Part 7

“I have here, ladies, a curio of an exceptionally curious kind. This is said to be the identical handkerchief which Othello gave to Desdemona, and which afterwards caused so much unpleasantness. No doubt you all know your Shakespeare, and will remember that Othello tells his wife, ‘There’s magic in the web of it.’ And there is magic in it still. Not so much as there was, I dare say, but still it retains a good many magical qualities. Among them is a curious talent for recovering lost property. For instance, I once had a dog. His name was Socrates, but he was generally called ‘Socks.’ In fact, he preferred it. He was a valuable dog, because he combined so many different breeds. He was partly pug, and partly greyhound, and partly dachshund, and partly chow, and partly bull-dog and partly terrier, and partly of two or three other breeds that I can’t for the moment remember. One day Socks went out to see a friend, and didn’t come back again. I sat up all night for him with a stick, but he didn’t come home till morning. In fact, he didn’t come home even then. I thought I had lost him for good, and I was quite distressed about it.

“Just when I was beginning to get over the loss I had a further shock. My precious Desdemona handkerchief was missing. But the very next day I heard a barking outside, and there was my dog with the handkerchief tied round his neck and three other dogs with him. The handkerchief had recovered them all.

“You don’t believe that little story. I thought you wouldn’t. People never will believe anything a little bit out of the way. It is just the same with fish stories. I know a man who, when he was a boy, fishing in a pond with a maggot on a bent pin, caught a four-pound salmon. He didn’t claim any credit for doing it. He says himself it was just an accident, and might have happened to anybody. But he never can get anyone to believe him, and it has spoilt his character. He was naturally a truthful man, but being always disbelieved has made him reckless, and now, whenever he tells the story he sticks another half-pound on to the salmon. I believe it is a fifteen pounder now.[11]

“With regard to the handkerchief, however, I can easily prove to you that what I have stated is correct. I can’t prove it quite in the same way, because even if any lady or gentleman present had lost a dog, it would take the handkerchief a day or two to find it, and you would get tired of waiting. So I must show you the virtues of the handkerchief in a simpler way.

“Will some gentleman oblige me with the loan of a half-crown, marked so that he can be sure of knowing it again?”

On receiving the coin the performer returns to his table, holding it on high so that it can be seen that there is no substitution, and lays it on the black art mat.

“Presently I propose to lose this coin, and get the handkerchief to find it, but first you would like, no doubt, to have a look at the handkerchief itself. Notice the richness of the pattern. It is said to be after a design in the Alhambra. I don’t mean the Alhambra you gentlemen go to, but the real Moorish one in Spain.”

Leaving the handkerchief for the time being in the possession of a spectator he returns to the table, meanwhile palming the velvet patch, and the substituted half-crown, and ostensibly picks up the original, in reality rendering it invisible by laying the patch over it, and showing the substitute in its place, after the manner described at p. 19. He then advances to the company with the substitute coin and offers it to one or other of the spectators, remarking, “Take it, please, and pass it to one or other of your neighbours so that I shan’t know where it is.”

Under pretence of offering the coin, he passes it from the one hand to the other, and vanishes it by, say, the tourniquet, so that the person holding out a hand to receive it gets nothing, and says so.

“What do you say, Sir? You have not got it? But surely, I have just handed it to you. You are not joking? Then it must have fallen on the floor. Please look around you a bit.” (Pretends to do so himself.) “Not there? Well, this is extraordinary.” (To the lender of the coin.) “I am very sorry, Sir. Your money is lost in a way I did not anticipate. But after all, when I come to think of it, it’s of no consequence. The handkerchief will find it wherever it is, even if it has to follow it into somebody’s pocket. By the way, where is the handkerchief?” He takes it from the person with whom it was left, and holding it by two of its corners, and showing both hands otherwise empty, lowers it down carefully over the black patch on table.

“And now to work the spell. ‘Bismillah! Bechesm! Salaam Aleikoum!’ You must excuse my speaking Arabic, but that is the only language the handkerchief understands. I see that the gentleman who lent me the half-crown is looking a little bit anxious. Cheer up, Sir, the handkerchief has never failed me yet. But we must give it time. Say, half a minute.” (Looks at watch.) “This is curious. Half a minute gone. One minute, and nothing has happened. The handkerchief has made no move. Something must have gone wrong. But stay! If the handkerchief has not gone to the coin, perhaps the coin has gone to the handkerchief. Let us see!”

He lifts the handkerchief by the centre, picking up the black patch with it, and thereby disclosing the coin, which is handed back on the mat to the owner. Then carefully folding up the handkerchief, performer replaces it in its box, and in so doing regains possession of the velvet patch, to be got rid of at a convenient opportunity.

