Bekir and Sabit nodded. They were very keen already, and knew that Hill usually obeyed me—it was a feature in his insanity that he gave in to me more readily than to anyone else. But tonight he simulated great reluctance. I had to threaten to take his Bible away before he would do as he was told. Finally he stood up, the picture of mournful despondency, and slowly rolled up his sleeves. We lit a second candle and placed it on the table. We moved the table to the spot we wanted it—not directly under the rings but slightly to one side, so that we would swing clear when we stepped off. Then Hill began.
It was a very wonderful little performance. He showed his empty hand to the sentries, then closed it slowly under their noses (his audience was never more than three feet away). When he opened it a rupee lay shining in his palm. The sentries gasped—here was a man turning thin air into silver. Could he make gold too? Hill took the rupee in his right hand and threw it into his left three times. The third time it turned into a Turkish gold lira. The sentries, dumb with surprise, took it from his palm, examined it closely by the candlelight, bit it, rang it on the table. “It is good,” said Bekir, handing it back. “Make more, many more.” Hill smiled a little sourly and threw the lira back into his left hand, and it turned back into a rupee. Sabit gave a short, very nervous bark of a laugh. Bekir was disappointed—he wanted more gold. With a look of utter boredom on his face Hill began extracting gold coins from the air, from under the table, from the back of his knee, slipping his harvest into his pocket as he garnered it. The sentries gaped in open-mouthed astonishment. Hill picked up his Bible and made to sit in his corner again.
“More!” said Bekir. “Show us more magic.”
Hill turned back. “Would you like to see the table float about the room?” he asked.
They would like it very much.
“Then step outside the door while I speak to the djinns.”
We all rose to go out, I with the rest.
“You’ll be out there about 15 minutes,” Hill went on; “better take a candle with you. And if you value your lives don’t come in till I call you. But I want one of you to stay and help me.”
I suggested Moïse should stay, and in the same breath twisted my button and told him to leave me behind. It ended by the sentries going out with Moïse quite happily. We closed the door. It fitted badly, and Moïse had but to watch the space between the lintel and door to see when our light went out. Darkness was to be his signal for breaking in.
The moment the door closed, Hill handed me my rope, and we mounted the small table together. My hands shook so from excitement that the ring rattled against the staple with a noise like castanets, and I could scarcely control my fingers to knot the rope. It was not unlike the “stag-fever” which afflicts young hunters of big game.