This revelation caused a sensation in the courtroom. Graff went on to disclose that after the newspaper article had appeared, Cologne Police Commissioner Riefer had interrogated Graff, Lott, and Josephi. The transcripts of this investigation had been sent to Berlin, because “in these statements the bribery of Berlin officers had been mentioned.” Graff ’s lawyer then asked that the files be retrieved from Berlin and that the police commissioner testify. The next day Commissioner Riefer merely testified that he “had the impression that Josephi wanted to say that such certifications in general can be obtained in fraudulent ways.”
There was no further mention of the bribing of Berlin police officials and no attempt at all to raise the issue of Houdini’s commission of a crime. In fact, the trial devolved into another venue for Houdini to exhibit his skills. And he had certainly prepared for this all-important stage. “I knew in order to win my lawsuit I would have to open any lock that was placed before me,” Houdini wrote in his own Conjurer’s Monthly magazine. “The best practice I could obtain was to procure a position as a repair locksmith in some small shop.” Houdini then apprenticed at the shop of his friend Mueller, a Berlin locksmith. “I would pass 6 to 10 hours daily, picking locks, and soon with the assistance of the four marked picks, I could open any lock.” He came to court prepared too. One of the Cologne papers covering this sensational trial indicated that Houdini “had brought an entire suitcase filled with cuffs and locks and made all sorts of experiments to prove his skill.”
During the proceedings, Houdini seemed to have a lot more latitude than he would have in an American court. “I…proved that I was a regular lawyer,” he boasted in a letter to his friend Jim Bard. “I mixed the witness all up, and made them admit that they were told to lie…Should I win, it will be the greatest advertising that I have ever had.” He also admitted that Bess wasn’t holding up too well, “this worry has helped to give her a nervous spell.”
On March 1, 1902 Houdini wrote Bard again to crow about the verdict. “I win my case hands down…[Graff] swore to a whole pack of lies, and when the other witness [Lott] came in, why I made him look like a dummy, and he gave the whole plot away.” After some self-righteous indignation over his honor, Houdini admitted how he came out on top. “What really saved my cas[e], was that I showed the judge how I opened my cuffs, and that was really the best thing that I could have done.”
The court found Graff guilty of slandering Houdini and ordered him to pay two hundred marks (about $40 at that time). The newspaper was fined fifty marks. Houdini himself was fined three marks for publicly insulting the officer when he cried, “This officer is a common liar” from the stage, when Graff denied he was testing Houdini with a dead lock. Graff persisted in appealing the verdict and after another drawn-out trial with twenty-five Cologne police officials testifying and Houdini bringing in witnesses from London and Vilna, Houdini once again demonstrated his ability to defeat a lock that Graff provided. This time Graff ’s burden increased considerably—he was forced to pay all court costs, including travel expenses and reimbursing Houdini for missed dates. Houdini’s sweetest revenge came when the court ordered a public apology from the kaiser be issued to Houdini and printed in all the leading Cologne newspapers, the costs of which were borne by the patrolman. The apology would become a centerpiece in Houdini’s pitch book in the years to come.
Secret Service agents Griffin and Ahearn had been on the case for weeks now, but finally they were about to hit the jackpot. Their surveillance of a Philadelphia anarchist ring had been ongoing, as per Chief Wilkie’s orders, and had led them to their present location—at the bottom of a coal chute, eavesdropping on the revolutionaries, who, much to the agents’ dismay, were just now talking about assassinating President McKinley. They strained to hear the details of the conversation through the bin, but just as the plotters were about to announce who had been chosen to do the actual killing, a massive load of coal was dumped on them from above, and the assassin’s name was drowned out in the rumble.
During the summer of 1901, Secret Service Chief John Wilkie intensified his agency’s surveillance of anarchists in the United States, after receiving disturbing reports of the growing presence of anarchist propagandists in major cities. His funds were limited and his staff was small, but after hearing his Philadelphia agents’ chilling report, he immediately doubled the unofficial detail that was protecting the president, illegally diverting the money from his counterfeiting budget.
