Read Who Done Houdini for Free Online

. . .” she said in a halting voice. “Let me know if there’s anything you need.” She paused and averted her eyes. “I’ll have to get another temperature later.”
    â€œI’ll be counting the seconds to your return,” Holmes said dryly.
    â€œHave a good rest.”
    We both held our breath until she left the room.
    â€œWhat do you make of that, Wiggins?”
    â€œIncredible. We know he did finish his act . . . unless . . .”
    Mr. Holmes arched an eyebrow. “Unless what?”
    â€œUnless he was planning to expose another fraudulent medium and hadn’t been able to get to it.”
    He beamed at me. “Exactly what I was thinking, dear fellow. If so, I would very much like to know who that may have been.”
    I felt my blood rising. Everything so far was working better than we could have hoped for. “So would I. We have hours ahead of us. Do you play backgammon? I brought a board and some checkers.”
    â€œI’ve heard of the game, of course, but I’m afraid I’ve never played. I’m sure I can learn it if you explain it to me.”
    I laid the checkerboard in front of me and turned it over to reveal a backgammon board. I put the red pieces in their proper places. “Set your checkers as a mirror-image of mine. I’ll get out the dice.”
    Learning the movements of the men by the roll of the dice and the building of safe points took but a few rolls. Within fifteen minutes he was playing with the skill of a veteran player.
    On our first play with one die each, he rolled a six and I a one.
    â€œAha! Six-one. I see I can build my seven point. Just try to leap now.”
    I didn’t like his tone of voice. Some rolls later he had a lock-out, all six contiguous points in front of him built, and I had one of my pieces sitting helplessly on the edge of the board waiting for a chance to come back in. It was every backgammon player’s nightmare.
    I glared at him. “You haven’t been truthful with me, Mr. Holmes. I can tell you’ve played the game before. Undoubtedly many times.”
    â€œI have not, but there’s hardly anything to it. All one needs is a rudimentary knowledge of mathematical probability and an eye for the strategic deployment of pieces, but—mostly—a large dose of luck. The element of luck alone makes the game no match for the skills required to play chess.”
    Blood rising, I asked, “What about the occasions when you have alternatively good options? Or alternatively disastrous?”
    He shrugged. “Those are out of my hands. Do you wish to concede?”
    â€œAbsolutely not! Play on, MacDuff.”
    He did, and I got gammoned. All my pieces were still on the board when he removed the last of his. I’d been playing the game for years and didn’t like being beaten so easily by a rank beginner. In my anger I didn’t tell him I had just lost a double game.
    â€œBeginner’s luck,” I growled. “Place your pieces. I want a rematch.”
    â€œThis all seems rather pointless,” Holmes protested. “I can see no reason for a player to resign, no matter how hopeless his game may be. All he need do is play on and hope for a miracle.”
    I decided it was impolitic to tell him about gammons and backgammons, or the use of the doubling cube that raised the price of losing exponentially every time it was turned, or that contestants usually played for money. Though he was obviously bored, we played on. I won the occasional game. His evening meal arrived at 6:30.
    He took one look at the salad greens without dressing, chicken broth, gelatin dessert, and tea and ordered me to fetch him something substantial to eat. The best I could do was a ham sandwich on rye from the automat in the hospital restaurant. I delivered it in a napkin when I returned to his room.
    He grumbled with every bite, then finished his tray after he was done with the sandwich.