"That can wait," Harry said. "Did you know that Mr. Graff's shop has just been purchased by Branford Wintour?"
Murray cocked his eyebrows at me, amused. "I had heard something of the sort, Mr. Houdini," he said drily.
"You don't find it at all curious that a dead man should be acquiring business property?"
The lieutenant took a quaff of his whiskey. "Not especially," he said. "Branford Wintour had dealings all over the city. Toys-pardon me, juvenile goods-were just a small part of his trade. I happen to know he had money in several department stores, a baking concern and at least three clothing manufacturers. An empire like that doesn't just shut down over night. Wintour's businesses will keep going for years, even if he isn't around to pull the strings."
"But the Toy Emporium! It's too much of a coincidence!"
"Is it? I've been checking around. Branford Wintour had a finger in nearly every property deal south of Canal Street for the past three years. Apparently he was fond of the neighborhood."
Harry folded his arms. "But who authorized the purchase?"
"The directors of Daedalus Incorporated."
"Do we have their names?" I asked.
The lieutenant shook his head. "I'm working on it, though. I don't like coincidences any more than you do. But you're not going to find any sinister conspiracy here, gentlemen. In all likelihood, the members of the board were simply adhering to a policy established by Wintour before his death." He knocked back the rest of his whiskey. "Of course, there is another possibility."
"What's that?" Harry asked.
"That Branford Wintour has returned from the dead in order to gain control of every toy shop in the city. For all we know, Wintour's tortured spirit is doing a brisk business in cloth bears even as we speak."
Harry lowered his chin, offended by the lieutenant's flippant tone. "I suppose you're prepared to disregard our information about Mr. Harrington just as readily?"
"Ah. That's what I wanted to speak with you gentlemen about. 1 had an interesting conversation with Lord Randall Wycliffe this morning."
"And?"
"I'm afraid he's denying all knowledge of any Mr. Harrington."
"What!" Harry leapt from his seat. "The man is a bald-faced liar!"
"He's a bald-faced liar who's taking advice from his attorneys," Lieutenant Murray answered. "Sit down, Houdini. I know you're telling the truth. I'm only saying that we're not going to be getting much cooperation from his lordship. It's clear he doesn't want to be involved, and he's willing to stake his word against yours to stay clear of the thing."
"I've never told a falsehood in my life!" Harry insisted. "The very idea is insulting!"
"Is it?" Lieutenant Murray asked. "Were the two of you being strictly candid when you represented yourselves as employees of the Cairo Club last night?"
"We never actually said that we-"
"Be that as it may, Lord Wycliffe won't be volunteering any more information, and there's very little I can do about it."
"Where does that leave us, Lieutenant?" I asked.
"Same place we were last night. Three bodies. No way of knowing if their deaths are even connected to one another."
"Harrington," Harry said grimly. "He killed them all."
"So you say, Mr. Houdini, but we have precious little evidence of that. All we know is that he approached Lord Wycliffe about brokering a deal for Le Fantфme. That's not a crime, so far as we know. I'm telling you, boys, my superiors would be very happy to see this problem vanish." He fingered his empty glass. I stood up and went to the bar for another round.
"Lord Wycliffe mentioned Wilson's saloon on Mott Street," I said when I returned. "He told us that he met Harrington there."
"So you said this morning. I'm afraid Wilson's isn't the type of establishment where they put out the red carpet for the police."
"How do you mean?" Harry asked.
"You've heard of Jake Stein?"
"The notorious criminal?" Harry's eyes brightened. "The nefarious gangland chieftain?"
"Yes, Houdini," said the lieutenant, rolling his eyes slightly. "That's the one."
"Jake Stein is a habitue of Wilson's saloon?"
"Hardly. No one's seen Jake Stein in years. But he runs every bar and disorderly house down there. A clean officer can't get anything out of those people, and the dirty ones aren't about to bite the hand that feeds them."
"How intriguing," said Harry. "A genuine den of iniquity. Tell me, Lieutenant, if I wanted to have someone killed, is Wilson's saloon the sort of place I might turn?"
"Pardon me?" The lieutenant's mouth twitched with amusement. "You and the wife not getting along, Houdini?"
"My wife is the very center of my existence, sir. Let's say I wished to remove a troublesome business rival. My brother, for instance."
"I don't think you want to have me killed, Harry," I said. "Mother would be very cross."
"I mean a truly first-rate job," Harry continued, ignoring me. "Something that might confuse the police and obscure the motive."
"You're talking about the Graffs," said Lieutenant Murray flatly.
"I am."
He sighed heavily. "You think the Graffs were killed by a hired gun?"
"It seems apparent to me that they were."
"I'm sorry, Houdini, I know these people were important to you, but in all candor-"
"Oh, I don't argue that it was artfully done," my brother said. "That was the reason for my question. Where would I go if I wanted to find someone who could perform such a task?"
"Someone who could kill both of them and make it look like a gang killing and a suicide?"
"Exactly."
"Why, that would take a real magician, wouldn't it, Houdini?"
My brother considered for a moment. "Yes," he said, "I suppose it would."
The two of them debated the matter for some time, with Lieutenant Murray probing us rather more skillfully than we questioned him. I jotted down a good many notes over the course of the discussion, but I noticed that the lieutenant filled many more pages of his pad than I did. He also managed to put away an uncommon amount of whiskey at my expense.
After an hour or so, Lieutenant Murray closed his notebook and rose to take his leave.
"One last thing," Harry said. "If my brother and I should happen across Mr. Harrington, would you be interested in speaking with him?"
The lieutenant's face turned hard. "Don't be a jackass, Houdini. Stay out of my road."
"We meet a good many people in our travels. It's not impossible that we should make his acquaintance,"
Lieutenant Murray leaned across the table and thrust his index finger under Harry's nose. "Houdini," he said, "you are quite possibly the biggest son of a bitch I've ever-"
"Lieutenant," said Harry primly, "I will thank you to leave my sainted mother out of this."
The anger drained from the lieutenant's face. "All right," he said with his short, barking laugh, "but you are the most pig-headed, irritating bas-er-individual I've ever come across."
"You are welcome to your opinion," Harry said.
"I'm grateful for that, Mr. Houdini." The lieutenant settled his hat on his head. "Thanks for the drinks, gentlemen. Now go back to pulling bunnies from top hats. Leave the police work to me." He turned and headed for the door.
Harry watched him go, rolling a coin across his knuckles. "What a most unreasonably stubborn man," he said. "One must be more open to opposing views in this world."
"You don't say."
"Oh, indeed! As our late father often said, 'Toleration is good for all or it is good for none.' "
"I don't recall him ever saying that."
"No? Someone else, perhaps."
"Harry, Lieutenant Murray has just shot down virtually every theory and idea you've had about this business. And he's ordered us to mind our own affairs. You seem to be taking this in remarkably good spirits."
"The lieutenant is not the only source of information in this town," Harry said, smiling happily.