[10] The handkerchief should be readily recognizable as a cheap and commonplace one.

[11] This story, as also a few other “yarns” with which I have endeavoured to brighten my otherwise serious pages, may be suppressed if it is thought desirable to shorten the patter. I ought perhaps to apologise for introducing such irrelevant fiction, but I am encouraged in misdoing by the example of the lamented Artemus Ward, who said that the best things in his lecture were generally the things that had nothing to do with it.

THE RIDDLE OF THE PYRAMIDS

This, in good hands, will be found a very effective trick. I have the less hesitation in saying so, because the assertion is only to a very limited extent self-praise. The idea of the effect to be produced was my own, as also to a certain extent the method of producing it. I had even got so far as to devise, in anticipation, suitable patter. When, however, I proceeded to put my ideas into practice I found myself pulled up by unexpected obstacles.

The object to be attained, as will be seen by the sequel, was the instantaneous re-adjustment of the sundered parts of a small pyramid, and this I proposed to do by means of the pull of a thread, fine enough to be practically invisible. Now, to make segments of a pyramid not only draw together, but sit squarely one upon another, it is necessary to have forces operating simultaneously in two different directions, and the need for this caused difficulties which I found myself unable to cope with. Indeed, I had practically decided to content myself by producing a somewhat similar effect in a simpler way, as exemplified in the trick which I have called the _Miracle of Mumbo Jumbo_, which next follows.

As luck would have it, however, I mentioned my difficulties to my good friend, Mr. Holt Schooling, a gentleman whom I have more than once had occasion to refer to in my writings in connection with some neat device. Mr. Schooling declared that the original idea was too good to be abandoned, and offered to try his hand at bringing it to a successful issue. I must frankly confess that I had no great hope of his success; but Mr. Schooling is a man of many talents. Apart from eminence in his own profession (that of actuary and statistician) he is not only an expert amateur conjurer, but an exceptionally skilful mechanic, and he possesses withal an unlimited capacity for taking pains. He used these qualities to such good purpose that I am enabled to include this striking effect among the contents of the present volume.

The principal item of apparatus is naturally the pyramid itself, which is of blackened wood as illustrated in Fig. 18. For the sake of lightness it is of necessity a small affair, being four inches in height, about six across the base, and two across the top. It is divided into five horizontal slabs or segments, as indicated by the dotted lines. Midway on each side of each slab, at about half an inch distance from the upper edge, a minute hole is bored, parallel to the outer slope of the segment; exactness in this particular being an essential condition of success. Of the four holes in each slab, two only are actually used in the trick, the other two being added partly for the sake of uniformity, and partly to disguise the significance of the other pair. Each slab, save those at the top and bottom, is also perforated perpendicularly by three or four holes of considerable diameter, the object of these being merely to lessen the weight of the slab.

In preparing the pyramid for use in the trick, a piece of plaited silk fishing-line, stained black, and in length five to six feet, is passed by the aid of a needle upwards through the small hole in one side of the largest slab; then in the same way through the corresponding hole in the next, and so on till it comes out through the uppermost. Thence it is again passed downward through the next adjoining hole in each slab till it comes out at the bottom, when the ends are drawn level and tied in a knot.

The use of plaited silk fishing line for such purposes is one of Mr. Schooling’s specialties, and is a “tip” to make a note of. Line of this kind is in proportion to its thickness much stronger than ordinary silk thread, and, not being liable to untwist, its surface remains permanently hard and smooth, a great desideratum where it is important to minimise friction. Further, it does not “kink” as a twisted thread is liable to do.

Two other items of apparatus are used, viz.:

(1) An electric torch in the shape of a wand, the light appearing at the end.

(2) A little knife or cutter specially designed by Mr. Schooling for use in this trick. This consists of a half-inch length of a safety-razor blade, set in a handle consisting of a piece of tin one inch square, folded in half, and then bent back to a right angle on each side, the blade projecting along the line of juncture as shown in Fig. 19. In use the cutter is held by what may be called its backbone between the first joints of the first and second fingers of the extended hand, as shown in Fig. 20. This cutter must be placed ready to hand upon the table. It is so minute that there is no fear of its attracting attention.[12]

In presenting the trick the pyramid, with its sections duly threaded and placed one upon another, is brought in on a wooden board similar to an ordinary drawing-board, measuring twenty-four inches by sixteen, and like the pyramid itself, stained black. It is essential to the satisfactory working of the trick that the “base” section of the pyramid shall not shift when the thread is pulled. This is ensured by having two L shaped “stops” of thin wood glued or screwed to the board near the left hand corner nearest to the performer when in use.

