Then the Princess said, “As the gentleman you want, I should like to name my neighbour, Herr von Wenk!”
“And the lady? Perhaps the Prince would name the lady?”
The Prince answered at once, “Then I shall name my wife.”
Weltmann seated himself, laying his artificial hand upon his knee in a way which everyone noticed. The other hand he kept in his coat-pocket. After a pause, in which he had collected his thoughts, he said, “Princess, have I ever had your watch in my hand—the little watch you carry in your handbag?”
“I don’t believe you ever have!” answered the Princess.
“The number of that watch is 56403. It is an oval-shaped dernier-cri design!”
The Princess drew out her watch, opened it, read the number, and nodded. She showed it to both her neighbours, and said eagerly, “That’s quite right!”
“Please to think of a colour and write it down upon a piece of paper, and show it to your neighbours.”
The Princess considered a while. Then she wrote down, “The amethyst colour of Herr von Wenk’s ring,” and handed the piece of paper to Wenk.
Weltmann thought for some time, then he said hesitatingly: “It is a colour in your immediate neighbourhood, but it is rather indefinite. It is transparent, so it is probably that of a jewel. I cannot say exactly what two colours it is made up of, but there is violet in it.”
“Lift your ring up to the light, Herr von Wenk,” said the Princess, and all could see that a deep violet was mingled with a transparent bluish-white.
“Which gentleman did the Princess name?” asked Weltmann.
“My neighbour, Herr von Wenk,” she replied.
“You, sir,” went on Weltmann rapidly, as Wenk nodded slightly, “have your pocketbook in your right-hand breast-pocket. In it there are two notes for one thousand marks each; one is dated 1918, Series D, No. 65045, and the other Series E, No. 5567. Shall I go on, or will you see first whether this is correct?”
Wenk felt his pocket laughingly.
“No,” said Weltmann, “I meant the right-hand pocket, not the left. In the left you have your Browning pistol, stamped with the Serraing trademark, No. 201564.”
Wenk looked in amazement at Weltmann, for it was quite true. His Browning was in his left-hand pocket, and it was one of the Serraing make. From all sides folks gazed at him, and the Princess leant towards him, so that he could distinguish the scent of the powder she used.
“Well, what do you think of that, Herr von Wenk?”
The entertainer smiled down at him, saying, “You need not mind showing the revolver, for in another compartment of your pocketbook you have the permit which allows you to carry firearms. It was renewed in Munich on January 1, 1921, and its number is 5. You must have been in a hurry to get your weapon authorized.”
“Was he dreaming, and was this singular man sneering at him?” thought Wenk. He brought it out, and everything was just as stated.
“Enough of that sort of thing,” said Weltmann. “Now, if you will allow me, we will have some examples of transference of will. I should like one of the gentlemen to come up here.”
Someone stepped on to the stage.
“Do you know this gentleman, Princess?”
“Yes, it is Baron Prewitz!”
“Is the Baron’s being known to the Princess sufficient for the company to rule out the idea of any private understanding between him and myself?”
There were cries of “Certainly!”
Meanwhile Weltmann was writing on a table something which it was impossible for the Baron to read. Then he threw the small writing-block down to the company below. He looked at Prewitz, quite quietly, for a short time. Then Prewitz, with stealthy movements, left the platform and went slowly and cautiously from chair to chair, looking everyone in the face. Weltmann called out, “I should like four ladies or gentlemen to come up here quickly. Be quick, please!”
Several started up. Three gentlemen and one lady remained on the platform, the others returning to their seats. Weltmann placed them round the table, pointing at a pack of cards lying there.
“Are this lady and these gentlemen known to the company?”
The Princess nodded, and there was a chorus of “Yes!” Meanwhile Prewitz was advancing towards Wenk. Again Weltmann wrote for some time upon a memorandum, casting from time to time his glance upon the four sitting at the table. Suddenly one of them said, “Shall it be vingt-et-un or poker?” Weltmann went on writing.
They decided upon vingt-et-un, and at once began to play.
“We want one more,” said the lady.
“I am just coming, dear lady,” said Weltmann. “You take the bank!”
By this time Prewitz had come to Wenk. He looked at him steadfastly for a while, then suddenly seized his left breast-pocket and drew out the revolver, placing himself at Wenk’s side, the weapon in his hand.
Weltmann said from the stage, “That is because you are so incautious as to carry a loaded revolver in your pocket! Please”—he turned to the audience—“be so good as to read what I have written there!”
Someone read out: “The Baron is to go along the first row, chair by chair, and where he finds someone with a loaded revolver in his pocket, he is to take it out and sit beside him with it.”
They all clapped their hands, a proceeding which Weltmann, by a brief gesture, stopped. He left off writing, handed the block down to the Princess, and sat down with the cardplayers.
“Page one!” he said to his hostess. She read it to herself, then handed it to her right-hand neighbour and looked anxiously towards the stage, where the following incidents were taking place. Weltmann won game after game. Sometimes he looked away from the table, and then it seemed to Wenk as if
