A HANDCUFF ESCAPE THAT WENT WRONG.

ONE day, early in March, 1918, an elderly clergyman called at my office, and asked to see me on important business. He was a well dressed, pompous looking gentleman in the middle fifties, and in his hand he held a brown paper parcel tied neatly with a piece of coloured string. I remember wondering what his business could be, for I did not recollect seeing him before. However, he did not leave me long in doubt.

"I believe you are a friend of Houdini, Mr. Goldston," he said. "And in that case you must know something about handcuff escapes. I have a pair of handcuffs here, and I pride myself that I can escape from them quite as quickly as Houdini or any other professional escape artist. May I show them to you?"

Without waiting for a reply, he undid his parcel, and exposed a pair of handcuffs built on the regulation police pattern. I examined them closely. There did not appear to be any trick in them, but this I knew would not prevent him escaping providing he had the necessary ability. My curiosity was roused, and I told him I should be pleased to see a demonstration.

To this he readily agreed. I took him to the staircase landing outside my office, and fastened his hands behind him, interlocking the manacles before fixing them round the balustrade. I took this precaution in order that my visitor should have as little space as possible in which to move his wrists.

At that moment an excited ringing of the telephone bell attracted my attention. I walked through to my office and picked up the receiver. The voice of a man with whom I was doing an important business deal answered me. He had no time to waste. Could I meet him immediately? He had a fresh idea to put before me. Perhaps I could join him at lunch at the Trocadero in five minutes....

I replied that I could, and, picking up my hat, hastened out to keep the appointment. The important call banished all thoughts of the clergyman from my mind, and the subsequent meal and talk did not serve to remind me of him. An hour and a half had elapsed before my business was concluded, and I was able to return to the office.

As I mounted the stairs, a terrific clatter and banging greeted me. "What the dickens can that be?" I thought. "Oh, heavens, it must be the padre!"

I was right.

He was still fastened to the balustrade, or rather, what was left of the balustrade.

Several of the supporting rods had fallen to the floor, and others were hanging loose. The poor man's collar had burst open, and perspiration was pouring down his forehead. His feet slithered continually over the floor, and he heaved and struggled as though trying to break the hand-rail in twain.

"Hi you! Goldston!" he screamed, as he caught sight of me. "What the blankety blank have you done with these blank handcuffs? You've fixed the blankety things!"

"Hush, sir," I returned, not a little surprised at the warmth of the other's language. "Don't forget you're a clergyman."

"And don't you forget I'm a human being! Set me free, blank you!"

"I'm sorry," I said, unlocking the handcuffs. "I thought you could escape like Houdini. It would have taken him just two minutes."

"Grrr!" he mumbled. And, picking up his hat, he fled down the stairs.