CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE BOSTON MYSTIC KEY

THE Americans love a good stunt, and they are always trying new ones. In 1908 I took part in the biggest stunt ever tried. It was so big that it completely paralysed the city of Boston.

The whole affair originated in a strike of newsboys in Boston against the paper the Boston American. In order to break the strike the newspaper organized a competition. A man called "Raffles" was sent into the street with a Mystic Key. Anyone who went up to him and said, "You are the man with the Mystic Key", would receive fifty dollars. The idea, of course, was that the public would buy the paper in order to see what "Raffles" looked like, and so the newsboys would have to give way before the public demand.

The idea was a good one, and it was new in those days, though it is getting a bit threadbare now. But "Raffles" was not very expert in escaping detection, and was caught every day. The danger was that the public might lose interest because it was too easy.

The manager of Keith's Theatre, at which I was booked to appear, also acted as the Press agent, and he was a very live wire. He suggested to the editor of the Boston American that I carry the Mystic Key. He pointed out that, having made a living from deceiving people for some years, I was better fitted than most men for this difficult task. Of course, it was a good idea from his point of view, because people would flock to the theatre to see what I looked like, and, besides that, I should get excellent publicity from the paper. It seemed that everyone would benefit from the stunt.

The upshot was that I wrote a letter to the editor of the Boston American.

Sir, Your representative having waited upon me and informed me of your acceptance of my challenge, I hereby notify you that we have come to a satisfactory agreement as to terms. In accordance with this agreement I will appear at the corner of Summer and Devonshire Streets at noon on Friday, February 14, carrying the Mystic Key, for the capture of which the "American" has offered a reward of fifty dollars. I will appear at Park Street and Tremont in the vicinity of Park Street Church at 1 o'clock and I will appear in Scollay Square at 2 o'clock. After this I shall proceed to Keith's Theatre, and shall enter the theatre in the vicinity of 3 o'clock, when the offer expires. I guarantee that I will appear in the street in those three places mentioned, and that nobody will be able to discover my identity. If anyone approaches me and says to me, "Are you the man with the Great Mystic Key?" I will, of course, show him the key and accompany him to the office of the "Boston American" where he will receive fifty dollars. So sure am I, however, that no one will be able to identify me that I will pay tweny-five dollars of my own money in addition to the reward of fifty dollars offered by the "American" to anyone who approaches me with the proper question before I arrive at the theatre. Sincerely yours, Horace Goldin.

When I went in for that stunt I did not realize what a huge task I had taken on. All Boston turned out to look for me. The streets where I was due to appear were choked by a solid mass of humanity. Traffic was completely disorganized, and at one time the police had a warrant out for my arrest. But they were as unfortunate as the rest of the searchers, and never found me to serve the warrant.

At one o'clock there was a crowd of 5000 people outside the Park Street Church. In Scollay Square at two o'clock the crowd numbered 8000, and when I tried to enter the theatre at three o'clock I found some 10,000 waiting outside. It must have been the biggest man-hunt in the history of America.

I was decidedly nervous from start to finish, for there is nothing so difficult on the stage as the deception I had to practise that day. When I first began to plan my campaign, with the help of Mr. McCarren and Mr. Larsen, of Keith's Theatre, I began to appreciate that I had not properly estimated the difficulty that faced me, and I wished that I had more time to improve my plans.

I did not mind the loss of twenty-five dollars, and would gladly have given that to charity, which, indeed, I did do after the ordeal was over. But I knew that I had staked my professional reputation on the success of this venture, and that it would be a very disastrous thing for me if I were to lose. And I came perilously near losing three times!

These were the plans I made beforehand. I had several men dressed up like myself and sent them off to different parts of Boston to deceive the crowds. Then I had an old tunnel opened up beneath the Keith's Theatre. The Boston Theatre is next door to Keith's, and there is a tunnel running between them. Most people did not know of this, so it provided me with a very useful bolt-hole. Then I prepared all my different disguises and I was ready.

During that hectic day I was a cabman, a prospective motor-car buyer, a porter with a bundle, a strap-hanger on the elevated railway, a pedestrian, and a car-driver. With these disguises I managed to fool the whole of Boston.

I left the Adam's House, where I was staying, at 10 a.m. and went to the theatre. There I put on the cap, hat, and gloves of a cabman I had called. I already had on a false moustache and glasses and was smoking a cigar.

From there I went through the tunnel into the Boston Theatre, where the cab was waiting. There I took on Mr. McCarren and the cabman as passengers, and I was instructed to drive to the South Station. I wrapped the cabman's blanket round my legs and then picked up the reins.

Trouble soon began. I had expected only one horse, and I had pictured that one as old and gentle. Instead, I found that I had two horses, and that one of them was very lively. I had never driven two horses before in my life. We were nearly upset at the first corner.

Still, things went fairly well until I came to Summer Street. I found that there was a great mob in the road, and I felt very nervous, for obviously I could not go through it very quickly. The only encouragement was that no one seemed to have looked at me very carefully so far.

Just as things were getting difficult my restive horse had to become still more lively. He moved sideways and ran into a man who was pushing a hand-cart. Vituperation immediately followed.

"Where the hell do you think you are going?" shouted the man. "Anyone would think you'd never driven a horse before in your life. Can't you keep him under control?"

I howled back, "Hey, you! Get out of here! Can't you see I'm in a hurry?"

Just then I heard someone in the crowd say, "I believe he's got the Key-man in that cab." So I whipped up my horses and left them as quickly as I could.

I had not got very far, and was just approaching the offices of the Boston American, when a tall man with a reddish moustache jumped on the hub of the wheel and shouted, "Are you the man WHO HAS the Great Mystic Key?" He made one little slip with his challenge, so I drove straight on. But that sent my heart into my mouth all right.

