by Bill Doyle
“You want the hooch?” I asked. At the same time, Judge said, “What other boxes? You can't keep us here!”
Mang gave her a smug Smile. “I have more authority than you might think,” he told her.
Judge laughed. “Whoever you are, you have the wrong idea. This box isn't even mine!”
But Mang ignored her. “You must lead me to the other boxes like this one”.
This was getting annoying. I said, “You're not listening to us. We don't know about any boxes. Who are you?”
“That will be revealed to you shortly.” Mang's whisper had a sharp edge. “Once I have what I came here for.”
Judge took a step toward him. “I demand to know Who you are!”
The man's eyes turned to slits. “All right. We'll see if this makes a difference.” Mang reached into his cape. Was he grabbing for a weapon?
I had to do something. “Wait!” I shouted. To my surprise, Mang stopped. He looked at me curiously, and I could see intelligence flashing behind his eyes. This man was not the fool he had pretended to be. I had to outsmart him somehow.
“Yes, boy?” he asked, one eyebrow arched. “I'm waiting. But what exactly am I waiting for?”
Maybe if we played along with him, I could get Mang out of the room. Then I could lock the door and pound on the walls for help—even climb out the window if I had to.
“Fine, all right.” I let my shoulders slump as a sign of defeat. “Judge, you'd better take him to the boxes.”
Dumbfounded, Judge gazed at me as if she thought I'd lost my mind.
Many illusionists claim that they have telepathic abilities.
They choose audience members and claim to communicate with them without speaking. I doubt that strangers can really accomplish such a feat But I do believe that close friend and family, through years of shared experiences, develop their own secret language.
January 4,1925
Dear Master of Telepathy
Harry Houdini told me you didn't learn my birthplace by using telepathy. When you went for a glass of water, you snuck to the public library next door! You used public records to find where I was born and returned saying you'd read my mind. Shame on You.!
Sincerely.
Ignes Bemel
Houdini helped put a stop to this “library” trick!
I stared at Judge and hoped she would understand the look on my face.
Please follow my lead. I think this might be our only chance.
It took only an instant. Her expression spoke back to me, I trust you.
Her entire body posture transformed as she decided to play along. She glared at me and yelled, “What are you doing, boy! You fool! You just gave us away” Judge took a breath and faced Mang. “All right. I'll take you to the boxes. Just don't bring the boy. I don't trust that he won't interfere.”
Smart move. She was trying to get Mang to leave me alone in the room, which would give me a chance to find a way to get help.
Mang shook his head. “I can't do that. He might alert the wrong people.”
“True.” Judge bit her lower lip as if thinking of what to do. She gave me a quick glance—Now it's your turn to trust me—and looked back at Mang.
“Then you'd better tie his hands and legs,” she said. Other people might have felt betrayed by Judge for giving Mang such an idea. But other people do not have Houdini as their hero. They can't escape ropes as easily as I can.
“Ropes…,” Mang mused, nodding. Our plan was working!
“I have a better idea,” Mang said and pulled out a pair of handcuffs from beneath his cape. Before I could protest, he sat me down and handcuffed my wrist to the leg of a heavy dresser.
“Yes,” Mang said, testing the cuffs to make sure they were secure. “This will work nicely.” Judge was speechless for a moment Clearly, she had not planned on handcuffs. But she recovered and continued with our act. “Good idea,” she said. “Let's go.”
TEC TIP
FIVE WAYS HOUDINI ESCAPES HANDCUFFS
Key: Often Houdini hides a key on himself to open the cuffs.
String: With older cuffs, Houdini can create a shoestring “lasso” to hook inside the lock and pull the bolt back.
Placement: Houdini has cuffs placed higher up on his arms–this looser fit allows him to simply slip off the cuffs.
Trick Cuffs: Houdini presses a secret lever on a pair of fake cuffs and they snap loose.
Bang: Some cuffs can be opened just by banging them–keyhole facing down—on a hard surface. Houdini sometimes hides a lead plate in his pant leg for this reason, but the heel of a shoe or the floor will do.
Mang leaned in close to me. “By the way, don't even think of shouting for help or banging on the wall. If I hear you doing either, I will be back. And I won't be happy. Come on, Miss Pinkerton, we have a date with a few boxes.”
Judge shot me one final look, Her expression was easy to read: Good luck.
Mang and Judge left the room, closing the door behind them.
No problem, I thought, looking down at the handcuffs.
I could see at a glance the best way to open these cuffs. A good knock against a hard surface should snap them right open.
Unfortunately, the cuffs were hooked to my wrist and the dresser at an awkward angle. There wasn't any way for me to bang them against the floor with enough force.
Hurry up! I shouted at myself.
With my free hand, I reached down and took off one of my shoes. I brought the hard wooden heel down on the cuff around my wrist. “There was a sharp jolt as part of the heel struck the bone of my arm.
But the metal handcuffs clattered to the floor, and just like that, I was free.
Judge! I have to help Judge!
I ran out into the hallway. I was opening my mouth to shout for help—but then I remembered Mang's threat If he heard me, things might get worse for both me and Judge.
