There have been some curious mischances, though. One of the queerest of these unrehearsed incidents occurred at Halifax, in connection with a test organised at my instigation by the editor and staff of the Guardian. The object I was in search of had been hidden under a bridge, over which the road I had to traverse was carried. On reaching the crown of the bridge, I knew, owing to my boot-reading tactics, that the hiding-place was somewhere beneath it; so I pretended to climb over the parapet, knowing, of course, that I should be prevented from doing so, for this would have meant a sheer drop of twenty feet or so.
On being pulled back, and warned of the danger I was supposed to be unconsciously running, I went round another way, and under the bridge. Here I located in my usual manner the exact spot where the object was supposed to be hidden, but, greatly to my chagrin and disappointment, I could not find it. For fully twenty minutes I fumbled round unavailingly. Then the man who was “guiding” me approached, and after himself fumbling about for awhile, he exclaimed: “Mr. Carlton, I am awfully sorry, but it’s gone.”
CROWD IN BRADFORD WATCHING CARLTON’S SEARCH FOR THE HIDDEN “TELEGRAPH” BADGE
CROWD AT OAKLAND (CALIFORNIA) WATCHING CARLTON’S SEARCH FOR HIDDEN TREASURE
This proved to be the fact. Somebody had discovered the object, and removed it for safe keeping, and it was returned to the Guardian office the next day. On this occasion I may be said in a sense to have failed, in that I did not find the article. But as the reason I did not find it was because it wasn’t there, my reputation naturally did not suffer on that account. In fact it was rather enhanced, for everybody recognised that I had correctly located the place where by rights it ought to have been.
Another time, at Leeds, the crowd was so great that the whole tramcar service of the city was threatened with disorganisation, and the police stepped in and stopped the performance. This was one of my most trying experiences, for the crowd was a somewhat rough one, and some of the people were in a rather ugly mood, believing the whole affair to have been a put-up job. However, I made them a speech, and soon got them in good humour.
One of my roughest experiences was at Bradford, where the object of my quest was a silver medallion, or badge, the property of the chairman of the Bradford Cinderella Club. The crowds were immense, and to add to my difficulties the medallion had been “hidden” by being actually buried in the ground on a waste plot of land now occupied by the Alhambra Theatre there. However, after groping among the loose rubble and debris for a while I found it all right. “Then”—to quote the local report—“a cheer went up from several thousand throats as Carlton stood aloft with the silver badge in his hand. For our part we have to congratulate Carlton upon the feat, which we can testify was performed in a genuine manner and without any possible chance of collusion.”
At Bath there happened a curious incident, referred to in the account of the affair published in the Bath Chronicle. The bandage became loose, and slipped down in such a manner as made it impossible for me to see under it; nor was I able, try as I would, to get it back in its proper position by working my frontal muscles in the ordinary way. In this dilemma I was compelled to resort to a pretty little piece of play-acting. I pretended to blunder into a wall, bumping my head somewhat severely, and incidentally loosening the bandage—of course, on purpose—so that it slipped completely down. This necessitated my being rebandaged, and this time, you may be sure, I took good care to have it tight enough.