The Elliott O’Donnell Supernatural Megapack

by Elliott O'Donnell

  And as the audience looked, they saw the panel slide back, and first of all Hamar’s head, and then his body, wriggle through the aperture thus made.

  “The reason why you, audience, cannot see him make his escape is this,” Curtis explained; “the head of the coffin is always turned away from you and placed against a mirror which you can’t see, and which to you appears but the continuation of the stage. In this mirror exactly opposite the head of the coffin is an aperture, and it is through this ‘the corpse’ makes his exit to the back of the stage. I will show it you. Here it is”—and beckoning to the referees to come quite close, he pointed to a glass screen, in the centre of the base of which was a glass trap-door, corresponding in height and girth to the head of the coffin. “Here, corpse!” Curtis said, “crawl through”—and Hamar, looking as if he by no means appreciated the undignified task of wriggling on his stomach before so many eyes, drew himself as tight together as he could, and squirmed through.

  “Does that satisfy you, gentlemen?” Curtis inquired.

  “Perfectly!” the referees answered. “Nothing could be plainer. We see exactly, now, how the trick is done.”

  At this there was a loud outburst of clapping, and Curtis bowed in the elegant manner in which he had been patiently and assiduously coached by Kelson.

  He then proceeded to the second trick—“Eve at the Window,” a trick almost, if not quite, as famous as “The Brass Coffin,” and for the solution of which Martin and Davenport had frequently offered huge sums of money.

  A large pane of glass some nine by six feet in area, and set in a frame, made to represent that of a window, is placed on the stage, about eighteen inches from the floor. Thirty-six inches from the ground a wooden shelf is placed against the window. An assistant—usually a woman—then mounts on the shelf and, looking out of the glass, proceeds to kiss her hand vigorously. The operator in a shocked voice asks her to desist. She refuses and, to the amusement of the audience, carries on her pantomimic flirtation more desperately than before. The operator pretends to lose his temper, and snatching up a screen places it at the back of her. He then fires a pistol, pulls aside the screen, and she has vanished. As the top, bottom and sides of the window, all in fact except the very middle, have been in full view of the audience, and as the window has been tightly closed all the time, the disappearance of the girl completely mystifies the audience.

  Curtis explained it all. He pointed out that the keynote to the illusion lay behind the wooden shelf, which was so placed as to conceal the fact that the lower part of the window was made double, the bottom of the upper part being concealed from view by a second sheet of silvered glass placed in front of it. The shelf covers the line of junction and enables the window frame to be scrutinized by the audience.

  As soon as the screen is put in front of the lady on the shelf—the glass pane slides up about a foot and a half into the top of the frame, purposely made very deep. The bottom of the window is cut away in the middle, leaving an aperture about two feet square, which was previously hidden from view by the double glass at the base. Eve makes her exit through this hole, and slides on to a board placed behind the window in readiness for her. The pane of glass then slides down again, the screen is removed, and the window appears just as solid as before.

  When Curtis concluded his verbal explanation he gave the audience a practical illustration of how the thing was done; he manipulated the screen and pistol, whilst Hamar posed as Eve, and directly he had finished there was another outburst of applause. Kelson dared not look at John Martin or Gladys. The brief glance he had taken of them at the conclusion of the giving away of the first trick had shocked him—and he purposely stood with his back to them. With Hamar it was otherwise—the joy of triumph was strong within him, and the picture of John Martin, leaning forward in his chair, with his mouth half open and a dazed, glassy expression in his eyes, only thrilled him with pleasure; he laughed at the old man, and still more at Gladys.

  “That’s the way to treat a girl of that sort,” he whispered to Kelson; “scoff at her—scoff at her well. Let her see you don’t care a snap for her—and in the end she’ll run after you and haunt you to death.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Kelson said. “It might act in some cases, perhaps, but I don’t think you can quite depend on it.”

  “Pooh! You are no judge of women, in spite of all your experience,” Hamar retorted. “I’ll bet you anything you like she’ll come round and make a tremendous fuss of me.”