Wilkie was devastated when, after issuing warnings to President McKinley’s personal secretary, the president was shot and killed by an anarchist on September 6. The new president, Theodore Roosevelt, railed: “Anarchy is a crime against the whole human race; and all mankind should band against the anarchists.” Chief Wilkie had a new mandate.
On April 3, 1902, Houdini, drained from his grueling court case and almost two years of constant touring, boarded the Deutschland steamer on his way home for a visit. There would be no rest for the weary, however. Once in New York, Houdini began a ten-day whirlwind visit that could only be described as manic. “I was so busy that I really did not have time to sleep,” Houdini wrote his friend W. D. LeRoy. “I was home 10 days and slept one night, the rest of the time I was out, and slept in my motor car, while my brothers drove me about.”
Houdini told LeRoy that he attended to a lot of business out of town too. According to his letter, he took a train to Washington, D.C., where he claimed to meet his manager, Martin Beck. The two then rode for thirty hours in a Pullman, going to Pittsburgh and back to Washington, “never sleeping except when nature called a halt. I tell you I lived 4 months in those 10 days.” There’s no reason to doubt Houdini’s indefatigable energy in this period but there is some reason to question whether he was being candid with LeRoy. Houdini had terminated Beck as his manager in July of 1901. While they remained friendly and Houdini would seek out Beck’s advice, it’s odd to think that they had enough important things to discuss to warrant a thirty-hour sleepless marathon session on a private Pullman car, only to have Beck repeat the same career advice—stay in Europe until they get tired of him—that Beck had previously counseled in their correspondence.
A long-suppressed manuscript by Walter Bowen, a former private secretary to a chief of the Secret Service and its official historian, sheds light on an alternative scenario. Originally titled The U.S. Secret Service: A Chronicle, Bowen’s book was substantially reworked by Harry Neal, a former assistant chief, and eventually published in a drastically edited form in 1960 as The U.S. Secret Service.
Bowen’s original manuscript contained a large chapter on Wilkie that revealed, for the first time anywhere, that in 1902 (after his interview in early April with The Washington Post) “without publicity, the chief disappeared from Washington and was absent for four or five months traveling through Europe. He visited every capital on the continent and secured the planned cooperation of the police and national authorities in a comprehensive system of keeping track of dangerous anarchists.”
Houdini, bound and manacled. From the collection of Dr. Bruce Averbook
That Wilkie would meet his counterpart in England, Superintendent Melville, is a foregone conclusion. That Wilkie met with Houdini before his own visit to Europe, debriefed him, and discussed the prospect of obtaining information from Russia, the epicenter of the anarchist movement, is an intriguing possibility.
Since I left America, I have been able to experiment with all of my former ideas and inventions, that I was unable to attempt in America, and do you know all the ideas are great?
—HOUDINI TO MAGICIAN FRIEND HARRY S. THOMPSON, JULY 16, 1902
Houdini somehow found time to develop his own inventions during this period. When we examine what he was actually experimenting with, we find that many of these innovations have an application in the field of espionage. He told The New York Herald that he invented rubber heels and cameras that work only once. The Boston Transcript reported that he invented “an envelope which cannot be unsea
led by steam without bringing to light the word ‘opened’ and a wash which will remove printer’s ink from paper”…hardly innovations of much use to magicians. In his own Conjurer’s Monthly, he touted the use of a solution of chloride of cobalt for sending invisible messages. When heat is applied to paper that has been written on with this substance, “the letters appear in a bluish-green, which will vanish in a few moments.” In the same issue, he notes that while he was in Germany he “purchased a simple method of secret writing.” Houdini called it “a windowed cipher.”
Besides using ciphers to transmit secret embedded messages, Houdini communicated with interested parties through the pages of magic and show business magazines. Sometimes he did it anonymously, using classified ads, but he also would convey information through his regular column in Mahatma magazine, the official organ of the Society of American Magicians. Under the byline Herr N. Osey, ostensibly a traveling German reporting on magicians abroad, Houdini would often write about himself in the third person and may have been tipping his collusion with the German police when he wrote, “How he ever obtained the Royal Certificates from the Berlin police is a greater mystery to me than his handcuff act.”
