MAGICAL MEANS
a meeting of mind

By Toby Philpott & Bobby Campbell
STORYTELLERS

In January 1923, in New York, Houdini sits in his huge library, surrounded not only by books on magic and the occult, but trophies of all kinds from his worldwide travels, including a collection of magic wands that had once belonged to famous conjurors.

Although he started in poverty, as part of an immigrant family, he has worked hard in every kind of sideshow and carnival, medicine show and circus in the USA, before finally making a breakthrough while touring Europe with The Escape Act which became his trademark. Ambitiously, or arrogantly, he now likes to bill himself as "The Greatest Magician in the World".

Sitting, musing, he thinks back to the time when he first knew he had escaped from the poverty trap - and realized that he was going to succeed beyond even his wildest dreams.

At that very moment, thousands of miles away, in Cefalu, on the island of Sicily, Aleister Crowley lies shivering in the unheated farmhouse commune which he grandly calls the Abbey of Thelema.

Feverish, addicted to heroin and cocaine, penniless, he stares at the garish images painted on the wall of his bedroom, the Room of Nightmares. He wonders at the ordeal he finds himself undergoing. He considers himself "The Greatest Magician in the World", and doesn't understand why so few people believe him.

His recently published book has not solved his serious financial problems and his latest supporter seems as ill as himself (and may even die). Deliriously, he thinks back to the joys and freedom of his affluent and independent youth...

These two very different kinds of magician met (fnord) just once, twenty years before...

London, England

20th September 1903

In the centre of London the streets were busy with traffic. Horse-drawn omnibuses with spiral staircases, hand-drawn carts and even the occasional car vied for place with bustling pedestrians and street traders under the slightly eerie light of the modern gaslights which threw odd shadows on the twilight mist.

In Piccadilly a hansom cab pulled up and a short, grey-haired, but powerfully built man descended and crossed the road towards The Egyptian Hall. This wonderful place, he knew, had been built as an exhibition hall earlier in the previous century, at the height of the British obsession with all things Egyptian. Later it had been taken over by Jasper Maskelyne and his partner Cooke, Royal Illusionists and sceptical Anti-Spiritualists, and they had turned it into the home of British stage magic. With a permanent theatre dedicated to their art of illusion they could achieve effects that a touring show could never manage.

The old man looked up, to meet the gaze of Osiris and Isis, the guardians of the door. The daunting effect of their combined glares seemed slightly softened by the modern billboards that loomed in front of them, announcing the latest in Animated Photographs, and other delights.

Looking down once more, he found a more complete programme for the evening announced on a poster, including (as well as the motion pictures) a mind-reading act, hand shadows, and a satirical play, complete with the levitation of a 'guru'. He smiled to himself.

Across the road, a hawk-faced man in a deerstalker hat leaned against a gas lamp, puffing on his pipe, and assessing the old man in an unstudied way (no need to trigger the 'sense of being looked at').

The grey-haired man entered the foyer, passed the table selling books denouncing Theosophy, and headed for the bar. In the crowd at the bar he noticed a tall, impressive young man, with penetrating brown eyes and thinning brown hair, in the velvet jacket, flouncy shirt, and floppy bow tie of a decadent poet - savouring a brandy and cigar, and looking around with a cynical gleam.

The older man got to the bar, but said "Just a glass of water, please."

The poet looked amused and amazed at this modest order, and peered curiously at the new arrival with the startling blue-grey eyes, and an air of power, in spite of his walking stick and bent posture.

A bell rang to announce the imminent start of the show, and the crowd found their way into a surprisingly intimate theatre, which seated (perhaps) 200 people, and settled into their seats.

The poet chose a seat from which he could watch his prey, as part of his study of his fellow humans. On stage a couple appeared to read each others minds, and, even when the man came into the audience to be handed various unusual items by members of the audience, the blindfolded woman onstage seemed able to describe what he was holding. The poet could see the old man scribbling in a notebook...and became so absorbed, he didn’t notice when the woman on stage asked "Is there anyone here with the initials AC?" but received no response.

The next act involved hand-shadows, a simple but striking skill, as many children have formed a butterfly or a dog with their hands in front of a candle, but the hands of an expert can appear to do apparently impossible things. The performer was concealed behind the screen, but by using the bright light shining from behind contrived to create a series of animals, including a bird of prey…preening, and stretching its wings.