  “Supposing you fall in love with her, how about the compact?” Kelson asked. “You’ve warned me often enough.”

  “Oh, but I’m not like you,” Hamar replied. “There’s nothing soft in my nature. I fall in love! Not much! Why, you might as well have apprehensions of my joining the Salvation Army, or wanting to become a Militant Suffragette—either would be just about as possible. No—! I shall make the girl love me—and we shall be engaged for just as long as I please. If I find some one that attracts me more, I shall throw her aside—if not, maybe, I shall marry her—but in either case there will be no question of love—at least not on my part. She shall do as I want—that is all! Hulloa! Curtis is beginning again.”

  There were five other tricks on the programme—all of which were world renowned. They were “The Floating Head”; “The Mango Seed”; “The Haunted Bathing-machine,” “The Girl with the Five Eyes,” and “The Vanishing Bicycle” illusion. As with the first two tricks, so Curtis did with the following five—he explained them, and then, aided by Hamar and Kelson, gave practical demonstrations of their solutions; and so thoroughly and clearly were these solutions demonstrated that the referees asked no questions—they were absolutely satisfied. Turning to the audience—at a sign from Curtis—they announced that the whole of Messrs. Martin and Davenport’s tricks had been solved to their entire satisfaction, and that Messrs. Hamar, Curtis and Kelson of the Modern Sorcery Company Ltd. had, without doubt, won the wager.

  “Have you anything to say?” Curtis asked, addressing John Martin.

  “I acknowledge my defeat, though I do not understand it!” John Martin said with very white lips. “I shall pay you the ten thousand pounds to-night.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Hamar interposed; “we don’t want to take your money, all we wanted to do was to prove to you we could perform the tricks you believed to be insoluble.

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” he went on, raising his voice, “the Modern Sorcery Company Ltd. has given you some proof to-night of their capabilities in the conjuring line, and if you will give us the pleasure of your company to-morrow night—we invite you all free of charge for the occasion—we will give you a still further demonstration of our powers. May we count upon your patronage?”

  A terrific storm of clapping was the reply, and as the audience slowly filed from the hall, John Martin staggered into the wing, reeled past Gladys ere she could catch him, and sank helplessly on to the floor.

  [1] The river referred to by Maitland is the river Lagartos, which was then (1691) unnamed.

  [2] For chiche compare the ancient Maya or Yucatan word Chicken-Itza (i. e. name of town in Yucatan where excavations are now taking place—1912).

  [3] For Menes compare Mayan Menes, wise men.

  [4] Compare Mayan Chaac-mol, a leopard.

  [5] Compare Ozil, Mayan for well-beloved.

  [6] Moo, Mayan for Macaw.

  [7] Niké, woman’s name in Mayan.

  [8] In all probability she was the founder of Chicken-Itza, the capital of Yucatan.

  [9] Types of Elementals still to be met with in certain localities (vide Byeways of Ghostland, published by Rider & Son).

  [10] Compare Egyptian ré.

  [11] Maitland raises the question as to whether Barrahneil was the ancestor of Ni
all of the Nine Hostages. Of this there is every possibility, since many Atlanteans undoubtedly escaped to Ireland, carrying with them the knowledge of Black Magic—to which might be traced the Banshee and other family ghosts.

  [12] Probably a Vice Elemental.

  [13] All subsequent works dealing with Black Magic were founded on it.

  [14] Closely allied to deadly nightshade, and known in botany as Circæa. It is found in damp, shady places and was used to a very large extent in mediæval sorcery.

  [15] This is a very sinister sign in astrology, denoting the presence of evil influences of all kinds.—(Author’s note.)

  [16] According to Atlantean ideas these spirits were:—Vice Elementals; Morbas (or Disease Elementals); Clanogrians (or malicious family ghosts, such as Banshees, etc.); Vampires; Barrowvians, i. e. a grotesque kind of phantasm that frequents places where prehistoric man or beast has been interred; Planetians, i. e. spirits inimical to dwellers on this earth that inhabit various of the other planets; and earthbound spirits of such dead human beings as were mad, imbecile, cruel and vicious, together with the phantasms of vicious and mad beasts, and beasts of prey.—(Author’s note.)

