“It seems like such a long time ago,” Seth said, “but really, it was only one hundred and fifty years ago.”
They turned around to the back of the display and there positioned in the center of the wall was the gun that killed President Abraham Lincoln.
“It’s so tiny,” Madison said.
Indeed it was. The brown handle of the gun was small and extended only two inches under the trigger and the steel barrel was only about three inches in length.
“Says that Booth dropped the gun after shooting Lincoln,” Seth said, reading the inscription outside the glass enclosure.
Below the gun outside of the glass case was a round lead ball and they read that this was the size of the bullet that killed the President. This was also small, weighing only about an ounce. They proceeded along the corridor and next came a timeline of April 14, 1865. On one side of the wall was Lincoln’s timeline from eight in the morning until ten that night. On the other side was Booth’s timeline. An eerie silence fell into the room as the four of them read to themselves.
They took the elevator up to the second floor and walked along the back row of seats in the theater toward Lincoln’s box. They looked below at the theater and saw a crowd of about fifteen people scattered among the seats listening to a gray-haired woman speaking on stage.
“Lincoln was actually late to the theater and the play, Our American Cousin, had already started. But when the President arrived, the play stopped and everyone applauded as the orchestra played Hail to the Chief.”
Seth led them down along the row of seats and waited their turn to enter the narrow passageway that led to the President’s private box.
“John Parker,” the woman on stage continued, “a Washington police officer, waited outside the balcony box while the President and his guests, his wife Mary of course, Clara Harris, and Major Henry Rathbone watched the play inside. Ironically enough, Lincoln created the Secret Service that very day, but no one had been put into place just yet outside of his normal security staff.
“During intermission, Parker decided to leave the theater and get a drink with Lincoln’s footman and coachman and did not return. At approximately ten-fifteen that night, John Wilkes Booth entered Lincoln’s private box and secured a piece of wood against the door so it could not be opened from the outside. He pulled out a small Deringer and waited until the precise moment of laughter from the crowd and shot Lincoln in the back of the head. He then dropped the gun and stabbed Major Rathbone before he could react. It was said that Booth shouted ‘Sic Semper Tyrannis!’ meaning Thus Always to Tyrants. He then jumped from that balcony onto this stage, breaking his leg in the process, and escaped into the night.”
“Fascinating,” Willie said. It was their turn and they made their way toward the viewing box. There were two doors and both were locked. The first door on their left was shielded in hard plastic from the waist up to allow visitors to view the famous box. The plastic was even curved outward so that you could stick your head in and see more clearly.
The box was very small. It had two high-backed chairs and a small bench, both covered in dark red velvet. The view to the stage was such that when seated in the box, the President could almost look straight down on the actors. Willie and Arthur stepped away as Madison and Seth took their turn looking into the room.
“How did Booth get into the theater?” someone asked from the crowd.
“Good question,” the woman replied. “Booth was actually an actor right here at this very theater. He tied up his horse around back and was let inside. He came here all the time so he did not arouse any suspicion.”
Seth and Madison joined the other men and they walked back to the top of the spiral staircase and went to the lower level to listen to the remainder of the talk that was just wrapping up.
“In fact,” the woman said, “there’s going to be an auction right here for about fifteen items from this Theater that were left over from the renovation.”
“When is this?” Seth asked.
“Tonight at seven pm,” she replied. “If you check at the front, they can probably let you know if there are any tickets left.”
“Thanks,” Seth said. “Do you know if there are going to be any items for sale that were related to President Lincoln?”
“Let’s see, there are a few items left, but I don’t know if any are going to be auctioned off. Let me check.” She reached under her lectern and returned with a binder. After flipping through a couple of pages she stopped and drew her finger down a list. “Hmm, it looks like they are auctioning off two things. The red velvet rope and the actual door to his box.”
“Thank you,” Seth said. They walked off toward the ticket booth in the front. “Do you think the door could be it?”
Madison walked alongside and shrugged her shoulder. “I have no idea. It could be anywhere. It was his private box and no one else entered it. What better place?”
They reached the ticket booth and found that indeed there were tickets left so they bought four tickets to the auction. They were instructed to be in the theater at six-thirty sharp and to have a checkbook, ID, and two major credit cards if they wished to purchase anything.
“How are we going to come up with the money to buy the door?” Seth asked.
“I’ll take care of that, son,” his granddad replied.
Seth started to ask a question, but his granddad held up his hand in protest and that was the end of the discussion. It was just past twelve o’clock so they went over to the Hard Rock Café on the corner and ordered iced tea and sandwiches. Soon they were back outside with a few hours to kill before the auction.
“It’ll take too long to drive back to my house then all the way over here in this traffic,” Willie said.
“What’s nearby?” Seth asked.
Arthur took out the map that was given to him by the security guard earlier and said, “Oh, I want to go to the National Museum of Crime and Punishment. It’s only a few blocks from here.”
They all agreed and spent the next few hours as tourists.