Mr Maskelyne himself, recognisable by his fine moustache, came on stage to announce the next demonstration. At the snap of his fingers, a beam of light from the back of the room, shining over the heads of the audience, began to throw extraordinary moving images onto the front of the screen, accompanied by improvised piano music - a whole new form of magic – and the people on the screen appeared to dance around on the ceiling…

At the interval the audience retreated to the foyer, but talk of the moving pictures dominated their animated conversation, as this was still the first time many people had seen such miracles, and it all seemed so 'modern' and appropriate to the start of a new century.

The poet took his new cigar and brandy over towards the man he had been observing, who was standing quietly alone, and initiated a conversation, in a rather posh English voice. "I couldn't help noticing that you took notes. Can I assume you are a fellow magician?"

The smaller man twinkled slightly, and in an American accent with slight mid-European echoes, replied, "You could say that!"

"I dabble a little myself - but only find real magic truly interesting - I can make myself invisible, for instance."

"I have to ask what you mean by that. I hope you don't believe in this spiritualist nonsense!"

"Ah no! That just took the place of Christianity for the gullible, after Darwin challenged their cosy picture of the world, and left them scared in an empty universe!"

"I have no faith myself, but I know a little about how these stage tricks can be done."

He looked down at his programme, which includes the automata Psycho, who was the talk of the town, and the magical playlet "Modern Witchery" - satirising the Theosophist's turning to the East for a religion, with their Secret Masters in the Himalayas, and vast cycles of time through which humans evolve...and their prediction of a New Age on the horizon.

A bell sounded again, and the audience returned to their places.

The curtains opened, and a turbaned automata was revealed onstage - seated cross-legged on a cushion, but balanced on a glass cylinder, which appears to isolate it from any external controls. A member of the audience was invited onstage to play cards with Psycho, but the machine easily outplayed him. More scribbling in the notebook.

And finally the magical play, a feature of Maskelyne and Cooke's, this evening teasing the Theosophists, but with a levitation which had everyone hushed and awed as the 'Secret Master' floated up in the air with no visible means of support. People gasped, the old man leaned forward, peering through a small set of opera glasses, before settling back to sketch something in his book.

After the show, the audience spilled into the foyer, still talking excitedly. The 'poet' approached the 'old man' again.

"I didn't introduce myself. I am Aleister Crowley, Laird of Boleskine Manor - cigar?"

The old man, appearing quite impressed, took a step back and almost bowed, but waved aside the offer. "My apologies sir, but I neither smoke nor drink alcohol. I remain a humble traveller - Mr Weiss, at your service."

"So did the levitation impress you Mr, er, Vice?"

"Very pretty, but rather easy to do on a stage. I would find it more impressive here in a public place."

"But that can't be done, surely?"

“Oh, easy enough, if you know the trick. Allow me to demonstrate." He moved a few feet into a corner of the room, then looked over his shoulder, "Watch my feet."

Crowley, bemused, looked down at the old man's feet, only to see both of them rise at least four inches from the floor. Startled, he looked around, but no-one else appeared to have witnessed this, and by the time he looked back the old man had landed again, turned, and walked back towards him, smiling.

"That was rather impressive!"

"Oh, just an old gag from my days in vaudeville."

"Can you read minds, too?"

"Yes, but my method remains a secret between my wife and myself."

Crowley laughed loudly and rudely. "I mostly try to keep secrets FROM my wife! Which reminds me, I have to meet her at the Cafe Royal. Can't keep my new bride waiting..."

And with that, he saluted his companion and walked out into the night.

The Café Royal

Later that evening Houdini and his wife descended from a cab, and approached the famous Cafe Royal. The door was opened for them to reveal a phantasmagoria of gilt, smoke and mirrors, in which the self-regarding crowd of chattering folk seemed multiplied to infinity. A crowd dressed to be seen. The Cafe had become the most fashionable place to go, and among its guests mingled writers and politicians, soldiers and ne'er-do-wells, aristocrats and impoverished artists...

Monsieur Blot, the Maitre D', spotted Houdini coming through the door, and announced his arrival to the room.

"My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen, I would ask you to welcome a most extraordinary performer from the United States of America - The King of Handcuffs - Mr Harry Houdini and his wife."

Houdini was a short powerful man, with tight curly black hair, and bright blue-grey eyes, and he stood proudly, dominating the room with his glance, while his attractive wife clung shyly to his arm. Polite applause rippled around even this jaded crowd.

Aleister Crowley was a regular at the Cafe, and had a table of his own, at which he was sitting, with his striking, red-haired wife, and an entourage of fellow wits. He was playing two games of chess, simultaneously.

