Fresh peals of laughter resounded, while Padre Irene rubbed his nose.

"That's right!"

"It's the very image of him!"

"But where is Simoun? Simoun should buy it."

But the jeweler had disappeared, unnoticed by any one.

"_Punales!_" exclaimed Padre Camorra, "how stingy the American is! He's afraid we would make him pay the admission for all of us into Mr. Leeds' show."

"No!" rejoined Ben-Zayb, "what he's afraid of is that he'll compromise himself. He may have foreseen the joke in store for his friend Mr. Leeds and has got out of the way."

Thus, without purchasing the least trifle, they continued on their way to see the famous sphinx. Ben-Zayb offered to manage the affair, for the American would not rebuff a journalist who could take revenge in an unfavorable article. "You'll see that it's all a question of mirrors," he said, "because, you see--" Again he plunged into a long demonstration, and as he had no mirrors at hand to discredit his theory he tangled himself up in all kinds of blunders and wound up by not knowing himself what he was saying. "In short, you'll see how it's all a question of optics."

CHAPTER XVIII

LEGERDEMAIN

Mr. Leeds, a genuine Yankee, dressed completely in black, received his visitors with great deference. He spoke Spanish well, from having been for many years in South America, and offered no objection to their request, saying that they might examine everything, both before and after the exhibition, but begged that they remain quiet while it was in progress. Ben-Zayb smiled in pleasant antic.i.p.ation of the vexation he had prepared for the American.

The room, hung entirely in black, was lighted by ancient lamps burning alcohol. A rail wrapped in black velvet divided it into two almost equal parts, one of which was filled with seats for the spectators and the other occupied by a platform covered with a checkered carpet. In the center of this platform was placed a table, over which was spread a piece of black cloth adorned with skulls and cabalistic signs. The _mise en scene_ was therefore lugubrious and had its effect upon the merry visitors. The jokes died away, they spoke in whispers, and however much some tried to appear indifferent, their lips framed no smiles. All felt as if they had entered a house where there was a corpse, an illusion accentuated by an odor of wax and incense. Don Custodio and Padre Salvi consulted in whispers over the expediency of prohibiting such shows.

Ben-Zayb, in order to cheer the dispirited group and embarra.s.s Mr. Leeds, said to him in a familiar tone: "Eh, Mister, since there are none but ourselves here and we aren't Indians who can be fooled, won't you let us see the trick? We know of course that it's purely a question of optics, but as Padre Camorra won't be convinced--"

Here he started to jump over the rail, instead of going through the proper opening, while Padre Camorra broke out into protests, fearing that Ben-Zayb might be right.

"And why not, sir?" rejoined the American. "But don't break anything, will you?"

The journalist was already on the platform. "You will allow me, then?" he asked, and without waiting for the permission, fearing that it might not be granted, raised the cloth to look for the mirrors that he expected should be between the legs of the table. Ben-Zayb uttered an exclamation and stepped back, again placed both hands under the table and waved them about; he encountered only empty s.p.a.ce. The table had three thin iron legs, sunk into the floor.

The journalist looked all about as though seeking something.

"Where are the mirrors?" asked Padre Camorra.

Ben-Zayb looked and looked, felt the table with his fingers, raised the cloth again, and rubbed his hand over his forehead from time to time, as if trying to remember something.

"Have you lost anything?" inquired Mr. Leeds.

"The mirrors, Mister, where are the mirrors?"

"I don't know where yours are--mine are at the hotel. Do you want to look at yourself? You're somewhat pale and excited."

Many laughed, in spite of their weird impressions, on seeing the jesting coolness of the American, while Ben-Zayb retired, quite abashed, to his seat, muttering, "It can't be. You'll see that he doesn't do it without mirrors. The table will have to be changed later."

Mr. Leeds placed the cloth on the table again and turning toward his ill.u.s.trious audience, asked them, "Are you satisfied? May we begin?"

"Hurry up! How cold-blooded he is!" said the widow.

"Then, ladies and gentlemen, take your seats and get your questions ready."