Houdini also wrote a regular column under his own name for The Dramatic Mirror, a weekly show business trade paper published in New York. Most of his dispatches contained invaluable practical information for the professional trouper faced with touring in Europe, and he also conveyed information that would be of interest to Melville or Wilkie. On July 14, writing from Essen Ruhr, which is where the Krupp factory was located, he reports on a strange riot at a summer park where a crowd gathered to see a balloon ascension. “Despite the fact that Germany is known as a very strict ‘police governed country,’ strange things happen here just the same as if the police never were heard of,” he prefaced his report, then went on to give a detailed, hilarious account of the systematic destruction of the park after a balloonist refused to launch his vehicle. What was interesting from a strategic point of view was Houdini’s assessment of the response of the police and the bureaucratic chain of command that kept the police helpless watching the rioting until orders from Berlin were passed down the line. Also, for years Germany’s experiments with the military applications of ballooning had attracted much attention in England and elsewhere, and secret agents had been sent into Germany to file detailed reports on all balloon ascents. Here was a report transmitted in a most disingenuous way, for all interested parties to see.
Houdini finished out the rest of the year dividing his time between Germany and England. Although he was making an excellent living, his success hadn’t gone to his head. He could joke in letters referring to himself and Bess as “two young? people that are roaming around trying to make an honest million.” His generosity continued unabated—when he won a bet from a locksmith in Vienna, he gave the money to the stagehands. Bess and Harry lived a completely unextravagant life—riding third class on the trains, sharing living expenses in Prague with his stage manager so that his room rental would be seventy-five cents a day—but he never forgot his pledge to his dying father. Responding to his friend Dr. Waitt’s complaint about the rising cost of coal, Houdini wrote back, “I know all about the coal prices, as I am proud to say I have to keep my old mother, and she has explained to me WHY she must have more money.” He had set her up in a nice new apartment, “the nicest little home,” where he hoped to reside when he returned to the United States. It was a far cry from the days when “I had to figure out how far I could travel and how much beefsteak I could eat, so as not to interfere with other little expenses that would occur.”
Houdini loved children and went out of his way to entertain the sick and handicapped among them.Library of Congress
Meanwhile, Harry and Bess continued on their romantic, idyllic journey around Europe. Over the years, Houdini revealed very little about the intimate details of his relationship with Bess. He certainly credited his success to her, calling her his “lucky charm.” A series of notes that he left her that expressed his affection survive. In many cases they indicate that Houdini had woken early to attend to work and didn’t want to disturb Bess, so he’d gotten his own coffee or breakfast. “Honey-Baby-Pretty-Lamby, I did not want to awaken you by ordering coffee. My babykins must sleep. So I’ll dine at automat. Will return about 2. All my love + more H.” Affixed to some of these were sentimental love poems. Then there were the notes that simply affirmed his feeling toward her. Bess claimed that Houdini would sometimes leave six notes or letters a day for her, the sheer volume of which suggests that she somehow needed to be constantly reminded of his feelings toward her. Some of the notes suggest a man walking on eggshells. Houdini’s letters to friends are full of comments on Bess’s fragility, noting that she’s constantly getting “sick” or having an attack of “nerves.” Others commented on it too. Martin Beck closed a business letter to Houdini with “Hoping you are well and your wife is not cross, I remain, with best regards…”
Houdini loved children. He never missed a chance to perform at an orphanage. When he played Edinburgh, he was shocked at the number of children who were shoeless in the winter, so he bought three hundred pairs of shoes and, with the supporting acts as assistants, invited the city’s poor children into the theater for a fitting. He spent countless hours entertaining his friends’ children. Yet he and Bess never had children of their own. We know that there was a medical issue that prevented them from conceiving. Anecdotal family evidence points to Bess’s inability to bear children. Adoption had been discussed but deferred due to the ongoing familial obligations he had inherited from his father.