Houdini noticed him, and ignoring the Maitre D's guiding hand, he smiled confidently, and approached the table with a slight bow.

"Good evening, my Laird."

There was some suppressed sniggering amongst the cronies.

"You would say 'Lord'," corrected Crowley, taking a knight with a flourish.

"Except he's no more a lord, than you're a king,” said one of the group.

Crowley hushed his friend with a look.

"You seem somehow familiar..."

"Ah yes," said Houdini, "we met earlier this evening, when I was in disguise - forgive the subterfuge."

"Aha!"

"I did not wish to upstage Mr Maskelyne, and was not sure of my welcome - hence the touch of espionage and intrigue."

Crowley smiled. "I have been known to adopt such alternative costumes and names myself, at times!"

"Do you perform, my Lord?"

More suppressed mirth from the cynical group, once more stopped by Crowley's glare.

"You could say that. But now that we are being open with each other, I remember you said that you used to read minds, too - although now you merely spend your time annoying policemen by escaping from any cuffs, leg irons, straitjackets or cells they attempt to confine you with?"

"My wife and I," Houdini proudly indicated shy Bess, "learned our trade the hard way, in the touring shows of America - and we learned many secrets in the process."

Crowley narrowed his eyes, "Mind powers interest me greatly. Perhaps you would care to demonstrate?"

"Ah, we really don't do that any more."

Rose Crowley leaned forward, and touched Houdini’s arm, "It would greatly amuse us if you could give us a simple demonstration," she said, huskily.

Houdini stepped back slightly. "Very well, I can never refuse a challenge. Please turn away for a moment, Bess."

Bess turned her back, and covered her eyes with her fan.

Harry approached the table, and in a low voice said, "If you would be so kind as to hand me any small object that you have."

Rose reached into her bag, and handed him something, which he then concealed from the gaze of the onlookers gathering around.

"Bess, tell me what I am holding, right now."

"A small statuette."

"And what does it portray?"

"A seated Buddha, smiling."

Rose clapped her hands. "Wonderful! Thank-you so much. I am sorry to impose such a test on you."

Houdini looked pleased and bowed slightly. "And now, if you will forgive us, we must make our escape," he smiled, "to go to eat."

Crowley leaned back, as they walked away. "So that is The Great Houdini," he mused, "Hmmm."

A friend laughed. "He's already more famous with his little conjuring tricks, than you'll ever become with all your books and rituals, Aleister!"

Crowley looked at him sharply. "I wouldn't be so sure about that..."

Then, snapping out of his thoughtful mood, he raised his voice, took back his space, and announced to anyone within hearing "Enough! I must go now. I have an appointment with a Total Eclipse of the Sun."

"But," protested one of his crowd, "you can't see that from the Northern Hemisphere!"

"Perhaps not," said Crowley, "but you can feel it." And with that he and Rose swept out of the Cafe with great panache.

At that moment, Robert Falcon Scott, somewhere in Antarctica, patiently waited in hope of witnessing the solar eclipse, but in vain, as he later noted in his diary.

21st September 1903

In the small hours, at 4:31 Greenwich Mean Time, the Moon totally eclipsed the Sun.

By the morning, Crowley could be found sitting beneath the great dome of the Reading Room of the British Library, and the astrological charts he was referring to told him that Pluto (God of the Underworld), passing through Gemini (the Sign of the Twins), would go retrograde that very day...he looked at his watch...and got up decisively.

Meanwhile, just over the road from the main gate of the British Museum, Houdini was holding court in Davenport's Magic Shop. Although he was most famous for his escapes, he delighted in the company of magicians showing each other subtle manoeuvres with playing cards, and they, in turn, were always pleased to host such a famous guest.

At last Houdini left the shop, and was surprised to see Crowley coming out of the large wrought-iron gates that led to the grand pillared entrance to the Museum. Crowley raised his hand in ironic greeting.

"We meet again," said Houdini. "What a coincidence."

"What makes you so sure it is just a coincidence?"

"What else?"

"There are other kinds of magic than mere tricks."

Houdini bristled slightly. "I consider it an insult to my art to call them 'mere tricks'. As you can tell from my fame, I have spent far more time studying the psychology of the crowd, than simply doing exercises. My mind is the key that sets me free."

"Indeed. We have more in common than you might imagine. I have spent the last few years studying the psychology of the ordinary, and the extraordinary, man."

Houdini attempted politeness. "What do you do for a living, if I may be so bold as to ask?"

Crowley laughed loudly at this. "Ah, I do not work for a living at all! I spend my whole time in study."

