"Was he tall or short?"
"Medium. Rather slim. Long, thin hands. Say, when he waved those hands before the face of that old farmer sitting on a chair on the stage, it was enough to make the shivers run down your back. I don't know whether it was all a fake or not. Most people here think it was, but I swan, it was creepy."
"Did you know the farmer?"
"Oh, yes,--old Jordan. Lives near here. Terrible set up about having a strong will, and said nobody could hypnotize him. Say, it was funny to see him think he was a cat, chasing a rat, and then suddenly believe that he was an old maid and scared to death of a mouse, and jumping up on a chair and screaming in a squeaky little voice."
"Diavolo woke him up, didn't he?"
"Oh, yes. And then the old man tore things around. He came here the next day to see the man in the daylight, and dare him to try it again."
"Did he do it?" I asked, wondering how much of Jordan's story was known to his neighbors.
"Oh, I guess not. He went up to Diavolo's room, I remember, and when he came out he wouldn't talk, but just went off home."
"And you never heard Diavolo's real name?"
"Nope. Trade secret, I suppose. Probably born Bill Jones, or something else that wouldn't look as well on the billboards as Diavolo."