CHAPTER 30
Ford’s Theater initially held almost 600 occupants, but since the renovation that number had been cut in half. The auction took place on the main stage, and about seventy-five percent of the floor-level seats were filled up. Seth and Madison were the youngest in the crowd, as most people were in their fifties and sixties. Rich, lush red carpet softened their step as they found seats on the left-hand side of the stage. Ironically, they had a clear view of Lincoln’s box on the other side of the theater. Flags draped the outside of the box and a framed picture of George Washington hung beneath the balcony. The seats resembled those at a movie theater and they were comfortable after a long day on their feet.
After they had handed in their tickets they were given four numbered paddles for bidding purposes. Seth informed the woman that they only needed one so he returned them. On his paddle was written the number 212 in large black numerals. He was going to do the bidding only if Arthur agreed on the price. They estimated that the door might go for anywhere between ten and fifteen thousand dollars. After all, it was only a door.
The auctioneer got settled onstage and a curtain was drawn back from the stage so that the auctioned items could be revealed. The auctioneer was a young man with red hair. He wore a black suit and white gloves. A few others, both men and women, were scattered about the stage arranging the items and showcasing them for the spectators.
The auctioneer spent the better part of the first hour selling things that they had no interest in. This, of course, caused both Willie and Arthur to nod off; sometimes waking up when there was brief applause. The man was fast, just like on TV, Seth thought. Not as fast as some he’d seen, but he still got the job done. There was a lot of artwork being sold. The Theater shuffled artwork in and out every six months so as to keep the place fresh and to give artists a chance at selling their work at the auction. There were some historical pieces but nothing that related to Lincoln until the man came to th
e velvet rope.
“This here ladies and gentlemen is an eight foot velvet rope that marked the entrance to President Abraham Lincoln’s private box which you see above us.” He raised his left arm, indicating the location of the box. “Just imagine how many times Mr. President and his wife laid their hands upon this very rope.”
A man also dressed in black and wearing white gloves, slowly walked back and forth on the stage, the velvet rope laid over his arms.
“We shall start the bidding at one thousand dollars,” he began. “Do I hear one thousand?”
A paddle went up in the front row. Seth followed the action. The auctioneer moved in increments of five hundred dollars until it came down to two men at the eight thousand dollar mark.
“Do we have eight thousand?” the man on stage said into the microphone. “Eight thousand, eight thousand.” His eyes scanned the room. “Eight thousand, going once…going twice….sold to one eight six for seven thousand five hundred.” The man concluded the bidding with a smack of the gavel he was holding.
The applause was greater this time.
“Next up on the list, we have the door to President Abraham Lincoln’s private box which you see above us. He extended his arm like before and all one hundred pairs of eyes followed him once again to the item on display. This time two men held the door, both donning the white gloves. They held the white door upright with both hands, walked ten paces then put it down. This was then repeated for the entire length of the stage. It looked pretty beat up, even from this distance. Scuff marks and holes battered the narrow door.
“Ready son?” Arthur asked.
Seth leaned forward and gripped the paddle. “If that rope went for seventy-five hundred, we may be out of our league here.”
“I told you not to worry about it,” Arthur said.
This time the auctioneer began the bidding at twenty-five hundred and a few people jumped in right away. Seth had never been to an auction before but he knew the smart thing to do was not to bid up the price of the item you wanted to buy. It was best to wait on it, and then jump in. The door passed the five thousand mark and continued through ten thousand not five minutes later. There was a lull in the action so Seth stuck up his paddle.
“We have ten five, over here to my right, new bidder, ten five. Do we have eleven?”
The man who had taken it to ten hesitated but eventually put up his paddle. He and Seth went at it until twelve thousand five hundred. The man looked up at the auctioneer and slowly shook his head; he was not taking it to thirteen.
“Yes,” Madison said softly. “Almost ours.”
“Do we have thirteen, thirteen? Current bid is twelve five, do I hear thirteen? Going once…”
“Come on,” Seth said under his breath.
“Going twice…”
Seth smiled as the man picked up the gavel and raised it six inches over the lectern.
“Sss….thirteen, we have thirteen, new bidder in the back number 214. Thirteen, do we have thirteen five?”
Seth heart sunk into his chest. Who had just topped his bid? He turned in his seat and stared into the cold, steel eyes of the Brit he encountered outside of Madison’s house.
“What the?” he said softly, turning back in his chair. They’d been followed again, but how?
“Seth!” Madison said, elbowing him in the stomach.
Seth held up his paddle and continued the bidding. His thoughts had distracted him and he almost lost it. He looked over at his granddad who only gave him thumbs up to continue the bidding. The man in the back came back over top of him, and Seth did the same. They topped eighteen thousand in mere seconds but the guy in the back was slowing down his bids. The red-haired woman next to him was on the phone and looking like she was pleading with someone on the other end.
Minutes later Seth held up his paddle at nineteen thousand five hundred. He looked over at his granddad who simply shrugged his shoulders. He turned back to see the woman close the phone and shake her head.
“Twenty, twenty, do I hear twenty?”
Seth and his bidding foe locked eyes and a smile crept across his face. He had won.
