“No, no,” said Lestrade quickly, “I only wished to introduce you to these two gentlemen. Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson, allow me to present Mr Harry Houdini.”
Upon hearing my friend’s name, the young magician was scarcely able to conceal his pleasure. “I am delighted to meet you, sir,” he said, grasping Holmes by the hand and shoulder. “I’ve admired you for years.”
“The honour is mine,” replied Holmes. “I trust that you have worked out the difficulties with your rope escape?”
“Why yes, I... wait a minute, how did you know I was having trouble with a rope escape?” In his surprise at this observation, Houdini quite forgot to take my hand and slap my shoulder. “I’ve always read about you doing that, but I never thought I’d actually see it! How did you know?”
“Simplicity itself, my dear fellow. There are several chafing wounds on both your wrists. I have seen identical wounds on the wrists of robbery and kidnap victims who had strained against their bonds for many hours. The natural conclusion is that you have spent some hours attempting to free yourself from a similar restraint, and were, perhaps, less successful than you might have hoped.”
“Wonderful!” Houdini cried. “What a trick! But I did get out of that rope tie. I was practising on a new kind of knot. Better to work it out in rehearsal than to have it come at me during a performance.” He led us towards the stage. “I sure wish Bess were here to meet you, Mr Holmes” He paused and struck a theatrical pose. “To Harry Houdini,” he intoned, “she is always the woman.”
This brief reference to one of my early Holmes stories* was clearly intended to flatter the detective. Houdini could not have known that Holmes seldom remembered anything but the titles of my stories, when he bothered to read them at all, so it meant nothing to him. Instead, Holmes proceeded immediately to the business at hand.
“Tell me, Mr Houdini, is it true that you are able to reduce your body to ectoplasm?”
The American laughed. “Is that why you came here? No, Mr Holmes, as I’ve been trying to tell Lestrade here, my magic has nothing to do with any witches or ghosts.”
“Witches and ghosts have nothing to do with it.” Lestrade insisted. “I never said that at all. I merely suggested that if you were a spiritualist you would have to hide your abilities from the public. If it became known that you were able to become immaterial, your escapes would cease to be dramatic. Where’s the excitement in an escape artist who can walk right through his chains?”
“On the contrary,” Houdini replied, “that would be the greatest act ever staged. People would pay ten bucks a head to see a real live ghost. But I am not a ghost, I’m an escape artist.”
Lestrade was not satisfied. “You insist that you are not a psychic, but I still feel that no other explanation is possible for what I have seen on this stage.”
Houdini bowed deeply. “Thank you very much, Mr Lestrade. That is the best compliment a magician could receive.”
Lestrade turned to Holmes in exasperation. “I get no where with him! Do you see why I wanted you to come down here?”
“Actually, I do not,” Holmes answered. “I’m sure you’ll forgive me, Lestrade, but your failure to comprehend Houdini’s mysteries will not cause me to embrace spiritualism. I submit that some more logical explanation has escaped your notice.”
“Are you saying I’m thick, Holmes? Or gullible? I’d like to point out he’s not merely pulling rabbits out of a hat; he’s walking through solid brick walls!”
“Pray do not grow testy, Lestrade. I did not invite this interview. Nor am I suggesting that you are slow-witted in any way. I merely observe that in this case you are quick to accept the phenomenal where a more strict logician might turn to the somatic. I have no doubt that the same disciplines which govern the science of deduction would lend some insight into the marvels of Mr Houdini.”
“Pardon me, Mr Lestrade,” Houdini broke in with exaggerated formality. “Did I just understand Mr Holmes to say that my little mysteries would give him no trouble at all?”
“That is more or less what he said.”
“Very well,” Houdini said. “Let’s just see about that.” He turned to the stage. “Franz! Come out here!” An enormous bald-headed man appeared from the wings. “Have the boys set up last night’s wall.” With a nod, the large man withdrew. “Now then, Mr Holmes,” Houdini resumed, “I think that even you will have some difficulty explaining this. Please follow me.”
He led us up a small flight of steps which brought us onto the stage. “If this were an ordinary performance, my workmen would construct a wall brick by brick while I did some smaller effects out here. That way the audience can be sure that there’s nothing tricky about the wall itself. It’s absolutely solid.” As he spoke his assistants spread a large red carpet across the back of the stage. Onto it they wheeled a low platform which supported, as Houdini had promised, a brick wall. “Observe: The wall is nine feet high, seven feet across, and two feet deep.” He slapped the hard surface with the palm of his hand. “Sturdy. Now please note that the wall is positioned so that the top and sides are visible to the audience. If I attempted to slip around or over the wall, the audience would see me.”
As he spoke Houdini’s conversational tone vanished and was replaced by a practised, resonant mode of speech in which each syllable was carefully accented. His voice travelled out to the farthest reaches of the theatre and came swelling back in waves. One seemed to hear it not just with the ears, but with all the senses.
“I have spread this carpet across the stage in order to rule out the possibility of a trapdoor. You will also note that the platform which holds the wall is only three inches high, far too low to permit me to slip under.”
