There was an ugly leer in the old woman’s eye as she spoke, and the thought struck me that Voltaire had been making friends with her.

“Yes,” said Voltaire; “I am sure we should all like to know whether Mr. Blake is convinced.”

“I am convinced that Mr. Kaffar has a good memory,” I said.

“Good memory!  What do you mean?”

“Why, Mr. Voltaire and his friends have come a few years too late to make a good impression.  I have not only seen a better performance at a dozen entertainments, but I have found out the secret of what is called ‘thought-reading.’”

“Do you mean to say you have seen similar feats before?” asked Voltaire, savagely.

“At least a dozen times,” I replied.  “In a few years’ time, we shall see the like performed on the sands at our fashionable watering-places.”

“I am glad,” said Kaffar, “that the education of your country has so far advanced.”

I went on talking, not realizing that I was all the time forging a chain that should hold me in cruel bondage.  “I am afraid it says very little for our education,” I replied.  “Some clever fellow has invented a clever system for asking and answering questions, and those who have taken the trouble to learn it have been able to deceive a credulous public.”

Voltaire’s eyes flashed fire.  All the malignity and cruelty that could be expressed in a human face I thought I saw expressed in his.  And yet he wore his old fascinating smile; he never lost his seeming self-possession.

“I must deny Mr. Blake’s statement,” he said; “and, further, I would defy him to find or produce such a code of questions as he mentions.”

I immediately left the room, and soon afterwards returned with a book by a renowned thought-reader, wherein he explained what, to so many, has appeared marvellous.  I pointed out how, according to his system, by asking a question, the first word of which should begin with a certain letter, a particular thing should be indicated, and all that would be needed was that the performers should be perfectly conversant with the system.

The company quickly saw the truth of what I was saying, and for the time, at any rate, Mr. Voltaire’s marvellous knowledge was held at a discount.  “But does Mr. Blake mean to insinuate that Mr. Kaffar and myself have learnt such a code as this?” said Voltaire at length.

“I insinuate nothing,” I replied.  “I am simply showing how your performance can be done by those possessing no knowledge of the occult sciences.”

“But does Mr. Blake decline to believe that we know nothing of the mysterious—­that we have not dived into subjects of which the ordinary mind can know nothing?” said Kaffar.

“Pardon me,” I replied, “but I decline to answer.  I have not volunteered any opinion either as to Mr. Voltaire’s story or your performance.  I was asked my opinion, and I gave it.”

I watched Mr. Voltaire’s face as I spoke.  He seemed to be pondering some matter in his mind, and appeared irresolute as to what action he should take.  At length, a strange light shot from his eyes, and he raised his head and spoke.