This illusion was due to Malerick's use of mentalism, not one of his strongest skills but one that he was competent at. Mentalism has nothing to do with telepathically discerning someone's thoughts, of course. It's a combination of mechanical and psychological techniques to deduce facts. Malerick was now doing what the best mentalists did—body reading, it was called, as opposed to mind reading. He was noting very subtle changes in Cheryl's poses and facial expressions and gestures in response to comments he made. Some told him he was straying from her thoughts, others that he was on the mark.

He mentioned, for instance, a friend who'd just been through a divorce and he could see easily that she had too—and she'd been on the receiving end. So, grimacing, he told her that he was divorced and that his wife'd had an affair and left him. It had devastated him but he was now recovering.

"I gave up a boat," she said, sourly, "just to get away from that son-of-a-bitch. A twenty-four-foot sailboat."

Malerick also used "Barnum statements" to make her think they had more in common than they did. The classic example was a mentalist sizing up his subject and offering gravely, "I sense you're often extroverted but at times you find yourself quite shy."

Which is interpreted as insightful but, of course, applies to nearly everybody on earth.

Neither the fictional John nor Cheryl had children. Both had cats, divorced parents and a love of tennis. Look at all these coincidences! A match made in heaven . . .

Almost time, he thought. Though he was in no hurry. Even if the police had some leads to what he was up to they'd be thinking he wouldn't kill anyone again until 4:00; it was now just after two.

You may think, Revered Audience, that the world of illusion never intersects the world of reality but that's not wholly true.

I think of John Mulholland, the renowned magician and editor of the magic magazine, The Sphinx. He abruptly announced his early retirement from magic and journalism in the nineteen fifties.

No one could figure out why. But then the rumors began—rumors that he'd started working for the American intelligence community to teach spies how to use magic techniques to deliver drugs in such subtle ways that even the most paranoid Communist didn't know he was being given a mickey.

What do you see in my hands, Revered Audience? Look closely at my fingers. Nothing, right? They seem empty. And yet, as you've probably guessed, they aren't. . . .

Now using one of Mulholland's smoother clandestine drugging techniques, Malerick picked up his spoon with his left hand. As he tapped it absently on the tabletop Cheryl glanced at it. A mere fraction of a second. But it gave Malerick enough time to empty a tiny capsule of tasteless powder into her coffee as he reached for the sugar with his other hand.

John Mulholland would've been proud.