‘It overlooks the Public Gardens and you’d normally have a good view of the Swan Boats but unfortunately they’ve been put away for the winter season.’ he said.
Giles folded the map and stuffed it in his overcoat pocket.
‘I seem to be in luck again.’ he said cheerfully. ‘It looks as if it’s only a short walk from here and that will give me time to dig around for the clues I need.’
‘You have all afternoon to explore and ask questions and we’ll have dinner in town. I’ve been in touch with Jenny and made arrangements for us all to dine at the Cafe Rouge this evening; you’ll find it in the Statler Hilton so you won’t get lost and Jenny will meet us at about 7.0 p.m. and we can take it from there. Now!’ A.B. said rubbing his hands. ‘Can I interest you in a bite of lunch? Oh, and before I forget, I have a tip for you...don’t ignore the hotel doorman -he’s often the best source for information!’
A light but satisfying lunch later The Prof, armed with his street map, headed for the Statler Hilton Hotel on Providence Street and, after speaking with the smart and obliging uniformed doorman, made his way to the Main Lobby where he was completely mesmerised with the decor.
The lobby was enriched with the Spanish Renaissance motif, the painted and gold-leafed coffered ceiling and the Terrazzo and carpet flooring.
The walls were panelled in rich, dark American Walnut that enhanced original artwork and period antiques throughout the nerve centre for guests and visitors alike.
He had a word with receptionists, attendants and the Head of Sales and Marketing; he was invited to go upstairs and downstairs where he met and talked with an attendant on each floor, but not a single person remembered or had even heard of a magicians’ convention taking place in the vast complex in 1952 or any other year.
There was no doubt in his mind that the event had been held in the hotel, the newspaper article confirmed that, it was simply that nobody could recall any details that could help.
It was as if, like the first lines in the Boston Sunday Globe report, the Golden Anniversary and the Statler Hotel had disappeared in a puff of blue smoke
Was his mind playing tricks again? Surely the Statler Hotel and the Magicians’ Convention couldn’t vanish like the murderer in the library at Maskelyne Hall?
Up a flight of stairs from the lobby the Mezzanine level was hung with original artwork and decorative effects that evoked the magnificent opulence of the chandeliers hanging over the Main Lobby.
From conference facilities and ballrooms, dining rooms and domed ceiling theatre restaurants and cafes, the building lived up to the hotel’s original mission to be a “city within a city."
Everywhere he went he was greeted with charming courtesy. On one of the floors he met a mature employee who had some recollection of the magic convention being held for a few days but couldn’t put a date on the event.
At the mention of a bottle opener he was told the hotel did possess the equipment in some of the rooms and he was kindly allowed to see for himself but was none the wiser. The bottle opener had no significance as far as the employee was concerned and neither had the initials K.A. Giles was drawing a blank and getting nowhere fast - but nil desperandum, as his Latin tutor once cajoled him.
He was sure he’d have been totally depressed by this stage, had it not been for the splendour of the place.
As it was he was convinced that, if he remained long enough and soaked up the ambience that had been the brainchild of E.M. Statler, one of America’s most visionary businessmen, some coincidental twist of fate would come to his rescue.
He gawked when he was invited to explore the Palace of Versailles styled room in black, turquoise and gold with a parquet floor, Bacarat crystal chandeliers and velvet draperies.
History dictated that the Palace of Versailles had been built for Louis Quatorze, the sun king in the 17th century but, as yet, the only sun The Prof could count on could be seen outside this magnificent palace shining hazily on the streets of Boston
With the compliments of the hotel, afternoon tea was served to The Prof in Swan’s Court and that gave him the chance to have time out to evaluate his progress so far.
He questioned a waitress who said she believed the doorman was a bit of an amateur in magic; he was always ready to entertain her with his disappearing coins. She thought he might have sources that could take the gentleman a bit closer to knowing what had gone on in the hotel over the years.
What a fool he’d been...hadn’t A.B. warned him not to ignore the doorman? Wouldn’t it be ironic if the amiable person in uniform, who had been the first person he’d met at the hotel, now turned out to hold the secret he was looking for?
