The discovery, in some more or less mysterious way, of an unknown card is one of the stock feats of the conjurer, and indeed in one shape or another is one of the most hackneyed of card tricks. But the wise magician never discards a good trick simply because it is an old one. He repolishes it, adds a bit here, takes away a bit there, presents it in a new shape and with new patter, and behold! the “chestnut” of yesterday becomes a latest novelty of today.
To obtain the maximum effect from a trick of the above kind, it is necessary in the first place to convince the spectator that the drawn card cannot possibly be known beforehand to the performer; and in the second place to persuade him that it is discovered in some actually impossible (and therefore magical) way; taking advantage, where possible, of some known scientific truth which may lend colour to your suggestion. It is surprising, in conjuring matters, how much even the smallest percentage of fact increases the power of the average spectator for swallowing fiction. The patter for the trick which follows has been arranged upon these lines.
The requisites for the trick are a pack of cards from which three known cards have been withdrawn and palmed (or so placed to be in instant readiness for palming), a hand-mirror, and a silk handkerchief.
The introductory oration may run somewhat as follows:
“You all know, ladies and gentlemen, what an important part finger-prints now play in the detection of crime. Happily there is no connection between conjuring and crime, beyond the fact that they both begin with a C. No conjurer that I know of has ever murdered anybody or been murdered himself, and when a conjurer borrows a half-crown, he always—well, almost always returns it. But each one of us, whether criminal or curate, burglar or bishop, possesses a definite set of finger-prints, quite unlike those of anybody else. And, what is more, we cannot touch anything, ever so lightly, without leaving upon it our sign manual in the shape of a more or less perfect impression of our fingers, imperceptible to ourselves, but quite visible to the expert in such matters.
“Practice in distinguishing such points forms a highly interesting study. Of course it must be pursued with a proper amount of tact, or it may get you into trouble, as in the case of a gentleman I once heard of who took up the study with more zeal than discretion. He said to his wife, not leading up to the subject gently, as he should have done, but in a peremptory sort of way, ‘Maria, I want your finger-prints.’ Unfortunately, Maria was rather a quick-tempered lady, and she had just been having a few words, of a hostile nature, with the cook. She slapped his face, and said, ‘Well, now you’ve got ’em.’ He had! They were very distinct, but not quite in the shape he wanted. I am going to ask permission to read some of your finger-prints, but, I trust without fear of such painful results.
“In the first place, I should like this pack of cards to be thoroughly well shuffled.”
While this is done, performer palms the three known cards, and when the pack is returned, proceeds to force them on different members of the company. Each of the drawers is requested to allow his or her card to lie for a few moments face down on the palm of the outspread hand. The cards drawn are then returned to the pack, which is again shuffled, and spread face upward on the table.
“Each of the three cards which have been drawn now has a complete set of finger-prints upon its surface, but there are no doubt others on many other cards, the result of previous handling. To enable me to distinguish the right ones, I must ask each person who chose a card to give me, for the purpose of comparison, a fresh impression, on the glass of this mirror. First, however, we must remove any prints that may already be upon it.”
He accordingly breathes upon the glass, and wipes it carefully with the handkerchief.