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“Hardly enough to feed a partridge.”
    â€œI don’t remember you being such a hearty eater,” I said.
    â€œI get bored when I’m away from my laboratory. When is that damnable physician supposed to be here?”
    His mood didn’t improve when I suggested we go back to our backgammon games.
    â€œAn utter waste of time, Wiggins.”
    â€œCheckers, then?”
    His nostrils flared. “An even bigger waste. I learned all the move combinations years ago so every game will end in a draw or a victory for me. I’m surprised you haven’t done so, too. Why didn’t you bring your chess set?”
    I didn’t want to tell him it was because I never could beat him, so I turned on the radio next to the bed. I had been told every single-patient room in the hospital had a radio. With a derisive snort, Mr. Holmes rolled onto his side to catch a nap.
    It lasted but a few minutes, ending with a knock on the door.
    Not wanting to be seen by someone who might recognize me, I made a dash for the loo. I was glad I did when I heard the voice.
    â€œGood evening to you. How are we feeling this evening?”
    â€œOur dear queen and I am quite well, thank you. Are you Dr. Kennedy?”
    Dr. Kennedy sounded as though he was taken aback. “I am. And I take it you are Ralph Howard.”
    â€œThe same. I understand you were Harry Houdini’s surgeon.”
    I hadn’t expected Mr. Holmes to move in for the kill so quickly. Obviously, neither had Dr. Kennedy. Caught off guard, the doctor stammered. “Uh, that’s what it says in the papers. And that is all I will say about it.”
    â€œYou may be required to be a bit more forthcoming in the future, Doctor. Continental Life Insurance has a sizable policy on Mr. Houdini that must pay a double benefit for accidental death. You can understand that we want to be very sure his death was indeed accidental.”
    â€œIs that so?” Dr. Kennedy said icily. “Then I’ll certainly lodge a complaint with your company. You gained entry to our hospital by feigning illness and now accuse me of malpractice. Your gall astonishes me.”
    Mr. Holmes’s tone softened. “I’m making no such accusation, Doctor. I’ve heard rumors from the police that Mr. Houdini’s death was not caused by a ruptured appendix, but may be the result of a homicide. Poisoning, most likely.”
    I could imagine the doctor’s eyes widening in astonishment. Finally the pot boiled over. “I’m not supposed to talk about this, but that rumor is patently false. There’s no doubt in my mind that he had peritonitis caused by the bursting of a septic appendix. His whole stomach was inflamed. We flushed it several times with saline solution to clear it.”
    I waited for the next exchange. Finally Mr. Holmes said, “Is such inflammation common with peritonitis?”
    â€œIt can be.”
    â€œWhat happened to the appendix after it was removed?”
    â€œI sent it to the hospital laboratory.”
    â€œAnd they confirmed your diagnosis?”
    The doctor sighed angrily. “Absolutely. Now I have nothing more to say.”
    Holmes didn’t quit, “Why did you perform a second operation?”
    â€œNo comment.”
    I heard Mr. Holmes swing out of his bed. I was also sure I heard the doctor take a step backward.
    â€œYou knew Mr. Houdini was struck in the stomach between performances in Montreal. Would the blow have been sufficient to rupture the appendix?”
    After a moment’s silence, Kennedy, still angry, said, “Possibly. I’ve never heard of such a thing though. All I know is Mr. Houdini should have been hospitalized long ago. By his own admission he had been sick for more than two weeks when he arrived in Detroit.”
    â€œI’ll make my report,” Mr. Holmes said. “You can be sure your name will not come up as the source of my information. As things stand, I