"Is that a library over the road?"

"Well, yes, but much more besides. The museum contains all the plunder of the British Empire, from all the countries of the world."

"Really? So far I have only travelled in the colder climates - Germany and Russia, and so on."

"I don't suppose the police of the Tsar and the Kaiser enjoyed being humiliated by an American!"

Houdini smiled at this. "I don't suppose they did. But I am no ordinary American."

Crowley nodded. "Do you have a few moments to spare? This is my only opportunity to talk to you, as I will shortly be leaving for Paris, then Cairo, and eventually on to Ceylon, for my honeymoon." He took Houdini gently by the arm, and began to steer him towards the museum.

"Ah, I love Paris!" said Houdini. "I have seen the captivating moving pictures of M’sieur Georges Méliès, at the Théâtre Robert-Houdin. Still, I can't really approve of so many treasures being stolen from the British colonies and conquests, and hoarded here."

"Mmm, yes, but some still seem to retain their magick, and as a shaman/showman you might get some energy and inspiration from them,” said Crowley, as they began to climb the wide steps to the main door.

"When I went to India to climb mountains," he continued, "my friend was arrested as a spy. You didn't get involved in the Great Game yourself, when in Russia?"

"Forgive me, I do not understand - I went as an honoured guest."

"Ah yes. And no-one asked you to discretely observe and bring back information?"

"No," said Houdini, rankling slightly, "I am my own man!"

"Quite!" chuckled Crowley, “so you haven’t met Mr William Melville, or Mycroft and his fellow conspirators at the Diogenes Club?”

"No, I am not familiar with those particular gentlemen, sorry,” said Houdini, then, changing the subject possibly a little too quickly, “But, you said you do not work, and have studied 'real magic'. You seem too well educated to be superstitious..."

"Ah, secret societies intrigued me for a while, but they seemed full of mediocre minds, and charlatans fooling themselves."

"So you saw through them?"

"Oh yes! But I did learn some useful mind tricks, of concentration and so on, which have proved useful when risking my neck in the mountains, for winning at chess, and when practicing yoga."

"Yoga?"

"When travelling in the East I studied the local religions, and their physical and mental disciplines, and have written on the subject."

They were now strolling through a gallery filled with exquisite statues of Hindu gods and goddesses, and had stopped in front of a large golden Buddha.

"So you are an author, too?"

"In my humble way," laughed Crowley.

"How would you sum up what you learned from this ‘Yoga’ and such disciplines?"

"Sit still. Stop thinking. Shut up. Get out!" laughed Crowley.

They peered through a door, into the great dome, lined with books.

Houdini looked thoughtful. "I have begun to collect what I intend to be the finest library on magical, psychic and spiritual subjects in the world" he said.

"Indeed, I would be most interested to see your collection ... I myself have collected some very mysterious books, but they probably appear more like religious texts to you, than the art of theatre."

"Perhaps I have discovered some of these ancient skills myself," said Houdini, "as I have trained myself to hold my breath for several minutes under water, to contort my body in such a manner that I can escape from any constraint, and to suppress the fear of danger and death in order to concentrate calmly on the immediate task of the moment."

Crowley looked at him shrewdly, “Indeed, I believe you may well have begun on the path of self-initiation."

They turned a corner into another gallery, and now found themselves walking among Chinese dragons of the air and fire and water, beautiful vases, paintings and tapestries of silk showing misty mountains, and swirling rivers, with tiny human figures just visible amongst the vast indifference of nature.

"I began in poverty," said Houdini, "have struggled for years, doing several shows every day, performing on trapeze, doing acrobatics, operating puppets, doing magic and even pseudo-psychic acts. But now I have found my speciality, and something that makes me unique - The Escape."

"It does seem to me that you have tapped into the subconscious dreams of the masses - their dream of freedom from bondage and slavery and fear – through their witnessing your heroic acts of daring in the face of oppressive authority and your defiance of death!"

"It has made me famous in Europe, and pretty rich - but I intend to become more famous than any other magician - and still remembered a hundred years from now!"

They entered the Egyptian Department, where the coffins still contained mummies from thousands of years before. They passed a jackal-headed Anubis, the god and guide of the dead, and stopped to admire a small sculpture of a hawk. "Horus," said Crowley, knowingly, with a wink.

He looked at Houdini, and at the surrounding artefacts of a long-dead civilization.

"I think I could learn a little from you, about this fame game, to spread and perpetuate my own ideas. The publicity stunts, the myths and legends and rumours that seem to surround you - the manipulation of the cynics of the press...very impressive!"

