Free The Prestige by Christopher Priest Page B

     covertly as he and his assistants unpacked their paraphernalia from a cart and carried it
     into the house. When I finally presented myself at the house an hour later, close to the
     appointed time, the room had been arranged and was in semi-darkness.
    The séance began, as before, with the table-tipping trick, and as luck would have it I
     found myself standing unavoidably close beside Angier as he readied himself to begin.
    “Don't I know you, sir?” he said softly and accusingly.
    “I think not,” I replied, trying to make light of it.
    “Make a habit of these occasions, do you?”
    “No more than you, sir,” I said, as cuttingly as I could.
    He responded with a disconcerting stare, but as everyone was waiting for him he had no
     alternative but to begin. I think he knew from that moment that I was there to expose him,
     but to do him credit he carried out his performance with the same flair I had seen before.
    I was biding my time. It would have been pointless to uncover the secret of the table, but
     when he began the manifestations from within the cabinet it was tempting to dash across
     and throw open the door to reveal him inside. Without doubt we would then have seen that
     his hands were free of the ropes that were supposed to be restraining him, and the trumpet
     would be found held to his lips or the castanets clicking in his fingers. But I stayed my
     hand. I judged it best to wait until the emotional tension was at its greatest, when the
     supposed spirit messages were being sent to and fro. Angier performed this by using small
     scraps of paper, rolled up into little pellets. The family had earlier written names,
     objects, family secrets and the like on these scraps, and Angier pretended to read their
     “spirit” messages by pressing the tiny pellets to his forehead.
    When he had but barely begun I seized my chance. I stepped away from the table, breaking
     the chain of hands that was supposed to set up a psychic field, and snatched the blind
     down from the nearest window. Daylight flooded in.
    Angier said, “What the devil—?”
    “Ladies and gentlemen!” I cried. “This man is an impostor!”
    “Sit down, sir!” The male assistant was moving quickly towards me.
    “He is using legerdemain upon you!” I said emphatically. “Look in the hand that hides
     beneath the table's surface! There is the secret of the messages he brings you!”
    As the young man threw his arms around my shoulders I saw Angier moving quickly and
     guiltily to conceal the slip of paper he held, by which the trick was effected. The father
     of the family, his face contorted by rage and grief, rose from his seat and began to
     berate me loudly. First one of the children then the others began to wail with unhappiness.
    As I struggled, the oldest boy said plaintively, “Where is Mama? She was here! She was
     here!”
    “This man is a charlatan, a liar and a cheat!” I shouted.
    I was by this time almost at the door, being forced backwards out of the room. I saw the
     young woman assistant hastening to the window to replace the blind. With a tremendous
     thrashing of elbows I managed to break free temporarily from my assailant, and lunged
     across the room at her. I grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her roughly to one side.
     She sprawled across the floorboards.
    “He cannot talk to the dead!” I cried. “Your mother is not here at all!”
    The room was in an uproar.
    “Hold him there!” Angier's voice was audible above the racket. The male assistant grabbed
     me a second time, and spun me around so that I was facing into the room. The young woman
     was still on the floor where she had fallen, and was staring up at me, her face contorted
     with spite. Angier, standing by the table, was erect and apparently calm. He was staring
     straight towards me.
    “I know you, sir,” he said. “I even know your damned name. I shall henceforward be
     following your career with the