I was at Church Green at noon, drove straight on past the South Station, and so along the Summer Street

extension past the second bridge. When I came to a spot where there were no people I jumped down from the cab, changed clothes with the cabman, and got inside dressed in my own clothes. We drove to a house belonging to Mr. McCarren's brother-in-law. There I stayed while Mr. McCarren went for a white motor-car.

While I was waiting I dressed up in a fur coat and a soft hat. As soon as the car arrived I took my place at the wheel and began the drive to my second spot. When I came within sight of it I found that the crowds were too dense for me to drive through, and I had to back and make my way by another route. I was at Tremont at six minutes past the hour.

The jam there was immense, and I was nearly caught several times. One man was from the Boston Theatre. He jumped on to the step and began to speak. Then he saw Mr. Larsen inside the car and evidently decided that I should never be in the same car as one of the men from Keith's Theatre. He said to Mr. Larsen, "Must have made a mistake," and jumped off.

Two other men came towards me and challenged me, but each made mistakes. The first said, "Are you the man with the Key?" and the second left out the word "Great".

Having escaped from that jam, I made my way by a devious route to the Oriental Restaurant on Harrison Avenue. Some patrons followed me in, so Larsen went on to Scollay Square while I had to make my way hastily upstairs to a private room. There I took off my fur coat and donned a discoloured, cheap grey suit. The sack coat was tied together at the front with a pin. I took a big white bundle on to my shoulders, and I was a porter.

From there I went, still in the company of Mr. McCarren, to Beach Street elevated station, and rode to Scollay Square.

I found the stairs to the street thronged with people, and for a moment or two I was too scared to go on. I leaned against the wall as if tired. Then I caught sight of a clock, and saw that I was due in the Square. So I plucked up courage, and with my bundle on my shoulder, I followed Mr. McCarren diagonally across the square to No. 30, Court Street.

I managed to get inside the building without being detected, and made my way into the lift, which I took to the third floor. I dropped the bundle heavily on to the floor of the lift and earned a rebuke from the liftman. I made no reply.

On the third floor I went to Attorney John F. Cronin's office, where Mr. Larsen was awaiting me. I was in a state of complete exhaustion, and if Mr. Larsen had not given me a strong brandy-and-milk I believe I should have fainted. I certainly learned that day what a terrible thing it is to be a hunted man.

When I was a little recovered I made my way to the window and looked out upon the crowd. What I saw was a revelation to me. There were thousands of people there, and they were all of them acting in the most frantic manner possible. Hundreds and hundreds of newspapers were being waved about. Dozens of strangers were being accosted and having furious inquiries made. I should imagine that few men in that crowd escaped without being asked if they had the Great Mystic Key. I realized afresh what chances I was taking.

My motor-car picked me up at the side door of the building, and I walked down the stairs to join it. I had practically no disguise, only a false moustache, glasses, and a cigar. My clothes were those in which I had visited Park Street.

When we neared Keith's Theatre we found that the crowds were the worst yet, but we managed to drive up to the door of the Boston Theatre. It was then four minutes past three, and my goal was in sight. I descended from the car and began to make my way to the door of the theatre. But I was nearly caught at the very last moment.

The commissionaire at the Boston was acquainted with my identity, and his role was to make sure that my way was open and that I could get down into the tunnel all right. But he must have been infected by the crowd's excitement, or else the sight of me was too much for him. However it was, when he set eyes on me he shouted out, "Look, there's Goldin." Some men heard him and made for me. I ran like fury, and just got inside the door in time. I bolted downstairs and made for the tunnel. The door shut behind me. I was safe.

I do not know how I managed to put on my shows that day. I was completely exhausted and played as if in a dream. But the audience were very kind, the more so because they had been hunting me fruitlessly all day.

That terrible day had its sequel. I had never met Mr. Eddy, editor of the Boston American, and I decided to play a joke on him. I disguised myself again and went down to his office after the show.

"Look here," I said, "I gave the right challenge and yet Goldin did not give me the Mystic Key. I am entitled to that reward." And I gave a lot of details which proved beyond shadow of doubt that what I had said was true.

Mr. Eddy looked very worried, and began to say that they would much rather pay the money than have any trouble, when he looked into my face. I could not conceal a smile, and that gave the show away.

"Why, you old so-and-so," he said, laughing. "You are Goldin."

I agreed that I was, and I showed him the Mystic Key, which I had saved. I still have that key to this day.

There might have been yet another sequel had not the fire chief of Boston been but recently appointed.

The Boston American sent out a man to Bunker's Hill the next day, but he was easily caught. They came back to me and asked me to carry the key again.

I pointed out to them that the second attempt would be a hundred times harder than the first, but I said that I was prepared to go through with it if they would fulfil my conditions.

There was an old man who sold shoe-laces and boot-polish outside the theatre. He had a wooden leg, and was a well-known local character. I said that I wanted to impersonate him, and would have to have him kidnapped or else bribed to stay indoors.

Secondly, I wanted to impersonate a fireman. There would be a false fire-alarm, and I should be one of the twenty firemen who dashed past at the time appointed for me to appear. Obviously no one could accost me then.

Lastly, I wanted a dummy to be thrown from a high window. People passing would think it was an accident. Confederates would pick up the dummy and hurry it into a chemist's I should be inside, ready bandaged, and as soon as the ambulance arrived I should be placed on a stretcher and removed to hospital, at the very moment when I was due to appear outside.

You see, I was taking no chances about being caught this time, and yet I was keeping strictly to the word of my agreement.

That second attempt would have come off but for the fact that the fire chief felt that he could not take a chance with a false fire-alarm.

On the whole I think it was just as well. The nervous tension was so great that I am glad I did not have to suffer it twice.