"You learn a lot about that with the circus, but you still have to offer something real, in terms of extraordinary abilities, or perhaps simply find the myth that suits your own personality, as have I."

"In exchange for some of your ideas, I would like to offer you a gift - perhaps it would amuse you to see Witt's collection of erotica in the Secretum in Cupboard 55? I can get the key."

"I think," said Houdini rather prudishly, "that I have most things I need right now. I am a happily married man, and I NEVER need a key!"

"Hmm, well, perhaps, for a magician, a wand?"

"Ah, now I do collect wands of famous magicians of the past. I have visited their graves, talked to their families, bought their libraries, and treasure their wands."

Crowley smirked with his head turned away. "I think you may find my wand more powerful than any in your collection!"

"Perhaps," replied Houdini, dubiously.

"Well, maybe the museum's vaults might interest you. They contain much that does not go on public display. Mr Budge claims his collection includes one of the oldest sets of Cups and Balls in existence...possibly those illustrated on the pyramid at..."

"Ah, now you intrigue me! I would love to see and handle those...that may well be the oldest trick in the world!"

Crowley had led them to small door at the side of the Egyptian Room. He patted his pockets. "Ah, I don't seem to have my key with me. Would this lock give you any trouble?"

"You have permission to enter?"

"Ah yes, we of The Golden Dawn occasionally meet here, as Wallis seems very interested in our work."

Houdini produced a tiny wallet, and selected from it one of the small bent wires inside, and bending to the lock, opens it in seconds.

Crowley looked impressed. "I can think of many criminals who would like your skill."

"Many have offered me a lot of money for my secrets."

They passed through the door, and descended a spiral staircase, that took them below street level, and then made their way along a long corridor strangely lit, with a blue-green hue coming from long tubes hanging on the walls.

"These are mercury vapour lamps, than work on electricity," said Crowley.

"Rather different from our theatre lights..."

"Down here they store much that cannot be put on display - especially those things which may carry curses, and still contain power."

They arrived at another ornately carved wooden door, this time unlocked. "Here we have what we think of as our Inner Sanctum, but we prefer candle light - white light."

Crowley opened the door and ushered Houdini in – to find themselves standing among a treasure trove of gold and Egyptian ornaments, glinting in the eerie light from the corridor.

As Crowley went around lighting candles, Houdini could see more and more. At the end of the room stood an altar, with three squat cups.

"I suppose," said the host, "you could think of our ceremonies as theatre for a very small and select audience."

"Surely you do not contact spirits, and the like!" said Houdini with disgust.

"Not at all," replied Crowley calmly, lighting two large candles on the altar, "the costumes and rituals simply put people in the right state of mind to experience marvels, as in a show."

With a grin, Crowley took his place behind the altar, and gestured grandly with his left hand.

"To begin with, a new member would choose one of the three cups, each of which contains a juice - nothing alcoholic, I can assure you - and one of which may lead you to enlightenment - the other two merely refresh. It is just a symbol, the old blood and wine gimmick."

"I know nothing of this," said Houdini, "I am Jewish, although I do not practice a religion."

"Jewish! But you have blue eyes!"

"It happens. OK, I'll play along."

"As a new visitor to our little chapel, I'd like to invite you to help yourself to one of the cups."

Houdini reached out a tentative hand, and drank from the middle cup. "OK, so what's the effect?"

"I don't understand."

"The gag, you know, the pay-off."

"Oh," smiled Crowley knowingly, "it is short acting, and mostly pleasant."

"I am sorry, it is I who do not understand, and don't feel any different - I just don't believe in this mystical, spiritual stuff."

Houdini was beginning to glow, but seemed unaware of the fact. He turned the empty cup down, and said "May I demonstrate some of my own magic?"

"Please do," said Crowley, watching him like a hawk.

Houdini drank the contents of the two side cups, then turned them face down, "the cups must begin empty."

"We will however, need a small ball," he said, lifting the middle cup to reveal a small red ball. “Which may fly to either left or right, which do you prefer?"

Crowley indicated Houdini's left hand.

Houdini lifted the left hand cup to reveal the ball. "Of course, if you had said 'right' I would have lifted this cup to find the ball." (He lifted the right hand cup to reveal the ball has travelled).

"You may suspect I have more than one ball, and you would be right!" He lifted each of the three cups, revealing a ball under each cup. He apparently placed a ball back under each cup. "But this does not explain how they fly. If I put this under here, this under here, and this one under here they should remain separated...and yet they gather together under the middle."