He finished and left Swan’s Court, moved through the Main Lobby and out to the Main Entrance where the friendly doorman asked if he wished a cab.
The doorman’s name was Eddie and he was, as the young lady in Swan’s Court had said, a keen amateur in the field of magic. Yes he did remember the Magician’s Conference - “Wow! Was it that long ago?"
His memory was a bit sketchy but he did recall a professional dealer in magic who’d caused quite a stir. His name had been Allen -that was his surname - and the name had been easy to remember. Why? Because it sounded the same as the middle name of the gentleman whose birthplace wasn’t far from Fayette Street where he lived in Boston.
What significance could a middle name have to imprint itself so indelibly in the memory of an amateur magician? “Why, that was easy! It was the middle name of the man who wrote what was considered by many to be the first detective story and, almost certainly the first locked room murder - “The Murders in the Rue Morgue” -Edgar Allan Poe! You see - the names had almost identical spelling!"
The doorman’s words reverberated in The Profs head. Yes, he could see; in fact he was beginning to see a lot clearer now. The fog was dispersing. He cursed himself for not conversing with Eddie in the first place. But then he might have missed.? Never mind! The end of the tunnel was coming into view.
Now Eddie wasn’t sure if the dealer with the surname Allen was of any importance but he’d been all the rage at the time."Was it that long ago?"
No, he didn’t remember Allen’s first name. He might be the K.A. he was looking for but there was someone else who might just be able to help him there. In Boylston Street there had been a famous shop called Max Holden’s Magic Shop, run by Herman Hanson, who’d been the chairman at the Convention. Mr. Hanson had been a renowned professional in magic and Eddie used to buy some small items of hand magic there.
It was there he met another magician who was now a Sergeant in the BPD - the Boston Police Department to give it the full title. No, he didn’t think Max Holden’s shop was still in Boylston Street but he was sure Sergeant Anderson was still at the Police Department.
The handshake was as substantial as the tip The Prof tendered at the end of a brief encounter and, as he buttoned up his coat and wandered on to the sidewalk, his smile ironed out all the frowns that had been gathering on his forehead. He wasn’t too clear in which direction he was walking but he didn’t care. He started whistling "Fly Me to the Moon” and was almost certain he could see the Swan Boats - even though he’d been told they were now away in winter quarters.
The Cafe Rouge was becoming busy when The Prof walked in and removed his coat. He was shown to a reserved table set for four, which he thought was rather odd, but had little time to dwell on that trifling problem as A.B. and Jennifer Berkeley approached.
When the lady was properly seated at the table four menus and a wine list were produced.
‘So, my friend, did you score in the Statler with the same amount of success as you did at the Library?’ A.B. asked with a wicked twinkle in his eyes.
‘Yes, I’d love to hear how your day has gone!’ his lawyer wife added.
‘I’ve had a bit of good luck,’ The Prof began earnestly. ‘I may have cracked the code regarding the initials K.A. although I have to admit that I’m still none the wiser about the cryptic
“bottle opener” quote!’
He scanned the menu as he continued. ‘I also have to admit I almost didn’t take your advice - about the encyclopedic doorman, I mean! Good job I did! Eddie, that’s the doorman, was a mine of information; he mentioned a Sergeant Anderson of the Boston Police Department as a possible extra source of info about what happened here and I wondered if you might just be able to make things easier for me by.?
The Prof’s appeal was cut short by A.B.’s interruption.
‘Well I sure am glad you took that advice,’ said the American, rubbing his hands, ‘I’d be glad to help...in fact I have news for you. On the recommendation of one of our tweedy Profs at college I was on the phone to someone who can help and he has agreed to join us here sometime this evening!’
‘The reason we are set for four and not three I assume,’ said Jennifer placing her napkin over her lap and indicating the place settings and additional chair at the table, ‘Are we ready to order?’