The trick may be introduced as follows:

“I don’t know whether any of you ladies and gentlemen are well up in Egyptology. I can’t say I am, myself. I know a camel when I see one, but that is about as far as I have got. There is, however, one point about it which has always interested me very much. It is a point which has puzzled not only the Egyptologists, but all the other ologists; namely, how the pyramids were built. They consist, as no doubt you know, of enormous masses of stone; so large that the cleverest engineers of our day cannot tell us how they were placed one upon another. If you can imagine the lifting of the Royal Exchange in one lump and dumping it down on the top of the Bank of England, you will have some idea of the sort of job the Egyptian builders had to tackle.[13] Anyhow, the work was done, and as it is clear that it could not have been done by any known mechanical means, we are compelled to seek some other solution of the problem.

“I don’t know whether any of you read novels. If you do, you must often have noticed the curious way in which fiction constantly anticipates fact. The novelist describes some utterly impossible thing, and a few years later some other fellow goes and does it. Jules Verne described a voyage under the sea long before the submarine was invented, and Mr. Wells wrote ‘The War in the Air’ while the aeroplane and the Zeppelin were still in their infancy. But there is one conception of the novelist which has not till now been made an accomplished fact. That is the force called ‘Vril,’ described by Lord Lytton in his novel, ‘The Coming Race.’ He describes Vril as a sort of hyper-electricity capable in the hands of those who know how to gather and use it, of producing all sorts of wonders, even to removing mountains. Imprisoned in a wand and directed by a strong will, it will shrivel up an enemy or a wild beast as by a flash of lighting.

“I have always had an idea that this must have been the force used by the Egyptians to build the pyramids. I have managed to collect a small quantity of an unknown force which answers very closely to Lord Lytton’s description of Vril, and I have charged this wand with it. As regards killing things, I have only tested it so far on a black beetle. The experiment was a success. He was blown to atoms, all but one hind leg. I should like to try it on a tiger; if I could get one cheap. Does any gentleman present know of a secondhand tiger in a good strong cage going cheap? No? I was afraid you wouldn’t. I am hoping however for a chance of trying it some night on a burglar. If a gentleman of the Bill Sykes persuasion should steal into my chamber at dead of night with felonious designs upon my Waterbury and my collarstud, he will be as a dead man. I shall just point this wand at him and say ‘Die,’ and he will be merely a little heap of ashes to be swept up by the housemaid in the morning.

“I can however give you an example of the power of my Vril as a motive force. I shall do so by using it to build or rather rebuild this little pyramid in your presence.

“This is a correct copy of the real thing. It takes to pieces, as you see. One, two, three, four, five!”

As he pronounces the last few words, the performer, standing behind his table, picks up the pyramid, and holding it aloft in his right hand draws away the base from the other sections, sliding it along the thread, and “bedding” it between the “stops” at the left hand bottom corner of the board. He then slides the other portions, one by one, along the thread in the same way, laying them in a row diagonally across the board. This will have taken up a considerable portion of the thread, but there will still be a loop some inches in length hanging down near the left hand corner of the table.

“Now please watch carefully. This wand, you will remember, has been carefully charged with my imitation Vril.”

While speaking these last words the performer gets one finger of his left hand within the loop. He now turns on the light at the end of the wand, and with it makes a quick sweep from right to left over the severed parts of the pyramid, making at the same time a half-turn away from the table, and quickly drawing away the thread. If this is done neatly the severed parts of the pyramid run together one upon the other in a single instant.

It is probable that the parts may not sit exactly one upon another. Whether this is so or not, the performer makes believe to notice that it is so, as it gives him a needful opportunity. He remarks:

“The power was hardly strong enough, I see. There is a block here that needs a little straightening up.” Having meanwhile picked up the little cutter between the fingers he bends over the table and squares up the pyramid as may (or may not) be necessary, and under cover of so doing draws the blade across the thread where it crosses the top, thereby severing it, and then moving back a little to note the effect of his correction draws it away altogether. Shifting the restored pyramid to the centre of the board he brings all forward for examination. The severed thread is allowed to drop on the floor, to be picked up after the performance is over.

[12] As a further precaution it should be painted flesh-color.

[13] Before an American audience the names of any two well-known buildings in New York may be substituted.

THE MIRACLE OF MUMBO JUMBO

The items needed for the presentation of this trick are as follows:

(1) A miniature pagoda of quaint design. It consists of five circular sections, resting one upon another as illustrated in Fig. 21. The trick in effect consists of the automatic re-adjustment of these sections after being taken apart and shown lying apparently haphazard on a Japanese tray. For drawing-room use the pagoda is about six inches high and the same diameter across the base. For stage purposes it may be made a trifle larger.

