“Then came the part the audience had been waiting for and that caused so much sensation through the city. Eisengrim said the Head would give personal advice to three people in the audience. This had always been sensational, and the night I was there with my father’s theatre party the Head had said something that brought the house down, to a woman who was involved in a difficult legal case; it enraged me because it was virtually contempt of court—a naked interference in something that was private and under the most serious consideration our society provides. I had talked a great deal about it afterward, and Denyse had told me not to be a spoil-sport, and my father had suggested that I was ruining Lorene’s party—because of course this sort of nonsense was just the kind of thing a fool like Lorene would think marvellous.

“So you see I wasn’t in the best mood for The Soirée of Illusions, but some perversity compelled me to go, and I bought a seat in the top gallery, where I assumed nobody would know me. A lot of people had been going to this show two and even three times, and I didn’t want anybody to say I had been among their number.

“The program was the same, but the flatness I had expected in a show I had seen before was notably missing, and that annoyed me. I didn’t want Eisengrim to be as good as he was. I thought him dangerous and I grudged him the admiration the audience plainly felt for him. The show was very clever; I must admit that. It had real mystery, and beautiful girls very cleverly and tastefully displayed, and there was a quality of fantasy about it that I have never seen in any other magician’s performance, and very rarely in the theatre.

“Have you ever seen the Habima Players do The Dybbuk? I did, long ago, and this had something of that quality about it, as if you were looking into a stranger and more splendid world than the one you know—almost a solemn joy. But I had not lost my grievance, and the better The Soirée of Illusions was, the more I wanted to wreck it.

“I suppose the drink was getting to me more than I knew, and I muttered two or three times until people shushed me. When The Brazen Head of Friar Bacon came, and the borrowed objects had been identified, and Eisengrim was promising his answers to secret questions, I suddenly heard myself shouting, ‘Who killed Boy Staunton?’ and I found I was on my feet, and there was a sensation in the theatre. People were staring at me. There was a crash in one of the boxes, and I had the impression that someone had fallen and knocked over some chairs. The Head began to glow, and I heard the foreign voice saying something that seemed to begin, ‘He was killed by a gang …’ then something about ‘the woman he knew … the woman he did not know,’ but really I can’t be sure what I heard because I was dashing up the steps of the balcony as hard as I could go—they are very steep—and then pelting down two flights of stairs, though I don’t think anybody was chasing me. I rushed into the street, jumped into one of the taxis that had begun to collect at the door, and got back to my apartment, very much shaken.