‘Your assumption does your legal powers of deduction proud, my dear,’ said A.B. ‘I’m famished and I suggest we have the Clambakes and a bottle of Chardonnay and I do commend you, Giles, for your astuteness in asking...who was it, Eddie, about.?’
‘More coincidences A.B. - you seem to be one step ahead all the time? You never cease to amaze me, but I’d like to hear more about yourselves. Did you happen to meet at College, ‘cause that would be romantic?’
‘No, sorry to disappoint you Giles, but as a matter of judicial fact, Alan and I met in the D.A.’s office, purely by chance one morning about ten years ago, shortly after I started practicing in Boston!’
’Aah! So you didn’t actually meet at Harvard?’
‘No, I’m afraid not,’ Abe Berkeley replied. ‘Jenny would’ve had to impersonate a man in order to do that and all would have been revealed in the showers after the ball game - you see Harvard, has never admitted females to the College; I’m sure that’s gonna change in the next three or four years! I certainly hope so!’
‘I didn’t know that!’ The Prof’s words showed his disappointment as he gazed at Jennifer. ‘So it obviously hasn’t been too easy to become a female attorney?’
‘No!’ Jennifer conceded. ‘I gained my juris doctor at George Washington Law School and was admitted to the D.C. Bar shortly after. Three years later I was granted admission to the New Mexico Bar as one of the earliest female attorneys - a bit of a man’s world, I’m afraid - but I’m steadily climbing the ladder!’
‘So I suggest,’ said the Harvard man, grabbing The Prof’s arm and giving it a firm squeeze, ‘that you keep in with Jenny; you never know when you’re gonna need a good lawyer - and she’s one of the best!’
‘Flatterer! Can I have that in writing?’ Turning to Giles, she asked, ‘Have you, by any chance, had a problem with the English language, as it is spoken by some of our inhabitants?’
‘No, I can’t say I have,’ said The Prof with a puzzled look on his face. Everyone has been so pleasant and easily understood - even the friendly Eddie at the door. Why do you ask?’
A.B. guffawed, fit to burst and the tears started to roll down his cheeks.
‘Oh, yeah!’ Jennifer Berkeley drawled in a strange dialect and wiped her husband’s eyes with her lace handkerchief. ‘No reason except that Alan says there’s a saying used in jest at the College that typifies some of the local dialect. It goes something like...well you tell ‘em pahdner!’
The Professor of Criminology controlled his laughter long enough to spout - ‘Ya can’t pahk ya cah in Harvihd Yahd!’
‘Which loosely translated means - you can’t park your car in Harvard Yard!’ Jennifer said, joining in the laughter.
Giles nodded in amused appreciation as he spread his napkin on the table to use as a substitute map and, pointing with his index finger he said, ‘With the help of Abe’s map today I was able to get from theah to theah!’
All three were still bubbling over when a perplexed waiter poured the wine and the main course was served.
When the coffee was brought to the table Alan Berkeley was called away. On his return a blue-uniformed officer in the Boston Police Department accompanied him. Both men looked suitably stern.
‘Whatever it is you’ve been up to, Professor,’ A.B. announced, ‘I do hope you’ve taken my advice and fixed yourself up with the services of a good lawyer. The lady seated next to you looks familiar as a criminal attorney - so allow me to introduce the gentleman I spoke to on the phone this afternoon; Sergeant John V. Anderson of the BPD.’
At an indication from the criminologist the police officer sat down and produced four compact magazines and placed them on the table in front of him.
The Prof could see that each of the magazines was headed M - U - M representing Magic - Unity - Might; The Society of American Magicians published them monthly.
Giles picked up the April, 1952 edition. It was the Boston Issue and had a picture of three magicians on the cover, including that of Herman Hanson - the Boston Convention Chairman.
He waded through page after page, much of it covering the forthcoming Convention, with mention being made of Milbourne Christopher, “the magicians’ magician of the year", as one of the many glittering entertainers set to appear in the Hotel Statler’s great ballroom.