  [17] They are a literal translation of the Atlantean by Thos. Maitland, and are very nearly identified with forms of spirit invocation used in Egypt, India, Persia, Arabia, and among the Red Indians of North and South America.—(Author’s note.)

  THE SORCERY CLUB (Part 2)

  CHAPTER XIII

  THE MODERN SORCERY COMPANY LTD. GIVE A GRATIS PERFORMANCE

  The days that followed were dark days for Gladys. Her father, whom she loved—and, until now, had never realized how much she loved—lay seriously ill. He had had a stroke which, although fortunately slight, must, as the doctor said, be regarded as a prelude to what would happen, unless he was kept very quiet. And to keep him quiet was not an easy thing to do. His mind continually reverted to what had just taken place, and he was for ever asking Gladys to tell him whether anything further had occurred in connection with it, whether there was anything about it in the papers.

  Gladys, of course, was obliged to dissemble. She hated anything approaching dissimulation, but on this occasion there was no help for it, and what she told John Martin was the reverse of what she knew to be actually happening. The papers were full to overflowing with accounts of that fatal night’s proceedings, and of the marvellous gratis exhibition given on the succeeding evening by the Modern Sorcery Company Ltd.

  The Hooter, for example, had a full column on the middle page headed in large type—

  Extraordinary Scene at Martin and Davenport’s

  The Greatest Conjuring Tricks in the World Solved!

  Whilst the Daily Snapper, determined to be none the less sensational, began thus:

  Mysteries No Longer!

  “The Brass Coffin Trick” And “Eve at the Window” Done at Last! Martin and Davenport Lose Their Prestige

  This was bad enough, but the Planet published a paragraph that was even more galling, viz.—

  “Now that Messrs. Martin and Davenport’s great Illusions have been explained and their Hall in Kingsway, so long famous as the Home of Puzzledom, of necessity shorn of its glamour, one need not be surprised if those who delight in this kind of mystery, should turn elsewhere for their amusement. The British Public, which is above all things enamoured of novelty, will, doubtless, now resort to the Modern Sorcery Company, whose House in Cockspur Street bids fair to become the future home of everything uncanny. Their programme—to the uninitiated—presents possibilities—and impossibilities.”

  So said the Planet, and as the number of attendances at Martin and Davenports’ fell from 820 on the night of the challenge to 89 on the succeeding night, whilst the Modern Sorcery Company’s Hall was filled to overflowing, there was every prospect of its prediction being verified. The solution of Martin and Davenports’ tricks had taken place (Hamar had so planned it) on the last night the trio possessed the property of divination, and, consequently, on the night that terminated the first stage of their compact. The following night they would be in possession of new powers, such powers as would warrant them giving a gratis exhibition—an exhibition of jugglery absolutely new and unprecedented. That the exhibition was successful may be gathered from the following article in the Daily Cyclone—

  “MARVELLOUS DISPLAY OF PSYCHIC PHENOMENA IN COCKSPUR STREET.

  “The Modern Sorcery Company Ltd., in their new premises in Cockspur Street, gave the most remarkable display of Phenomena it has ever yet fallen to our lot to report. Indeed, the performances were of such an extraordinary nature that the huge audience, en masse, was scared; not a few people fainted, whilst every now and again were heard screams of terror intermingled with long protracted ‘Ohs!’”

  A brief résumé of the entertainment ran as follows:—The first part of the Modern Sorcery Company’s programme was carried out by Mr. Leon Hamar, solus, who, stepping to the front of the stage, announced that he was about to give a display of clairvoyance. Without further prelude he pointed to various members of the audience, and described spiritual presences he saw standing behind them. He did not say he could see a spirit, answering to the name of James or George—or some such equally familiar name—and then proceed to give a description of it, so elastic, that with very little stretching it would undoubtedly have fitted nine out of every ten people one meets with every day, but unlike any other clairvoyants we have known, he described the individual physical and moral traits of the people he professed to see. For example: To a lady sitting in the third row of the stalls, he said: “There is the phantasm of an elderly gentleman standing behind you. He has a vivid scar on his right cheek that looks as if it might have been caused by a sabre cut. He has a grey military moustache, a very marked chin; wears his hair parted in the middle, and has light-blue eyes that are fixed ferociously on the gentleman seated on your left. Do you recognize the person I am describing?”

