A spontaneous outburst of clapping followed this speech, and as soon as it had ceased one of the audience who had risen and was waiting to speak, said:  “I trust Messrs. Martin and Davenport will accept this challenge, and allow the Modern Sorcery Company the opportunity here, in this hall to-night, of displaying their skill—­or their ignorance, as the case may be.  If Messrs. Martin and Davenport’s tricks cannot be performed by any outsider—­the Firm in accepting this challenge will merely be twenty thousand pounds the richer—­and if—­as is hardly likely, Messrs. Martin and Davenport should be outwitted, I am sure they themselves will be amongst the first to congratulate their successful rivals.  I, for one, am quite ready to act as referee.”

“I too!” shouted a dozen other voices.  “Be a sport and accept his bet!”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” John Martin replied with dignity, “you have given me no alternative; I accept the challenge.  Perhaps those who have so kindly volunteered to act as referees will see that order is maintained whilst I go on with my performance, at the conclusion of which Mr. Curtis—­I think that is the name of my rival—­will be quite at liberty to try his exposition of my tricks.”

The performance then proceeded, and when it was over, Curtis, Hamar and Kelson, accompanied by six of those of the audience who had volunteered to act as referees, stepped on to the stage.  Seats were provided for the referees—­three on the one side of the stage and three on the other; and having seen that everything was fair and square John Martin retired to the O.P. wing, behind which Gladys was concealed.

A brief description of “The Brass Coffin” trick, which was the first Messrs. Hamar, Curtis and Kelson proceeded to explain, will, perhaps, suffice.

A massively constructed brass-bound coffin is handed round to the audience, who carefully examine it, and being unable to discover anything amiss, pronounce themselves satisfied that it is genuine.

The operator then summons an assistant, jokingly refers to him as “the corpse”—­puts him into a sack, made to represent a winding-sheet, securely binds the sack with a piece of cord, and asks one of the audience to seal it.  The sack and its contents are then placed in the coffin which is locked and corded.  The operator then throws a sheet over the coffin, lets it remain there for a few seconds, and on removing it and opening the lid, the coffin, is found to be empty.  A shout from the front of the House makes every one turn round, when, to their amazement, “the corpse” is seen standing up at the back of “the Pit,” holding the sack with the rope and seal—­intact—­in his hand.  Such was the marvellous feat which had been accomplished in Martin and Davenport’s Hall night in and night out for years, the solution of which no one as yet had been able to discover.  One can imagine, in these circumstances, the tremendous excitement of the audience at the prospect of seeing this notorious puzzle tackled—­and tackled by a member of a Firm which was already reputed to be doing all kinds of weird and extraordinary things.  But, whereas it was quite obvious that John Martin was greatly perturbed (his eyebrows were working nervously, and his lips and fingers twitching), Curtis, on the other hand, was as cool as possible—­he literally did not turn a hair.