“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 pronounce 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 pronounced 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 snatch 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?”

In the midst of a profound silence the American announced in a tone of emotion:  “Ladies and gentlemen, with a word I am now going to reanimate the handful of ashes, and you will talk with a being that knows the past, the present, and much of the future!”

Here the prestidigitator uttered a soft cry, first mournful, then lively, a medley of sharp sounds like imprecations and hoarse notes like threats, which made Ben-Zayb’s hair stand on end.

“Deremof!” cried the American.

The curtains on the wall rustled, the lamps burned low, the table creaked.  A feeble groan responded from the interior of the box.  Pale and uneasy, all stared at one another, while one terrified senora caught hold of Padre Salvi.