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row. From that moment his spell over the audience was unbroken.
    What was it that was so enchanting about this man? These many years later, I still cannot be certain. He had about him a kind of valour which issued from attributes well beyond being able to release himself from ropes and chains. I fear Holmes was right to accuse me of tinging these chronicles with romanticism; but there was something in Harry Houdini’s eyes, something in the knowing wink he would give to the audience as he faced a new challenge, trammelled in steel and leather. He seemed to be saying, “We’ll do this together, right?” And when, after many tense moments, he would at last emerge, wrung with perspiration, clothes torn and hands bleeding, there was indeed a sense of having shared in an immeasurable triumph.
    The first part of the evening passed quickly as he moved through a series of escapes and challenges, each more baffling than the last, until he came to what I took to be the climax of the first act.
    “My friends,” said Houdini, as the heavy maroon curtain loweredbehind him, “at this point in my programme I usually exhibit my legendary Walking-Through-a-Brick-Wall illusion. Tonight, however, I will present you with an even more remarkable feat. Ladies and gentlemen, for the first time on any stage, Harry Houdini’s Water Torture Cell!”
    An ominous tune rose from the orchestra pit as the curtain lifted to reveal a tall glass cabinet filled to the top with water. It was very stark in its construction. While some attempt had been made to suggest oriental scrollwork about its base, the cabinet was in effect four planes of glass joined at the corners by solid wood struts, a design so simple as to preclude any possible gimmickery.
    “Before I can proceed with this escape,” Houdini announced, “I require the assistance of a volunteer from the audience.” He stepped to the edge of the stage and peered out over the audience. “I see that we have a distinguished visitor with us this evening, the author of the amusing Sherlock Holmes mystery tales. Would you be so kind, Dr Watson?”
    I never would have guessed that my readers would respond so enthusiastically to my presence, but as I rose from my seat there came a rousing cheer and a tumultuous round of applause. I blush to recall that I behaved rather foolishly in the face of this demonstration. I stood at my place for some time with tears in my eyes, nodding my head and trying to communicate my gratitude.
    “Come along, Doctor,” Houdini prodded. “I believe you know the way.” Once again I climbed the steps to the stage. “Dr Watson,” said Houdini, leading me to the glass cabinet, “please examine the Water Torture Cell. Do you detect any false bottom or sliding panel through which I might escape?”
    I shook my head.
    “The panels are solid glass? The wood solid oak?”
    I nodded.
    “Thank you. Now please have a look at these foot manacles. My feetwill be locked into these wooden stocks and I will be lowered, head first, into the Water Torture Cell. The foot stocks will then be padlocked to the top of the cabinet and I will be helplessly suspended in the water. Have I explained this clearly? Have I made it” — he winked at the audience — “elementary?”
    The audience laughed and a fresh wave of applause began, though how that word became so intimately associated with Holmes I do not know.
    “Do you see any means by which I might free myself from the cabinet, Doctor?”
    I shook my head once more.
    “Would you care to try the escape yourself?”
    I shook my head more vigorously, producing yet another wave of laughter.
    “Thank you, Dr Watson. It is time now for the test to begin.” Two assistants came forward and fastened the heavy stocks to Houdini’s ankles. “For good measure,” said he, “I shall also wear these handcuffs. It is infinitely harder to escape from handcuffs when one is underwater. That, however, will be the least of my problems. Doctor,