Harry the spoilsport, showing Congress in 1926 how the spirits play tricks on people.

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In December 1919 Houdini sailed once more to Britain for a booking at the Palladium that would launch his latest European tour at a triumphant $3,750 a week, more than the London theatre had ever paid a single performer in its nine-year history. The Palladium (it began calling itself the London Palladium in 1934, probably because there were so many other “palladia” popping up elsewhere) occupied the former site of Hengler’s Grand Cirque and the National Ice Skating Palace.

Four months into the tour, on April 14, 1920, Harry took a break from his engagement in Brighton to visit Windlesham, Arthur Conan Doyle’s home in Sussex, not far away. He’d introduced himself by sending Sir Arthur his book “The Unmasking of Robert-Houdin”, knowing the stalwart champion of the spiritualists would be interested in its chapter on the Davenport Brothers, America’s famous 19th-century mediums.

Doyle was indeed, but over lunch he and Houdini had to politely agree to disagree over the Davenports’ alleged mystical abilities. Ten years earlier Houdini had in fact interviewed Ira Davenport, who admitted it was all trickery. The brothers’ speciality, the “spirit cabinet”, a forerunner of Houdini’s own escape act, was an empty wooden box in which they sat securely tied by rope, yet from which rapping, clapping and the sound of a bell and tambourine emerged.

Doyle put forth the stubborn argument that would both seal and unhinge his relationship with Houdini forevermore: that any spiritualist’s “confession” could only be taken as proof of his authenticity, if not a subterfuge of sceptics. “Sir Arthur told me he had spoken six times to his [deceased] son,” Houdini wrote in his diary after their meeting. “No possible chance for trickery. Lady Doyle also believes and has had test that are beyond belief.”

Houdini, who at the time still had an open mind about the afterlife and hoped to contact his late mother, asked Doyle to find him a true medium. The author objected — “My dear chap, why go around the world seeking a demonstration of the occult when you are giving one all the time?” — but did arrange a series of sittings for him.

At the London headquarters of the Society for Psychical Research he had several sessions with the celebrated French medium Marthe Beraud, also known as Eva Carriere, best known as Eva C, whose speciality was churning out ectoplasm from various bodily holes. Only in the final sitting did anything occur: Eva, “sewn into tights” and with her face shrouded, exuded what Harry described to Doyle as froth, plaster and “a rubberish substance” that vanished as soon as Houdini switched on his flashlight.

In a letter to Sir Arthur he pulled punches: “I am not prepared to say that they were supernormal.” In his own account: “I was not in any way convinced.” It was all sleight of hand. Researcher Massimo Polidoro offers plenty more detail on the website of Italy’s Committee for the Investigation of Claims on the Paranormal.

The photo below shows Houdini mocking “spirit photography” with a double exposure of Lincoln. That’s right, one guy who everyone knew was honest.

In March 2008 several British news outlets reported that Daniel Hunt of an outfit called Amethyst International Escapologists and Illusionists had accomplished a feat that Houdini had declined to try: He escaped from a cell at the Castle Keep in Newcastle, England, after being bound in 100 feet of steel chain and handcuffs secured by padlocks. The jail dates back to Roman times.

This photo of Hunt at work comes from Peter Jenkins’ site on DeviantArt.

As part of the South Tyneside International Magic Festival, Hunt was locked in “the condemned cell” along with a photographer and a TV crew, and in the space of 10 minutes shed his manacles, opened the door, stepped outside and then locked the cell again with his companions still inside. Hunt was reportedly thoroughly searched by police beforehand and examined by a doctor to ensure he had no hidden devices.

The reports said Houdini had visited the Castle Keep on April 28, 1920, “where he hung off the Castle Parapet in preparation for some movie stunts in America”, but he rejected a challenge to escape from the edifice.