  “I think so,” the lady answered in a faint voice.

  “I will spare you a description of his person,” Hamar went on, “but I should like to remind you that he met with a rather peculiar accident. He was looking over some engineering works in Leeds, when some one pushed him, and he was instantly whipped off the ground by a piece of revolving mechanism and dashed to pieces against the ceiling. Am I right?”

  There was no reply—but the sigh, we think, was more significant than words.

  Mr. Hamar then turned to a lady in the next row. “I can see behind you,” he said, “an old dowager with yellow hair. She wears large emerald drop earrings, black satin skirt, and a heliotrope bodice of which she appears to be somewhat vain. She is coughing terribly. She died of pneumonia, brought about by the excessive zeal of—Ahem!—of her relatives—for the open-air treatment. Contrary to expectations, however, all her money went to a Society in Hanover Square—a Society for the Anti-propagation of Children. I think you know the lady to whom I refer.”

  Mr. Hamar had again hit the mark.

  “Only too well!” came the indignant and spontaneous reply.

  Mr. Hamar then turned to a man in the fifth row. “Hulloa!” he exclaimed. “What have we here—an Irish terrier answering to the name of ‘Peg.’ It is standing upright with its two front paws resting on your knees. It is looking up into your face, and its mouth is open as if anticipating a lump of sugar. From the marks on its body I should say it has been killed by being run over?”

  Again Mr. Hamar was correct. “What you say is absolutely true,” the gentleman replied; “I had a dog named Peg. I was greatly attached to it, and it was run over in Piccadilly by a motor cyclist. I hate the very sight of a motor bicycle.”

  After a brief interval of awestruck silence a voice from the gallery called out—

  “You are in league with him!”

  Then the man in
the stalls stood up, and essayed to speak; but his voice was drowned in a perfect tornado of applause. He had no need—he was instantly recognized—he was J—— B——. With a few more examples of clairvoyance Mr. Hamar continued to entertain his audience for half an hour or so, by the end of which time, we have no hesitation in saying that every one was convinced that he actually saw what, he said, he saw.

  The second part of the programme was entirely in the hands of Mr. Curtis, who now came forward with a bow. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said; “you all know that man is complex—that he is composed of mind and matter, the material and immaterial. I now propose to give you a physical demonstration of this fact. Will twelve of the audience kindly come up on the stage and sit around me, so that you may feel quite certain that I have here no mechanical devices to assist me?”—And amongst other well-known people who responded to Mr. Curtis’s request, were Lord Bayle, Sir Charles Tenningham and the Right Hon. John Blaine, M.P. Having arranged these twelve volunteers in a semi-circle at the back of the stage, Mr. Curtis, standing in the centre of the stage, again addressed his audience. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said; “the secret of separating the mind—or what Spiritualists, who love to bolster up their pretended knowledge of the other world by the invention of pretentious nomenclature, call the ‘ethical ego’—from the body, lies in intense concentration. If you wish to acquire the power, practise concentration—concentrate on being in a certain place. If nothing happens at first, don’t be discouraged, but keep on trying, and a time will come when you will suddenly leave your body, in a form, which is the exact counterpart of the body you have left. You will visit the place whereon you are concentrating. Perhaps the best method of practising projection is to put your forehead against a door or wall, and concentrate very hard on being on the other side. It may take weeks before you get a result, but if you persevere, you will eventually succeed in leaving your physical form and passing through the door, or wall, into the space beyond. Now watch me! I shall concentrate on projecting my immaterial body, and of walking in it, three times round my material body.”