Crowley applauded politely.

"Of course, I do this with sleight-of-hand, distracting the audience's attention, but they still seem surprised that they completely missed the onion," he lifts the right hand cup, "the orange," he lifts the left hand cup, "and even the apple under the middle cup!"

Crowley laughed and clapped his hands. "By gad, sir you really are a character! I have seen Gali-Gali men do stunts in Cairo, and some of the fakir tricks of India, but I have always thought of them as little more than street urchins. You make me see the wonders in your art."

Houdini didn’t seem to hear him, as he stood staring (as if mesmerized) at the golden cups, seeing the candlelight bouncing from them, the strange leering reflection of his own unfamiliar face, transfixed. He murmured half to himself, "These old cups seem to know the routine..."

"You could have greatly enlivened some of the more dull Golden Dawn meetings!"

He led Houdini to a royal couch, and laid him down, unresisting. "And now I would like to show you a trick that I learned on my travels, but for this you must be comfortable."

Crowley sat at the head end of the couch, out of Houdini's sight, and continued, in a low monotone. "I first went to India to climb the highest mountain I could find, little knowing what a symbolic gesture that might seem. Why not close your eyes, and just imagine what those remote places are like, away from crowds of humans, just yourself and the spirits of the mountains - the illusions of light and snow, the howling of the wind, complete loneliness, just yourself and the mountain."

He leaned forward, speaking more slowly, as Harry relaxed back, with the drug aura rippling around him.

"What you see may seem like a blizzard of white, and you may hear my voice as little more than the wind, as you climb on, unable to turn back, single-minded, fiercely keen, your body so cold it wishes to curl up and hibernate in a comatose state."

Houdini finds himself on a mountainside alone, but he can glimpse a peak through the swirling mist and snow.

"But you can see the summit, the highest point, sometimes when the swirl clears, and you get renewed energy when you see it so close, hoping against hope that this is not another of those illusions, miasmas, brocken spectres, mirages and tricks of scale and light, that can so bewilder the climber."

Houdini strides to the top of the mountain, and stretches his arms above his head in celebration, as the glow of the sunrise shows over the clouds.

"But eventually you find the top within reach, and with your last steps finally arrive, triumphantly, at the highest point...5...4...3...2...1...Success!"

Houdini sits on the peak, and glances sideways at his climbing companion, sitting beside him.

"That felt weird."

"Did you enjoy it?"

"Best thing I ever experienced. I can make it all the way to the top just through will-power, and even achieve immortality in my own lifetime!"

They sit together, in silence for a moment, gazing at the golden light of the dawn.

"Don't you feel the thrill?" said Harry.

"Well, yes, I know exactly how you feel, as I have climbed some of the highest mountains on earth, but that was just me telling you an anecdote, with a little hypnosis...and made entirely of memories and imagination."

Houdini opened his eyes on the couch, and sat up suddenly, startled and elated.

"I just saw my future!"

"The magic of the mind..."

Houdini looked around him with renewed interest...

"You did a mind-reading trick with your wife last night. A code, I assume, but a very clever one. Why do you no longer do that kind of show?"

"Ah, we used to do a version of the tricks of pseudo-mediums and spiritualists...we did it for entertainment, not to encourage superstition. We displayed the tricks those phoneys use as we felt convinced that nothing psychic happens in this world - and we could do the same things without claiming supernatural powers. The Spiritualists, in turn, can't imagine how I can escape from a box leaving it undamaged, so accuse me of dematerializing (because they can think of no logical explanation).

One day, when we were doing our fake psychic act, a lady asked where she would find her long lost brother, and Bess remembered a shop with that unusual name over the door, in New York. She told the woman that address, expecting for us to have long gone before it could be checked.

The woman felt so excited that she wired the address, and found her long-lost brother, and the story of our success hit the papers! It made us nervous, to think that if we spent every day simulating something, perhaps eventually something odd really does occur..." he trailed off, looking thoughtful.

Then, decisively, he sprang to his feet. "Now I want to show you something."

He led Crowley out into the corridor, and continued to the end, where yet another sturdy door blocked their path.

"That one, "said Crowley, "always remains locked against the outside world, as this maze of tunnels runs far beyond the Museum grounds. And besides, we don't have a key."

Houdini smiled, and produced his little pouch of wires and picks. Swiftly, he released the lock, and pushed the door open.

