My Library

seven years before—the unearthly and mysterious means, I repeat, by which his guilt was brought to light—this, all this, so oppressed me that I could not take a present interest in what was transpiring about me. Indeed, I cared little for either Mai or his tricks—which, from observing the method of his preparations, I had already not only despised, but put down to the score of legerdemain—clever and surprising, but still nothing more than legerdemain. “How rudely this conceit was broken up, how horribly I was convinced of my mistaken estimate of the man before us, will very soon be seen. As for his skill in detecting the coin, the sofa, and the plates, I had already secretly accounted. I remembered Caspar Hauser, and several other Sensitives, who could detect the presence of metals by what may be called ‘magnetic sense.’ His description of the dark bed-room au troisième, was very simple, for nearly all old houses have such chambers on that floor; this was an old house; Vatterale saw it, and made what preliminary capital he could from his acuteness. With the present weight of experience; with the memory of the deeds of the mystical Ravalette still fresh in mind, of course I could not be very highly interested in such displays of minor magic as I felt convinced were very shortly to be made by the conjuring gentleman before us. “Suddenly the man whose pretensions I had just