A search of the May and June issues was made while Alan and Jennifer Berkeley were engaged in conversation with the police officer and a fresh supply of coffee was ordered. He finally picked up the July, 1952 issue and noted that the opening articles covered the Golden Anniversary Convention. This was more like it, he thought.
The names of Long Tack Sam, The Rigoletto Brothers, Ace Gorham, Slydini and John Scarne read like a “who’s who” of magic and The Prof almost forgot what he was searching for then, turning page after page finally there it was on page 37 - in black and white, at last, under - Contest Winners.
Page 37 again - same as in the Boston Sunday Globe! Yet one more strange coincidence in the entire chapter of events that continued to play havoc with the historian’s brain.
For what seemed an eternity The Prof read and reread the line that leapt out at him from the magazine.
“...Ken Allen won the professional trophy..."
K.A. was no longer the mystery man - but his illusion had still to be revealed. Even so The Prof could not contain his elation and his facial expression must have given the game away as Sergeant Anderson looked up from the others and asked ‘Have ya found what you were looking for?’
‘Yes and no!’ replied The Prof. ‘The name of Ken Allen is there but there’s no mention about the illusion he performed!’
‘Oh ya mean the guy who won the trophy? Ken Allen, the dealer! I can fill you in on that,’ he said. ‘Ya see I was theah!’
Alan and Jennifer Berkeley glanced at each other as the pronounced dialect made an impact and they struggled to suppress their glee.
‘I’m listening!’ said an expectant Giles in anticipation.
The tale that ensued from the policeman-come-magician held the attention of both Professors and the lady Attorney.
It sounded like a chapter from the writing of Clayton Rawson or John Dickson Carr.
Whilst attending the trade fair that was part of the Conference in 1952 John Anderson had heard, on the grapevine, that a leading dealer in magical apparatus was performing a brilliant illusion in one of the bedrooms set aside for the Golden Anniversary. As the dealer had apparently performed the demonstration more than once the policeman was determined to catch the act and see for himself.
The dealer’s name was Ken Allen and, in this particular hotel room there were no windows and the door to the hotel corridor was locked after his audience was inside.
Allen then invited two friends to hold up a blanket and screen him from view and, when the blanket was dropped, after a short length of time, he was nowhere to be seen - he had completely disappeared!
The two assistants invited the astounded onlookers to examine the entire room and the adjacent bath
room, including all the closets and, when no sign of the dealer had been found nor any evidence of how the disappearance was enacted, the assistants held up the blanket once more and, on the dropping of the blanket for the second time, Allen walked out from behind to breathtaking applause.
It was unquestionably, an award winning performance - even more so when he revealed how it had been done!
It seems that a day prior to his first effort in front of an audience Allen had attempted to open a bottle of beer using a bottle-opener attached to a cabinet over a washbasin in the bathroom. When the bottle top wouldn’t come away, Allen pulled harder and the cabinet swung away from the wall where it was hinged on one side. When it was against the wall there were no signs of the hinges or fixtures but when pulled out it revealed a square opening on to an airshaft that ran the full height of the hotel.
Inspired by the possibility of creating an ingenious illusion the dealer cleaned that part of the airshaft and devised a method of holding the cabinet in place once he was inside. Using rubber-soled shoes to give him a grip against the opposite wall of the shaft and prevent falling, he demonstrated a disappearing act of mind-blowing proportion that displayed the nerves normally required of a steeplejack.
To repeat the feat several times, that could’ve cost him his life, earned Ken Allen a reputation that was unique!
The stunned silence around the table at the conclusion of Sergeant Anderson’s account was broken when the police officer looked at a bemused Giles, snapped his fingers twice and asked, ‘Does that answer the question you’ve been asking yourself, Professor?’
Three pairs of American eyes stared at Giles as they waited for his reply.
‘Hmm, yes!’ he said. ‘How a bottle opener can open more than bottles?’ he muttered to himself. ‘Indeed it does, Sergeant! Indeed it does!’
Chapter 17
THE STATUE OF THREE LIES
The Statue of Three Lies Page 23