Mr. Leeds disappeared through a doorway and in a few moments returned with a black box of worm-eaten wood, covered with inscriptions in the form of birds, beasts, and human heads.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began solemnly, "once having had occasion to visit the great pyramid of Khufu, a Pharaoh of the fourth dynasty, I chanced upon a sarcophagus of red granite in a forgotten chamber. My joy was great, for I thought that I had found a royal mummy, but what was my disappointment on opening the coffin, at the cost of infinite labor, to find nothing more than this box, which you may examine."

He handed the box to those in the front row. Padre Camorra drew back in loathing, Padre Salvi looked at it closely as if he enjoyed sepulchral things, Padre Irene smiled a knowing smile, Don Custodio affected gravity and disdain, while Ben-Zayb hunted for his mirrors--there they must be, for it was a question of mirrors.

"It smells like a corpse," observed one lady, fanning herself furiously. "Ugh!"

"It smells of forty centuries," remarked some one with emphasis.

Ben-Zayb forgot about his mirrors to discover who had made this remark. It was a military official who had read the history of Napoleon.

Ben-Zayb felt jealous and to utter another epigram that might annoy Padre Camorra a little said, "It smells of the Church."

"This box, ladies and gentlemen," continued the American, "contained a handful of ashes and a piece of papyrus on which were written some words. Examine them yourselves, but I beg of you not to breathe heavily, because if any of the dust is lost my sphinx will appear in a mutilated condition."

The humbug, described with such seriousness and conviction, was gradually having its effect, so much so that when the box was pa.s.sed around, no one dared to breathe. Padre Camorra, who had so often depicted from the pulpit of Tiani the torments and sufferings of h.e.l.l, while he laughed in his sleeves at the terrified looks of the sinners, held his nose, and Padre Salvi--the same Padre Salvi who had on All Souls' Day prepared a phantasmagoria of the souls in purgatory with flames and transparencies illuminated with alcohol lamps and covered with tinsel, on the high altar of the church in a suburb, in order to get alms and orders for ma.s.ses--the lean and taciturn Padre Salvi held his breath and gazed suspiciously at that handful of ashes.

"_Memento, h.o.m.o, quia pulvis es_!" muttered Padre Irene with a smile.

"Pish!" sneered Ben-Zayb--the same thought had occurred to him, and the Canon had taken the words out of his mouth.

"Not knowing what to do," resumed Mr. Leeds, closing the box carefully, "I examined the papyrus and discovered two words whose meaning was unknown to me. I deciphered them, and tried to p.r.o.nounce them aloud. Scarcely had I uttered the first word when I felt the box slipping from my hands, as if pressed down by an enormous weight, and it glided along the floor, whence I vainly endeavored to remove it. But my surprise was converted into terror when it opened and I found within a human head that stared at me fixedly. Paralyzed with fright and uncertain what to do in the presence of such a phenomenon, I remained for a time stupefied, trembling like a person poisoned with mercury, but after a while recovered myself and, thinking that it was a vain illusion, tried to divert my attention by reading the second word. Hardly had I p.r.o.nounced it when the box closed, the head disappeared, and in its place I again found the handful of ashes. Without suspecting it I had discovered the two most potent words in nature, the words of creation and destruction, of life and of death!"

He paused for a few moments to note the effect of his story, then with grave and measured steps approached the table and placed the mysterious box upon it.

"The cloth, Mister!" exclaimed the incorrigible Ben-Zayb.

"Why not?" rejoined Mr. Leeds, very complaisantly.

Lifting the box with his right hand, he caught up the cloth with his left, completely exposing the table sustained by its three legs. Again he placed the box upon the center and with great gravity turned to his audience.

"Here's what I want to see," said Ben-Zayb to his neighbor. "You notice how he makes some excuse."

Great attention was depicted on all countenances and silence reigned. The noise and roar of the street could be distinctly heard, but all were so affected that a s.n.a.t.c.h of dialogue which reached them produced no effect.

"Why can't we go in?" asked a woman's voice.

"_Aba_, there's a lot of friars and clerks in there," answered a man. "The sphinx is for them only."

"The friars are inquisitive too," said the woman's voice, drawing away. "They don't want us to know how they're being fooled. Why, is the head a friar's _querida_?"