This trick may be worked either upon a black art table or black art mat.
We will assume that the latter is used.
The requisites for this trick will in such case be as follows:
1. The mat. This may be a small circular one, a few inches in
circumference without pocket.
2. A handkerchief, fourteen or fifteen inches square, of some gaudy
pattern, carefully folded and placed in a square Japanese handkerchief
box.[10]
3. A circular velvet patch as described _ante_, in the chapter dealing
with novel applications of the Black Art principle.
4. A half-crown placed in a pochette, or otherwise so as to be readily
get-at-able.
_Presentation._ Performer opens the box and takes out the handkerchief,
which he carefully unfolds, handling it as if it were something of
extraordinary value.
“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.