Houdini. "Am I not right?"
"I am very glad you are not in the audience, Miss Danforth," he replied with a smile. "I would have a very difficult time of it. I fear, our Dr. Conan Doyle thinks I am psychic. I wish I could convince him that I am a mere mortal."
"A most extraordinary mortal, sir," Abigail said graciously. And to her surprise, she meant it. Not only was he most generous in sharing his expertise, but he seemed genuinely respectful of his wife, as though she were actually an equal. A mate, not a possession. "But pray do not take your leave without telling me how you found out about my distaste for firearms?"
"Since I have told you all of my secrets, I will save that one for myself, Miss Danforth." Standing, he held his hand out to his wife. "Come, my dear, we have packing to do if we are to disembark in the morning." As she stood by his side, he continued. "I must confess I am not sorry to be leaving The Seascape, although I hasten to add that it has been a great pleasure getting to know you, Miss Danforth." Taking her extended hand, he kissed her fingertips in farewell. "And you, Miss Cunningham," he continued, bestowing upon her the same parting gesture. "There is too much unhappiness on board for my taste."
Maude gained her feet to leave, as did Abigail, who said with a wry smile, "Or can it be that happiness is merely an illusion?"