THE HOURS BEFORE: A Story of Mystery and Suspense from the Belle Époque by Robert Stephen Parry Page B

of the room. ‘Our memory don’t go back that far, Manny!’
    And there is yet more uproar.
    ‘All right, I accept that my appearances on stage might seem a bit few and far between lately,’ the entertainer responds, undaunted, ‘but listen everyone, I should tell you that I am due to make a comeback shortly - yes, at the end of October, in fact, when I am booked for a really top event, entertaining the nobs at a special dinner dance on Halloween. That’s right - all the nobs - wealthy people just like you lot. All exclusive and rather hush, hush. So don’t tell anyone. It’s a big chance for me - with lots of other famous individuals from …’
    ‘What, famous, and you as well?’ the old boy interrupts again, indefatigable.
    ‘Shut up you silly old fool!’ an elderly lady in a pink frock shouts, turning angrily to look over her shoulder towards the heckler, her various chins wobbling in agitation. ‘You’re the greatest, Manny,’ she adds, turning her unsteady, bespectacled gaze vaguely back in his direction and wagging a demonstrative finger. ‘They’re lucky to be having you - and so are we.’
    Applause actually breaks out at this.
    ‘Thank you. Thank you, one and all!’ Herman declares, with a bow and warming to this latest piece of audience participation - especially their use of the shortened version of his name - Manny - the one they tend to use more and more often these days, due to the increasingly unwelcome Germanic connotations of Herman . This is important - since the German race, as every loyal reader of every national newspaper well understands, is the very devil incarnate and, what is worse, an industrial power growing in might to rival that of the British Empire, which just won’t do at all. Being as English as anyone could ever be, however, he is more than content for this gradual change of name to take place and has even incorporated it into his publicity slogans - the celebrated ‘Manny Magic’ as proclaimed on his calling cards and brochures.
    ‘And now, ladies and gentlemen,’ he continues, ‘with regard to the performance of our little trick: I want you, sir, in a moment to show everyone present in this room the card you have chosen. I’ll turn my head away, so there is no possibility of my seeing what you have in your hand. That’s right, show everyone what it is - put that monocle of yours back in if you need to - then return the card to the pack. That’s right, don’t show me. Jolly good.’
    Herman waits patiently until the card is restored to the deck. Then, seconds later, to everyone’s amazement, the magician, turns round and, reaching into the old gentleman’s lapel pocket, instantly withdraws the very same card, which has somehow miraculously managed to transport itself there - six of diamonds, adroitly displayed between finger and thumb and held aloft for all to see.
    ‘Sir! Is this the card you chose?’ he inquires loudly, chin in the air and confident that it is. Success. Everyone roars their approval. They are entirely under his spell now, and he concludes the morning’s entertainment with an equally amazing feat of mind reading before actually producing a bunch of carnations from out of a top hat, and which had previously been shown to everyone present as being utterly empty until tapped on the side thrice with the tip of a magic wand.
    Afterwards, and as is customary here upon the conclusion of a typical ‘Manny Magic’ performance, the curtains of the lounge are drawn back to allow the full daylight in and all those present rise and take their places among an assortment of hastily rearranged tables and chairs to take tea - another well-rehearsed routine, in fact, because there is, it should be recorded, always lots of tea at The William Blake; lots of cakes and biscuits, and salmon sandwiches not too demanding on the dentures.
    Herman invariably finds this part of his visit the most daunting: the clattering of trolleys and tapping of walking sticks on