"You have your temple of mysteries, and we have ours!" He flicked a switch, and they found themselves in a storeroom full of magic and carnival paraphernalia, giant heads, guillotines, elaborately decorated boxes, mirrors, flags and flowers, etc.

"Davenport's magic shop also uses these old cellars for storage. I brought my Metamorphosis box here for some maintenance and repair. In the trick, I am bound, put in a sack and placed in a box, which is locked and roped shut. Bess climbs on top of it, and holds up a cloth briefly - and when the cloth is lowered I reveal myself to be holding it, with Bess nowhere to be seen. It takes just three seconds! I leap off the box, untie and unlock it to reveal Bess bound as I had been, but otherwise unharmed."

"And why did you want to show me it, fascinating though it all sounds?"

Houdini showed him the hood, bag, ropes, box, padlock and keys..."I wanted to prove to you that it is all done by normal means. A trick box, of course, but the magic happens in the minds of the audience. They think the transformation occurs in a split second, and that's how they remember it.

Actually, after Bess puts me in the box, I have all the time it takes to lock and wind the rope around to free myself inside the box, and prepare for the change.

When she holds up the cloth she taps her foot, and I sneak out to take over holding the cloth from behind, while she drops into the box, then I sweep the cloth away to show my arrival. People always seem dumbstruck!

Of course, Bess has plenty of time to get into the bag, and loop the ropes around her hands, while I am untying and unlocking the box to release her. They think the trick lasts three seconds, but it really lasts three minutes."

"And how do you actually get in and out of the box?"

"Aha, some things remain trade secrets."

"But what if I wished to experience the trick from the inside?"

"Well, I could show you Bess's part."

"Wonderful! My only ever chance to play a glamorous assistant."

Houdini got into the box, and Crowley tied his hands behind him, then dropped a hoodwink bag over his head, and loosely tied the string. He lifted a larger bag up around Houdini's head, and tied a firm knot. Houdini sat down inside the box, and the lid was closed.

Inside the box, Houdini smoothly removed his constraints, and crouched, ready, hearing Crowley addressing an invisible audience, and really getting into the part.

"The neophyte is tied, hoodwinked, and bound in a sack, before being sealed in a padlocked box. If we do not release him, or if his normal route of exit became blocked, he could eventually asphyxiate."

Houdini still felt slightly strange, and realised for a moment that he was locked in a box, in a cave, under the streets of London, without his wife, with no stage assistants, and only this crazy man to know where he was! He began to sweat, but remained confident in his own ability.

Meanwhile, Crowley was grinning to himself with malicious glee. "However, without further ado, I will climb onto this box, to show you a veritable miracle." He tapped his foot, and Houdini slid through the secret panel, to grab the cloth and indicate for Crowley to jump down and in.

Houdini then threw the cloth aside in triumph "Metamorphosis!"

He could hear the universe applauding.

He jumped down, and looked thoughtfully at the box, wondering if Aleister had deliberately scared him.

Now Crowley is huddled in the box, remembering how Set had trapped Osiris...

He heard Houdini continue the charade. "Thank-you, thank-you! But where is my beautiful assistant, Alys? If I don't let her out soon she could die!"

He unlocked the case, and unwound the rope, before opening the box. A tall figure stood up, inside the long thin bag.

Harry undid the knot and the bag fell around Crowley's ankles revealing him stark naked, erect, Priapic, Panlike!

"Ta-Dah!" He pronounced loudly, as Houdini staggered back startled, turning his head away.

"Haha! I never had so much fun in my life!" exulted Crowley.

Houdini, slightly appalled, grudgingly admits, "You would have fitted right in with the Burlesque shows, alongside Little Egypt!”

Crowley bent to retrieve his clothes from the box, and began to dress. "I couldn't resist surprising you as you went through your old routines. You should form a Magic Circle of your own, you showmen."

Houdini still looked flustered, and was looking for a way out. "Well, I have to thank you for a most interesting day. Now I have to go and check with the owners (who have nothing to do with those spiritualists called the Davenport Brothers, by the way, the name is just a coincidence) and prepare for my new tour."

"If I were you, I would feel secure that fame and fortune will stay with you for the rest of your life. Take a break, take a holiday, buy a house, work on new material and enjoy the freedom of your new-found wealth."

"Thank you," said Houdini, again wrong-footed by this peculiar man. "I might just do that. In return, I suggest that you may still find what you want during your travels, something to give you focus and direction, and get you to concentrate and do some Real Work!"

Crowley gestured to the door by which they entered. "I will go back through our Chapel Perilous to put out the candles.”

