RAYMOND AND THE UNDERTAKER.

THE Great Raymond is an American magician, who, I must admit, is not without a certain amount of conjuring ability. But, like Alfred the Great who burnt the housewife's cakes through inattention, Raymond had other interests in life besides magic. Consequently he did not meet with the success he otherwise would have done. His motto was "Pleasure first, business afterwards."

One Monday morning just after the war, Raymond walked into my office and told me that he was playing on a percentage basis at the Queen's Theatre, Poplar.

"I wish you luck," I said, hoping he would make a hurried exit, for I was busy with other matters.

"Thanks," he grinned. "I know I shall be a success. On Friday I'm having a special night, and I'd like you to come down. I'm doing a new coffin escape that's the absolute goods. It's been well advertised, and I have issued a challenge. I guess there'll be a big crowd."

I suppose you know they're a pretty rough crowd down Poplar way," I told him. "If you don't satisfy them, they'll make things pretty uncomfortable for you."

"That's all right," he returned. "The rougher they are the better I shall like them. But promise me you will come down--I'd like you to see the act."

"Righto. I'll be there," I said.

As Raymond had predicted, the theatre was packed on the following Friday evening. I arrived just as his turn was due to begin, and was given a seat in the front row of the stalls.

When the coffin was brought on the stage, I was struck with the crudeness of its design. It was obviously artificial, and secretly I admired Raymond's pluck in bringing it before a hard-boiled English audience. The wood was cheap and thin; this in itself was bad enough, for every conjurer worthy of the name knows that one of the first rules of his business is to convince the onlookers that his apparatus is quite genuine. But, to make matters worse, the lid was fastened with large butterfly nuts. Most people are aware that a real coffin is fastened down with screws which lie flush with the surface of the lid.

The performer, however, appeared quite unconcerned. Walking to the front of the stage, he bowed, and addressed himself to the audience

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am about to perform the most extraordinary coffin escape that has ever been seen," he said. "In the course of my career, I have escaped from coffins, boxes, locks, and chains, and have never once been defeated. This coffin has been made for me by a well known firm of undertakers. If several gentlemen--"

"Name the firm!" The interruption came from a rosy faced gentleman who had risen to his feet in the front of the stalls. Raymond, however, took no notice, and continued his discourse.

"If several gentlemen would step up on the stage to act as a committee, and screw me in the coffin I should feel greatly obliged."

At this, a dozen men rose to their feet, and made their way to the stage. I noticed that the red-cheeked interpreter was amongst them.

No sooner had the men taken their place on the stage than the man once more demanded to know the name of the makers of the coffin.

"I'm an undertaker in Poplar," he shouted. "I don't like the looks of that there coffin. Come on, guv'nor, who made it for you?"

Raymond smiled sweetly.

"As a matter of fact, sir," he said, "a representative of the firm is in the theatre tonight. No doubt he will confirm all I have told you." As he spoke, he pointed towards me. "Perhaps you would be good enough to come on to the stage, and tell the audience about the coffin."

This was a contingency for which I was quite unprepared. In my own mind I knew that Raymond was thoroughly scared. Unless I could help him his act would be a failure, and I went on to the stage wondering desperately what I should say.

However, I managed to tell the audience that I was a representative of Jones & Howard (hoping fervently that no such firm existed), the well known West-end undertakers. Mr. Raymond, I said, had commissioned us to make the coffin, and the result of our labours was lying on the stage. Although the coffin had been made to special measurements, there was absolutely no trickery about it--at this point I perspired profusely--and it would indeed be a miraculous thing if Mr. Raymond was able to get out. I added that I should be pleased to assist in the screwing down, and do all that was in my power to prevent an escape.

This speech seemed to satisfy the audience. The coffin was examined, Raymond placed inside, and the lid screwed down. Of course, he succeeded in getting out, and the show proved a success.

But it was a near thing! Whenever I think of Raymond, I visualize that terrible coffin made by "Jones & Howard"!