“I really think this has gone on long enough,” one of the men onstage said. “The poor fellow obviously can’t get out. We tied the bonds too tight. Open the trunk.”

I sensed the agony of indecision in the face of Mr. Irving.

“Open it up! For God’s sake open it up!” Voices were coming from the audience.

“Who has a key?” Mr. Irving demanded.

“I know where the key is.” I ran to Houdini’s frock coat and reached for the inside pocket. My fingers touched what felt like two keys. Clearly he hadn’t been taking any chances at one getting mislaid this time. I was so tense by now that my fingers refused to obey me, fumbled, and got caught up in the jacket lining. I forced my hand to obey me, grabbed both keys, and rushed across the stage to the waiting men. They had already wheeled aside the cabinet. The trunk lay there, still locked and untouched.

“Here.” I handed Mr. Irving the key and he knelt beside the trunk. At any second I expected to hear a laugh and to see Harry Houdini appear from somewhere else in the theater.

“I fooled you good and proper that time, didn’t I?” he’d say.

Mr. Irving tried the key. “It doesn’t fit,” he said.

“There’s a second key. Try this.” I thrust it into his hand. He put it into the lock and jiggled it. Then he tried the second lock. “This one doesn’t work either,” he said, throwing them down. “Someone get the ax again. We’ll have to break it open.”

I watched in fascination, still half expecting this to be a stunt. Someone ran backstage, found the ax, and handed it to Mr. Irving. “Hold it steady, Ernest,” he commanded, and swung at the first lock. After several attacks the locks swung open and he lifted the lid. The dark velvet bag lay in the trunk, not moving.

“For God’s sake get him out of there!” someone shouted.

Stagehands rushed forward to help the volunteers and the manager to lift the bag from the trunk and place it on the stage. One of the men was fumbling to undo the knot that held the bag tightly shut. “It won’t open. Get a knife!” he shouted.

“Is there a doctor in the house?” the manager had to ask for the third time in a week.

Someone came running back with a knife and slit the string that held the mouth of the bag shut. At last he had it free and wrenched open the bag. Then I heard a gasp from those around me and stared down in disbelief and horror.

A complete stranger lay in the bag, tied up with rope, eyes wide open in surprise, not moving.

Eighteen