Houdini indicates some stairs, "and I must go upstarts to settle my bills with Mr Davenport."

They looked each other up and down, and shook hands, awkwardly.

"Perhaps we may meet again in our travels," offered Houdini.

"Maybe."

Houdini started to climb the stairs, then turned back briefly, with an American farewell, "23 Skiddoo!" as Crowley slipped back through the door that led to the chapel.

A short while later, Crowley passed out through the gates of the Museum, and hailed a hansom cab, which he took in the direction of Piccadilly. A hawk-faced man watched him leave through narrowed eyes, then shifted his attention towards the magic shop.

Houdini came out of the shop, and turned briskly to his right, glancing briefly up at the six foot white rabbit wearing a top hat who stood on display in the magic shop window, surrounded by magical paraphernalia, and who then appeared to wink at him...and he walked away decisively, still observed by the stalker with a shrewd and quizzical expression on his face, calculating, making connections.

The following year Houdini did one more big stunt in London - The Mirror handcuff Challenge, on St Patrick's Day, March 17th, 1904.

He and Bess then returned to America in triumph, having left several years before as a humble magician and his assistant.

He took a long holiday, bought a big house for himself and his wife, showered his beloved mother with gold (as he had promised years before) and acquired the family plot in which all of them were eventually buried.

In April 1904, Crowley was returning from visiting his Buddhist teacher in Ceylon, and in Cairo received a message (through the medium of his wife) that he should take down in dictation a Book that would form the basis for a new religion. The Book of the Law. Not the religion of Isis (the Mother Goddess) or of Osiris (the Father Figure) but of Horus, the hawk-headed son.

"Every man and every woman is a star."

On June 16th 1904 in Dublin, James Joyce met Nora Barnacle and enjoyed a hand-job, an event he later secretly commemorated in his epic book, Ulysses.

In 1905, the Egyptian Hall was demolished and the statues of Isis and Osiris torn down. Albert Einstein published his Special Theory of Relativity, describing a new model of space and time. At Pinoli's Restaurant in London a light-hearted but conspiratorial group of 23 conjurors met to form The Magic Circle of London, with the motto "Indocilis Privata Loqui" (not likely to expose secrets).

Although the two ‘greatest magicians’ later lived only a few blocks apart in New York, during World War One, they never (as far as we know) met again.

In February 1923, the disciple Loveday eventually dies in the Abbey commune, which creates more scandal for Crowley in the British gutter press, who label him as "The Wickedest Man in the World". Mussolini throws him out of Italy, apparently for his Masonic connections. Overweight, depressed, and broke - he goes to get help from Frank Harris in Paris.

A year later, he pronounces himself as having reached the Ipsissimus Grade. [10°=1: An Ipsissimus is free from limitations and necessity and lives in perfect balance with the manifest universe] and eventually becomes Outer Head of the OTO.

He goes on to produce some of his best books on Magick and related subjects and lives a further 23 years.

Elsewhere, in 1923, Marcel Duchamp abandons "The Bride Stripped Bare By Her Bachelors, Even"(The Large Glass) after eight years work (including many chance elements) in what he calls a 'definitively unfinished state', then apparently quits art completely, to concentrate on chess.

James Joyce, having finally got Ulysses published, begins a Work-In-Progress which will take him 17 years to write, and eventually become known as Finnegans Wake.

In February 1923, Howard Carter opened up the tomb of Tut-Ankh-Amen, whose distinctive patron-deity was the hawk-god, Horus, and rumours of a curse began.

Hyperinflation hits Germany, and by the end of the year Hitler has made his first move, but gets thrown in jail.

In 1923 Houdini is immensely rich. He has learned to fly a plane, and drive a car. He has starred in a film serial called “The Master Mystery”, and later formed a production company to write, direct and act in films of his own. In 1923 he releases “Haldane of The Secret Service”. His full evening show now has three parts: escapology (a word he claims to have coined); big stage illusions (like making an Elephant Disappear, or Walking Through a Brick Wall); and a virulent expose of the cheating methods of fraudulent mediums.

At the age of 49, he has achieved the wealth, security and respectability he always seems to have craved. As a self-educated man he is very proud that his name is now immortalized by appearing in the dictionary. He is an 'expert witness' for a Scientific American committee investigating psychics, and is about to become a Freemason.

He still doesn't drink or smoke.

Within three years, on Halloween 1926, he will die at the age of 52.

Rumours continue to circulate that he was killed by a conspiracy of irate spiritualists. I guess if you don’t believe in the reality of ‘death’ as a final end…