"Here, corpse!" Curtis said, "crawl through"--and Hamar,
looking as if he by no means appreciated the undignified task of
wriggling on his stomach before so many eyes, drew himself as tight
together as he could, and squirmed through.
"Does that satisfy you, gentlemen?" Curtis inquired.
"Perfectly!" the referees answered. "Nothing could be plainer. We see
exactly, now, how the trick is done."
At this there was a loud outburst of clapping, and Curtis bowed in the
elegant manner in which he had been patiently and assiduously coached
by Kelson.
He then proceeded to the second trick--"Eve at the Window," a trick
almost, if not quite, as famous as "The Brass Coffin," and for the
solution of which Martin and Davenport had frequently offered huge
sums of money.
A large pane of glass some nine by six feet in area, and set in
a frame, made to represent that of a window, is placed on the
stage, about eighteen inches from the floor. Thirty-six inches
from the ground a wooden shelf is placed against the window. An
assistant--usually a woman--then mounts on the shelf and, looking out
of the glass, proceeds to kiss her hand vigorously. The operator in a
shocked voice asks her to desist. She refuses and, to the amusement of
the audience, carries on her pantomimic flirtation more desperately
than before. The operator pretends to lose his temper, and snatching
up a screen places it at the back of her. He then fires a pistol,
pulls aside the screen, and she has vanished.
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