“Going once…going twice…sold to bidder 212. Congratulations.”
The loudest applause of the night was for Seth who had just paid nineteen thousand five hundred for a door. But it wasn’t just any door.
They settled up at the end of the auction using multiple credit cards. Arthur only had one and the limit was reached, so Willie used his, and Seth had put three thousand on his, with promises of a pay back. Arthur had no real revelation of why he wanted to spend the money or where it came from. He just insisted he would be the one footing the bill, stating, “I can’t take it with me.” Seth was worried the nineteen five would be all for naught if they found nothing.
After they signed their credit card statements, they had to discuss transportation and delivery of the door. Madison was so excited that she wanted to throw it in Willie’s pick-up and bring it back to his house, but the theater wouldn’t allow any such delivery. They wanted to deliver it themselves, or pack it securely for them for the ride home. Seth, remembering his foes at the auction, knew they would be followed. If they were followed home or anywhere else, those people would take the door and their quest would be over. He had another idea.
He approached a nearby security guard and asked, “Do you have a room in the back that we could use for a brief period of time?”
The husky man in the red sport coat with bronze buckles looked at him in surprise.
Seth restated his question, “Sir, we just bought an item at the auction and would like to look at it in private before taking it home. Do you have a room where we can view this?”
The man nodded his head and told them to follow him.
He led them through a cavernous maze of rooms in the back of Ford’s Theater. At one point Seth thought he was going down when he was actually going up. They arrived at a conference room and Seth instructed the guard to have the door brought to them there. He also put two twenty dollar bills in his hand and told the man to stand guard outside the door and keep it locked.
“Why?” the guard asked.
“Listen, we just paid twenty grand for this thing and I don’t wanna be bothered while I check it out. Fair enough?”
The guard just nodded, took the two twenties and left them alone.
When the door closed there was excitement and anticipation in the room. It was windowless with an oak conference table in the center surrounded by what looked to be comfortable vinyl chairs, typically used in an office. In the back of the room there was another door and Seth went over to make sure it was locked. There was a pitcher of water on a side table with condensation oozing down its side. Little droplets of water clung to the glass, reminders of the ice that melted away. Madison went over and poured herself a glass as Seth spoke.
“We have to prepare ourselves that this may be another dead end so let’s not get our hopes up too high.”
Arthur collapsed into a chair. “Well, I just paid twenty grand for this door so it better be something.”
They all sat around the table in silence for a few moments before there was a knock on the door. Seth rose from his chair and went to the door.
“Yes?” he said.
“I’m here with the door,” came the response on the other side.
Seth twisted the brass knob and opened the door. The security guard from earlier was standing there with an outstretched arm, leading two other men into the room. They carried the door into the room, still with their white gloves on. The white paint was very faded, it was about seven feet in height and it was obviously heavy as the two men held their breath carrying it in. They leaned it against the nearest wall and soon left. Willie, Arthur and Madison joined Seth, approaching the door like it was a time bomb.
“So here it is,” Willie said.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Arthur said, “the door to President Abraham Lincoln’s private box at Ford’s Theater.”
>
Madison was the first to move toward the door, hands touching the wood ever so gently. She moved her hand down to the hole which at one time held the door knob. There were literally scratches and scuff marks on half the door.
“This is a piece of crap for twenty grand,” Arthur said.
“It’s a piece of history,” Madison said.
Now everyone was touching it, running their fingers over the wood ever so gently as if touching a newborn child.
“What’s this hole for?” Madison wondered out loud. About a third of the way into the middle and halfway up was a round hole, about the size of the bullet they saw earlier.
“Lincoln’s security drilled that hole,” Willie said. “That way, they could look in on the President without disturbing him.”
Seth was busy studying the contours of the wood, looking for an opening like the one Madison spotted on the floor of the tomb at Mount Vernon. He flipped it over and did the same on the other side. There was no noticeable gap in which a secret compartment could hold a treasure.
“There’s nothing here,” Madison stated.
Seth ignored her and knelt down to examine the lower portion and felt the urge to agree with her but he didn’t. He sat on the ground and said, “Pick it up.”
Willie and Arthur grabbed the door on either side and heaved the door into the air about six inches.
“Higher,” Seth said, leaning over with his face inches from the floor. “Tilt it a little.”
They did so that the door was about twenty degrees titled toward them.
Arthur struggled with the piece and said, “Hurry up, this thing is heavy.”
Seth saw it at once.
“Bring it over to the table.” He got up and helped the men take the door over to the conference table and carefully set it on the flat surface.
“Look,” he said.
He pointed toward the bottom of the door. The grain on the bottom of the wood was worn, probably from all of the opening and closing over the years. The wood was thicker than most doors, about three inches. Two thirds of the way back towards the hinges, the grain was smoother to the touch and it was not the same color that encompassed the rest of the door. There was a small slit in the door that ran along the edge from front to back. He stuck his fingernail it its edge and tried to pull open what looked like a hidden compartment. He could not get it open. Madison brushed him aside and tried with her longer fingernails to no avail.
The Lost Journal Page 17