(2) The tray. This, for use with a pagoda of the size above mentioned, should be not less than twenty inches long by ten or twelve wide, and fairly heavy, as being less liable to shift in use. It must have an upright rim; through one corner of which a minute hole is bored, countersunk and polished on each side of the opening in order to diminish friction on a thread passing through it.

(3) An electric torch in the shape of a bottle; the light showing itself at the mouth.

(4) A black dress-hook, sewn point upwards to the lower edge of the performer’s vest on the right or left side, as may best suit his own position in working the trick, just where back and front meet.

It will be found on examination of the pagoda that each of the parts of which it consists has a hole bored vertically through its centre. The topmost portion has in addition a pinhole passing horizontally across it, about halfway down. Through this a black pin, bent at the head, passes as shown in Fig. 22. In preparation for the trick a piece about three feet long of black _plaited_ silk line, with a small wire ring at one end, is passed by the aid of a needle through the hole in the tray from the outer side; thence upward through the various sections of the pagoda, beginning with the undermost, till it finally comes up through the head. After the needle has been drawn off, the end of the thread is formed into a loop, which is passed over the cross-pin before mentioned. The thread is then drawn taut from below, the several segments of the pagoda resting fairly one upon another in the centre of the tray. The intermediate portion of the thread is drawn up till the little ring at the outer end comes close to the tray, and is laid upon it in zigzag fashion so as prevent the possibility of its fouling at a critical moment.

The introductory patter may run as follows:

“In the course of my travels in Central Africa--you didn’t know that I had been in Central Africa? Strange, how little the world knows of its greatest men! But no matter! When I was in Africa I chanced to come upon the place where the Golliwoggs live.

“It’s a nice place--for those who like that sort of place, but most people would find it a little too warm. It is so warm there that the hens lay their eggs hard-boiled, and you dig up potatoes ready baked. It is too warm for anything but simple life,--the very simple life, particularly as regards clothing. The ordinary walking dress for a gentleman Golliwogg is a pair of braces. The king wears two pairs; except on state occasions, when he wears one of those short shirts instead. You know the kind I mean--all front. I think they call them ‘dickeys.’

“The ladies are more dressy. They get the fashions from back numbers of the _Daily Mail_; kimonos and camisoles and corsets all in the latest style. They are made with green paint and put on with a shaving brush. There is only one thing that bothers the court dressmakers. They can’t make a crinoline.”

[If desired to shorten the patter the fashion details may be omitted.]

“I mention these little matters in order to give you an idea of the place, in case any of you might like to take a week-end trip there. If you are old and tough, you might risk it. If you are young and tender, you had better not.

“The special point of interest is a curious pagoda in the centre of the village. It is seventy-five feet high and is supposed to be the habitation of Mumbo Jumbo; a sort of deputy devil, much respected in those parts. This little model is an exact copy of it. You can’t call it pretty, but there is a very remarkable thing about it. When the king dies (which happens by accident about once a fortnight), the pagoda is pulled down, and if the new king is acceptable to Mumbo Jumbo (which depends upon the amount of his tip to the chief witch doctor) old Mum rebuilds it himself by magic. You don’t see him do it. The pagoda just sits up and paws the air, so to speak. If Mumbo does not approve, the proposed king gets a knock on the head with a cocoa-nut, and some more liberal Golliwogg is crowned instead.

“I naturally wanted to know how the miracle was worked; and I managed to buy the secret from one of the witch doctors. He sold it to me for a pair of sixpenny-half penny sock suspenders. He didn’t wear socks, but that didn’t matter. He put the suspenders on at once and strutted about, as proud as a dog with three tails.

“Now, I am going to tell you the secret. Scientists tell us that the sun throws out three sorts of rays; light-rays, heat-rays, and force-rays. The artful witch doctors have found out a way of bottling off the force rays. They are mild at first, but when they get old in the bottle, so to speak, they become so strong that if you know how to do it you can lift the heaviest weights with them.

“I managed to get hold of a small bottle of the rays” (show bottle) “and I will show you, on a very small scale, how the thing is done.

“First, we will take the pagoda to pieces.”

Standing behind the table, the performer moves the pagoda to the corner of the tray nearest his own left hand; so as to leave space for the different portions when separated. He then picks up all the parts save the base, holding them carefully together, and drawing away with them a length of the thread about equal to the diagonal of the tray. Passing the undermost section downwards along the thread, he lays it down beside the base, afterwards treating the other portions in the same way, the several portions finally resting on the tray somewhat as shown in Fig. 23.

If the length of the thread has been properly gauged (this is a matter to be determined by experiment beforehand), there should be some twelve or fourteen inches of “slack.” Slipping the ring at the end over the little hook before mentioned, the performer moves a little away from the table, so as to draw this portion of the thread all but taut, between his own body and the tray.