A gong sounded again; the audience was hushed. “First,” said the doctor, “I shall introduce you to my personal attendant from the world of spirits—a devil from Lapland. Springer, to me!” He snapped his fingers. There was a puff of smoke from the Cabinet, a loud whizzing sound, and something small and red and horny and whiskery flew out of one of the apertures in the Cabinet and landed neatly in his hand.

And then there came an interruption.

“Nothing but a doll on a spring!” sneered Count Karlstein. “The man’s a fraud!”

One or two of the men in the audience nodded. Doctor Cadaverezzi looked like thunder. I thought he was going to lose them for a moment; they’re a hard bunch to please, as many players had found to their cost. But I didn’t know Doctor Cadaverezzi. Suddenly a smile of childlike innocence spread over his features, like a bubble of pure delight.

“Next,” he said, “I shall show you a trick that has baffled audiences from Paris to Peru. Has anyone got a watch that I may borrow?”

“Yes! Yes!” shouted Count Karlstein. “Use this one!”

Doctor Cadaverezzi pretended to be unwilling, but as no one else offered a watch, he had to take Count Karlstein’s.

“You’ll see,” said the count gleefully as Doctor Cadaverezzi made his way back to the front, “he’ll pretend to smash it. I’ve seen this trick before!”

Doctor Cadaverezzi held up a large red-spotted handkerchief and placed the watch inside it. “Your watch is in here, my lord,” he said, wrapping it up.

“Of course it is!” said the count, enjoying himself hugely.

“Now I shall take this very heavy mallet,” said the doctor, holding it up, “and smash the watch to pieces.”

“Go on, then!” called the count, laughing loudly. “I know how it’s done, Snivelwurst! I’ve seen Goldini do this. Yes, go on, smash it!”

“With your permission, then,” said Doctor Cadaverezzi politely, “I shall strike your watch with the mallet and break it to pieces.”

“Go on, go on!” Count Karlstein waved impatiently. Doctor Cadaverezzi put the wrapped-up watch on a small table next to him and struck it several heavy blows with the mallet.

In between the blows, the count was explaining to the audience that the watch wasn’t there at all—that it was up Cadaverezzi’s sleeve and that he’d shortly produce it from the other side of the room or from someone’s hat. Snivelwurst, by this time, was nodding and beaming and rubbing his hands at Cadaverezzi’s coming discomfiture; and poor Ma, by my side, was almost beside herself with bitterness at Count Karlstein’s spoilsport behavior.

Finally, when the handkerchief had been well and truly battered, Doctor Cadaverezzi almost humbly picked it up and carried it to Count Karlstein, who was now roaring with laughter.

“Your watch, my lord,” he said.