I didn't know where Judge and Mang had gone. For all I knew they might be behind one of these doors. If I knocked on one, Mang might open it and recapture me!
Even Houdini might be stumped by this situation. I wasn't sure who I could turn to for help. Mr. Hatherford was too sick to disturb. Any of the other people in the mansion could be working with Mang.
I stood paralyzed in the center of the long hallway, unsure what to do next. On the bright side, it felt good to give the villain a face. If Mang was the bad guy, he must have been the one who kidnapped John—and probably the Scotsman, as well.
I examined the case in my head, looking for a thread that I could pull to unravel some of the mystery.
The Scotsman!
Yes, there was a thread I could really grab onto. I decided on a plan.
While part of my brain shouted at me to rush off and help Judge, I knew that was risky. Once I found them, what would I do? Mang was much bigger than I, and I couldn't overpower him.
I'd have to let Judge deal with Mang on her own. If anyone could handle the situation, it was she.
I had to find the Scotsman!
In the meantime, I would try to find the Scotsman. If I could discover what happened to him and locate him, he might be able to answer some of my questions.
The last time I had seen the Scotsman, he had been standing directly in front of me in the Great Hall. Our search party had not discovered anything in the room that showed us what might have happened to the man.
But I had not been so desperate at that point. Maybe now I would see something I had missed earlier.
I rushed down the winding hallways and stairways until I finally reached Great Hall. Rather than turn on the huge overhead lights and reveal my presence, I picked up a candelabra from the top of the grand staircase and lit the candles.
The room was now completely empty—the fires long dead.
I stood where I had interviewed the Scotsman. Once more, I replayed his disappearance and the moments after in my mind. The Scotsman standing in front of me…the power going off…darkness, confusion…Judge coming down the stairs�
��the search party…Asyla tossing a piece of paper that bounced off the back wall of a fireplace…
Wait! How could the paper have bounced off the back of the fireplace? They all had large, ornate screens to protect the rugs from sparks. The screens would have blocked the paper from striking the fireplace's top.
I turned to the fireplace that Asyla had been lounging near. The screen of the fireplace was placed off to the side. It looked like a giant, obvious exit. Could the Scotsman have climbed up the chimney?
The fire inside had long since gone dead. The fireplace was large enough for any number of people my size to fit into. I entered it and looked up. I saw immediately that there was no way the Scotsman had gone up the chimney. It was far too narrow.
I was wasting time! Judge could be in danger, and I was fumbling around in ashes!
Quickly, I examined the rest of the fireplace. I didn't see it at first. Then peering more closely, I made an amazing discovery.
A panel sat in the side wall of the fireplace. The panel had four tiles and looked like this:
Had I just uncovered a lock that somehow used the four elements, FIRE, EARTH, AIR, and WATER? There was only one way to find out.
I touched the FIRE tile, thinking it might be the key to open the lock. After all, I was standing in a fireplace. The FIRE tile felt a little loose and jiggled a bit, but nothing happened. I pressed harder, but still nothing. Going down the line, I pressed each of the tiles and got the same response: zero.
The rumrunner had put these tiles of the elements here for a reason.
What would be the most important element to a rumrunner? I thought of things that would be important to a bootlegger, and thought of the names I had rattled off to Judge earlier, trying to get her to smile: Booze, hair of the dog, firewater, hooch…
And then I had the key!
The solution was to press two tiles at the same time to create an element crucial to any rumrunner:
FIREWATER.
A slang word for liquor. I held my breath, reached out and pressed the two tiles FIRE and WATER.
With a soft whoosh, the inside wall of the fireplace swung open. I had done it!
Through the door made of brick, I saw only darkness. I grabbed a fireplace poker. My mother didn't raise a fool—I wasn't going to end up trapped again. I lay the poker on the floor across the doorway. If it started to shut behind me, the door wouldn't be able to completely close.
Grabbing the candelabra with five lit candles, I stepped through the door and into yet another secret passageway. Unlike the last one I had discovered, this passageway had a straight line of stairs that led down. In the dim light of the candles, I could make out at least two sets of footprints leading down the stairs.
Just as I thought, after I was two or three steps in, I heard a banging sound. The door had started to close, but the poker blocked its path.
At the bottom of the staircase, I found myself in what appeared to be the entrance to a dungeon. It was a circular chamber the size of a small cottage. Dangling from the low ceiling, ancient pipes that must have carried sewage or water at one time wound here and there. Six vaulted tunnels of decaying brick sprouted from the chamber like rotting branches of a tree.
Etched numbers, one through six, had been carved over the opening of each tunnel. One more legacy of the rumrunner who had built the mansion.
Which tunnel should I take? I looked more closely at the floor. The candlelight allowed me to see several feet down each tunnel, and I could see tracks in several of them.
But there was only one obvious choice. I rushed down tunnel #4, holding the candelabra in front of me. The tracks in this tunnel were the only ones that led away from the chamber.
There were rats in the tunnels!