In January of 1903, Houdini played the Rembrandt Theater in Amsterdam. He shared the bill with his old friend Jim Bard and a new friend, a singer and actress named Milla Barry. By February, Houdini had moved on to Germany, where he wrote Bard.
My Dear Jim,
Never in your letters mention Barry or even her letter B. Have had some fearfuol [sic] trouble, will tell you all when you see me. Bess and I are almost squared, but she was sick. B tried her damdest to break us up, but…
Unfortunately Bard’s letters to Houdini on this topic have vanished, which is somewhat strange since Houdini kept a great deal of his received correspondence, especially from intimates like Jim Bard. We do have Houdini’s side of the correspondence, and on March 5, he addressed the Barry issue with Bard again:
My Dear Jim,
I had to laugh when I read your letter regarding Barry [. W]ho said that I run away with her, and how did they know that my baggage was still at the depot??? But such is life. This affair began to be a very stern affair after we left Amsterdam and [theater manager] Levin can tell you a lot of things if he desires to. But again I tell you such is life…I am having a hell of a time, and it will become worse…Keep away from Kepple [sic] Street in London, unless you want them all to know your business.
8
Taming the Bear
THIS IS NOT FAIR, CHIEF LEBEDOEFF. I specified that no extra locks were to be used,” Houdini protested.
“Shall I inform the newspapers that you have been defeated by the carette before you have even entered it?” the chief of the Russian Secret Police inquired.
“No, I will accept the challenge,” Houdini relented. “Even if the terms have been altered.”
“Throw him in,” Lebedoeff ordered.
The door was opened and two Russian officers picked up the handcuffed and leg-shackled nearly nude magician and deposited him in the back of the dreaded Siberian Transport Cell, which had been positioned in a corner of the courtyard of the old Butirskaya prison in Moscow. It looked impregnable, like a steel safe on wheels, as well it should, for this was the device that was used to convey Russia’s most dangerous criminals to their exile and confinement in the dreaded Siberia. The cell itself was lined with zinc sheeting, a practical adornment since the carette drivers provided no bathroom breaks on the long journey east. The only light came through a small window on the door, and ev
en that was secured with steel bars. The lock was a good three feet below the window, welded to the outside of the door.
Houdini heard the ominous sound of the massive tumblers engaging as Lebedoeff himself locked the door and added additional chains and padlocks. Then he pressed his face up against the window.
The dreaded Siberian Transport Cell. Inset: another view of the carette. From the collection of Pavel Goldin
“One more thing, Mr. Houdini,” the chief said. “I want to inform you that the key I used to secure the lock will not unlock it. The nearest unlocking key is in the possession of a prison warder on the Siberian border, which is about a twenty-one-day journey. It would be a cold trip.”
Lebedoeff laughed and moved away from the van. Now Houdini was alone. Within a minute he had released himself from the handcuffs and shackles, amazed that the Russians had used the very-easy-to-defeat British cuffs. Now all he had to do was break out of this impregnable Black Maria.
When Houdini and his new assistant, Franz Kukol, had inspected the carette the previous day, they had immediately discerned its weak point. Houdini had made a big show of examining the door lock and the distance of the lock from the small barred window but that was misdirection to divert the attention of the Russians away from Kukol, who by dropping his matchbook had a chance to get a glimpse of the underside of the carette. Sure enough, there were only plain boards beneath the body of the cell. Houdini sounded out the thickness of the zinc during his perusal of the door lock, and the escape plan was hatched. It would simply be a case of smuggling in two small tools—a miniature metal cutting tool, somewhat like a can opener, and a gigli saw, a coil of wire whose edge had been notched into saw teeth, originally used by surgeons to cut through the top of a human skull and also a perennial favorite of jailbreakers around the world. Houdini wasn’t going to escape out the door; he was going to slice through the zinc, saw through the wooden slats, and escape from under the vehicle.
The Secret Life of Houdini Page 15