The magician stepped back and gazed searchingly into the distance. “This ancient Hindu mystery has not been performed on any stage for more than two centuries. It was originally part of a sacred rite of passage. The village fakir would prove himself worthy by allowing himself to be sealed inside a deep cave from which he would miraculously emerge. I have brought the effect to England directly from Calcutta, where I was admitted to a holy council of elders—”
“Come, come now,” said Holmes.
“What is it?” Houdini snapped, his face darkening.
“Surely if you had come directly from Calcutta you would show some effects of the tropical climate? Instead you are as pale as we are! No, I observe that while your clothing is of an American cut, your collar and bootlaces are German. It seems likely that you have just spent some time in that country, as you were there recently enough to require a new collar, and long enough to have need of new bootlaces.”
Houdini paused for a moment and then opened his mouth as if to continue the oration, but immediately he thought better of it. Instead he shouted across to his assistant. “Franz! The screens!” The bald giant reappeared carrying two sections of black screen, each hinged vertically at its centre. These were placed on either side of the wall to create an enclosure which shielded a small portion from view.
“Dr Watson, if you will stand here... Lestrade there... and Mr Holmes over here... thank you very much.” He had positioned us so that the wall was seen from every angle. “Please remember, gentlemen, that I cannot travel over, under, or around the wall. I am stepping behind the screen on this side of the wall. If I appear on the far side, it can only be because I travelled through the wall to get there.”
He stopped to let us absorb his words. “Now then, if you are ready, gentlemen. I shall count three. When I am finished counting, a miracle will have occurred. One... two... are you ready?... three!”
From the other side of the barrier I heard Lestrade give a cry. “He’s done it! He’s done it again!” He rushed from behind the wall, dragging Houdini by the arm. The young magician was slightly ruffled, but otherwise no worse for his efforts. I confess that I was thoroughly baffled by the feat, and by the speed and apparent ease with which it was effected.
Holmes must have read my expression, for he
asked, “What do you make of it, old fellow?”
“I fear I can make nothing of it,” I replied.
“Nothing, Watson? You know my methods, apply them!”
I looked carefully at the American. “His hair is disordered, but I daresay mine would be as well if I passed through a solid wall!”
Houdini smiled broadly and attempted to smooth his unruly hair. “Well, Mr Holmes?”
The detective took his cherry-wood pipe from his pocket and carefully began to fill it. “Watson, you and Lestrade have often heard me assert that when one has eliminated all that is impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”
“Exactly, Holmes,” Lestrade said eagerly. “Houdini has shown that he could not get around the wall in any way. Therefore, he must have passed directly through it!”
“I’m afraid that, too, must be eliminated as impossible.” Holmes lit his pipe and sent up a cloud of white smoke. “And if Houdini had travelled over, or to either side of the wall, we would have seen him.”
“Well, he can’t very well have gone under it, Holmes. Even if there were some sort of opening in the platform, there are only three inches between the wall and the stage!”
“And,” Houdini could not help but remind us, “I can’t have used a trapdoor because this carpet is covering the stage!”
Holmes smiled benignly at him. “Indeed,” he said, “you are quite right. Any trapdoor would be covered by the carpet. And yet, I am reminded of a most instructive musical phenomenon, that of the common drum.” As he spoke, Holmes stepped down into the orchestra pit where a large set of drums stood. “In effect, every drum is but a hollow cylinder tightly covered by a flexible membrane.” Holmes reached up through one of the smaller drums and placed his hand beneath the drumhead. “Observe: If a solid plane is placed below the membrane, the drum makes no sound.” With his free hand he struck the drum, producing only a dull thud. “But when there is nothing below the surface, the membrane is allowed its natural flexibility.” He withdrew his hand and struck the drum again. A loud beat echoed through the theatre. “In the drum, sound is produced. However, the principle has other applications.”
Houdini and Lestrade stood transfixed by this singular discourse. While my companion lacked the resonance and peacockery of Houdini, his narration was made all the more compelling by its quiet logic and absolute self-assurance. I could see Houdini growing restless as Holmes continued.
“Now let us turn our attentions to Houdini himself.” Holmes, still in the orchestra pit, walked to the edge of the stage and found himself level with our feet. “I note a long scuff along the inside of the left shoe. This mark was not there a moment ago. Perhaps the shoes dislike transforming into ectoplasm?” He stepped back onto the stage and took Houdini’s arm as if it were a laboratory specimen. “What do we see here? In Houdini’s cuff buttons we find strands of red carpeting. This is extremely significant. From this we may—”
“Enough, Holmes!” Houdini snatched his arm away, his face dark purple. “You are mocking me! You are mocking the Great Houdini! You — you — “Houdini then said something in German which had a distinctly unsavoury sound. By Holmes’s expression it was clear that the meaning was not lost on him.
“I see that diplomacy is not among your talents, Mr Houdini,” said Holmes. “Perhaps you had best concentrate on those abilities which you do possess, for ill-temper is often overlooked in an accomplished performer. ‘Est quadam prodire tenus, si non datur ultra.”*
With this rather obscure quote from Horace, Sherlock Holmes turned and was gone.
____________________
* “Your powers may reach this far, if not beyond.”
War of the Worlds Page 22