I felt like I was racing the circle of light formed by the candles—and winning. My feet came down on damp Objects that first squished and then crunched. I refused to consider what they might be. Several terrified rats squeaked in panic as they fled into dark holes.
HOW TO BE LIKE HARRY HOUDINI BRICK WALL TRICK
A sheet is placed onstage, covering a trapdoor. Bricklayers build a brick wall on top of the sheet.
Audience members inspect the wall for hidden doors.
Screens are placed on either side of the wall.
Go behind one screen.
Your assistant under the stage should now open the trapdoor. This trapdoor will allow you to squeeze under the wall without the audience knowing.
Emerge on the other side of the wall and amaze the audience!
The tunnel took several sharp turns as I followed the tracks—and then I nearly smacked into a mold-covered wall.
It was a dead end.
No! I shouted inside my head. I must have taken the wrong tunnel and wasted precious time. But this is where the tracks had led.
I took a breath and had a closer look. A brick wall might appear to be the end of the line to most people. But when looked at through Houdini's eyes, a wall was another wonderful setup for an illusion.
Because I was looking for it, the steel ring concealed in the ground was almost instantly clear. Getting a good grip on this handle, I pulled. The brick tunnels echoed with the screeching sound of the ancient hinges. A trapdoor in the floor swung open.
Holding the candelabra down into the opening, I saw part of a small circular tunnel that was about three feet in diameter. It dipped down on this side of the wall and straightened out. I could just barely make out where the passage rose back up on the other side of the wall.
There were drag marks in the small passage, and they looked fresh. The Scotsman or even Judge could be on the other side. I would have to go in. The candelabra would be too awkward to carry, so I set it on the ground and removed a single candle. This would have to be enough light.
I lowered myself through the trapdoor, feeling like I was crawling into the mouth of a hungry lion.
If I crouched very low, I could make my way without having to crawl or rub my head against the slimy top of the tunnel. After only a few feet, the passage curved up and led to an open trapdoor.
As I climbed into what appeared to be a small chamber carved into rock, my shirt caught on the locking mechanism of the trapdoor. The door leaned back against the brick wall I had just passed under. A pipe that ran along the wall had drooped over the years, coming to rest on top of the trapdoor.
The trapdoor
Two boxes sat immediately in front of me. Bringing the candle closer, I jiggled them and heard the distinctive clink of glass against glass. I didn't need to smell it to know what the boxes contained. It was a hidden stash of liquor, and the lack of dust on the boxes let me know they had been put there recently.
I took a step further into the hidden chamber. My small candle was the only source of light. The back wall of the room, if there was one, remained hidden in the pitch black.
Just then, I heard the sound of breathing.
“Hello…?” I whispered, but inside my head, I screamed, Run!
There was silence and then, above the sound of my pounding hear, I could hear the breathing again. It sounded ragged, and I realized someone might be in trouble.
Another step, and another, and the candlelight slid along the ground…over a shoe and then a second shoe…and before long, I was looking at the Scotsman.
I gasped.
He lay face up, but a blindfold covered his eyes and gag prevented him from speaking. I saw his chest rising and lowering, and realized the sounds of breathing didn't match with his. They were coming from further inside the room. I took two more steps and…there was John.
Jumpin' John Hatherford, Judge's fiancé, the man we had all been searching for, right here in front of me. He lay awkwardly on his side, as if someone had tossed him there. He was the source of the ragged breathing.
“John?” I said. “Can you hear me?” I brought the candle down to examine his face. His closed eyes fluttered slightly, but beyond that, his pale skin showed little signs of life.
I turned to leave the small chamber—
Behind me, quick footsteps rushed out of the darkness. Before I could turn around to see who was approaching, I was grabbed roughly from behind. A large arm pinned my arms against the sides of my body, and a blindfold slid over my head.
“Let me go, Mang!” I shouted, wriggling in the strong man's grasp.
“Don't move!” a voice hissed in a husky whisper. It was a man, that much I was sure of. “I'm going to tie you up. If you struggle…”
My assailant didn't finish his sentence. He didn't need to.
The man gave me a push, indicating I should sit down on the damp floor. I felt the ends of the rope brush against me. And I was suddenly more thankful for all my hours practicing to be an illusionist than ever before.
Breath on my cheek and then the voice was whispering in my ear again. “Not to worry. You can't see it now, but I'll leave your candle up on the wall. After we land, I will let people know you are down here.”
After we land? This must be the owner of the second airplane.
I heard the shuffle of footsteps and grunting as if heavy objects were being moved—and then the trapdoor closed as my assailant left the chamber. Seconds later, a strange vibrating noise filled the room. POP! A sharp hissing was followed by the sound of running water, as if someone had just opened a large faucet all the way.
I remembered that the trapdoor had been supporting an ancient pipe. That support was removed when my assailant closed the door—and the pipe must have ruptured. Then I felt a small pool of cold liquid spread out around me.
There was no doubt: the room was filling up with water!
TEC TIP
HOUDINI'S ADVICE FOR ESCAPING FROM ROPE BINDINS.
