Presentation. Advance, palming off the knave of clubs, and offer pack to be shuffled. When it is returned, force the knave on one of the company. Borrow a hat, and after showing that it is empty, place it, crown downwards, on the table. Receive back the drawn card upon the mat, remarking that you will place it in the hat, which you do accordingly, the other three knaves going in with it. Then, assuming a worried expression, deliver patter to something like the following effect.
“I am afraid, ladies and gentlemen, that I shall not be able to show you the experiment I had intended. I have a telepathic nerve in my left thumb, a sort of private fire alarm, only more so, which always gives me warning when things are going wrong, and I feel it now. If you have read ‘Macbeth,’ you will remember that one of the witches says:
‘By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes.’
“I have often wondered whether that old lady could have been a sort of great-great-great grandmother of mine. Magic certainly runs in the family, and we may have inherited it from her. Anyhow, I have just the same sort of sensation myself. Unfortunately, in my case the warning is incomplete. I dare say you will remember that story (I rather think it’s in Macaulay’s ‘Lays of Ancient Rome’), about Little Queen Cole. Her Majesty had the misfortune to develop a mole upon her nose, and King Cole was worried about it. He consulted Old Moore and Zadkiel, and all the leading astrologers of the day, but all they could tell him was
‘A mole upon the face
Shows that something will take place,
But not what that something will be.’
That’s just my case. My prophetic thumb merely tells me that something is wrong, but doesn’t say what. It may be drains, or the house on fire, or something in the county court. You never can tell!
“Of course it’s nothing of that sort now. In the present case it has no doubt something to do with the experiment I want to show you. You chose your card quite freely, did you not, Madam? It never matters to me in the least what card is chosen, with the exception of one particular card, which is a holy terror. May I ask if you happened to draw the knave of clubs? Yes? I feared as much. The knave of clubs is the bane of my life. He is always endeavouring to get himself chosen, and then he does his best to upset my arrangements. And the worst of it is, he leads away the other three knaves. The four of them form a secret society, which they call ‘The cheerful blackguards.’ The knave of clubs is the president, and the rest have to do just as he tells them. He communicates with them by means of a sort of wireless telegraphy, and when he calls they go to him at once.” (You here make the “click.”) “Did you hear that sound? That’s his call now, despatched by wireless from the hat to the very middle of the pack. I have no doubt that we shall find that the other three knaves have already left it, and joined him in the hat.” (Make believe to look over the pack, and hand it to a spectator.) “Yes! just as I thought: they are all gone.” (To a spectator.) “See for yourself, sir. Not a single knave left. And here they all are, in the hat.” (Whence they are produced accordingly.)