Magic

    [Exit Duke, aimlessly.

Doctor. [Exploding.] Well, of all the… [Turns to Smith.] You asked me just now which member of the family had inherited the family madness.

Smith. Yes; I did.

Doctor. [In a low, emphatic voice.] On my living soul, I believe it must be the Duke.

CURTAIN

ACT III

Room partly darkened, a table with a lamp on it, and an empty chair. From room next door faint and occasional sounds of the tossing or talking of the invalid.

Enter Doctor Grimthorpe with a rather careworn air, and a medicine bottle in his hand. He puts it on the table, and sits down in the chair as if keeping a vigil.

Enter Conjurer, carrying his bag, and cloaked for departure. As he crosses the room the Doctor rises and calls after him.

Doctor. Forgive me, but may I detain you for one moment? I suppose you are aware that – [he hesitates] that there have been rather grave developments in the case of illness which happened after your performance. I would not say, of course, because of your performance.

Conjurer. Thank you.

Doctor. [Slightly encouraged, but speaking very carefully.] Nevertheless, mental excitement is necessarily an element of importance in physiological troubles, and your triumphs this evening were really so extraordinary that I cannot pretend to dismiss them from my patient's case. He is at present in a state somewhat analogous to delirium, but in which he can still partially ask and answer questions. The question he continually asks is how you managed to do your last trick.

Conjurer. Ah! My last trick!

Doctor. Now I was wondering whether we could make any arrangement which would be fair to you in the matter. Would it be possible for you to give me in confidence the means of satisfying this – this fixed idea he seems to have got. [He hesitates again, and picks his words more slowly.] This special condition of semi-delirious disputation is a rare one, and connected in my experience with rather unfortunate cases.

Conjurer. [Looking at him steadily.] Do you mean he is going mad?

Doctor. [Rather taken aback for the first time.] Really, you ask me an unfair question. I could not explain the fine shades of these things to a layman. And even if – if what you suggest were so, I should have to regard it as a professional secret.

Conjurer. [Still looking at him.] And don't you think you ask me a rather unfair question, Dr. Grimthorpe? If yours is a professional secret, is not mine a professional secret too? If you may hide truth from the world, why may not I? You don't tell your tricks. I don't tell my tricks.

Doctor. [With some heat.] Ours are not tricks.

Conjurer. [Reflectively.] Ah, no one can be sure of that till the tricks are told.

Doctor. But the public can see a doctor's cures as plain as…

Conjurer. Yes. As plain as they saw the red lamp over his door this evening.

Doctor. [After a pause.] Your secret, of course, would be strictly kept by every one involved.

Conjurer. Oh, of course. People in delirium always keep secrets strictly.

Doctor. No one sees the patient but his sister and myself.

Conjurer. [Starts slightly.] Yes, his sister. Is she very anxious?

Doctor. [In a lower voice.] What would you suppose?

    [Conjurer throws himself into the chair, his cloak slipping back from his evening dress. He ruminates for a short space and then speaks.

Conjurer. Doctor, there are about a thousand reasons why I should not tell you how I really did that trick. But one will suffice, because it is the most practical of all.

Doctor. Well? And why shouldn't you tell me?

Conjurer. Because you wouldn't believe me if I did.

    [A silence, the Doctor looking at him curiously.

    [Enter the Duke with papers in his hand. His usual gaiety of manner has a rather forced air, owing to the fact that by some vague sick-room associations he walks as if on tip-toe and begins to speak in a sort of loud or shrill whisper. This he fortunately forgets and falls into his more natural voice.

Duke. [To Conjurer.] So very kind of you to have waited, Professor. I expect Dr. Grimthorpe has explained the little difficulty we are in much better than I could. Nothing like the medical mind for a scientific statement. [Hazily.] Look at Ibsen.

    [Silence.

Doctor. Of course the Professor feels considerable reluctance in the matter. He points out that his secrets are an essential part of his profession.

Duke. Of course, of course. Tricks of the trade, eh? Very proper, of course. Quite a case of noblesse oblige [Silence.] But I dare say we shall be able to find a way out of the matter. [He turns to the Conjurer.] Now, my dear sir, I hope you will not be offended if I say that this ought to be a business matter. We are asking you for a piece of your professional work and knowledge, and if I may have the pleasure of writing you a cheque…

Conjurer. I thank your Grace, I have already received my cheque from your secretary. You will find it on the counterfoil just after the cheque you so kindly gave to the Society for the Suppression of Conjuring.

Duke. Now I don't want you to take it in that way. I want you to take it in a broader way. Free, you know. [With an expansive gesture.] Modern and all that! Wonderful man, Bernard Shaw!

    [Silence.

Doctor. [With a slight cough, resuming.] If you feel any delicacy the payment need not be made merely to you. I quite respect your feelings in the matter.

Duke. [Approvingly.] Quite so, quite so. Haven't you got a Cause or something? Everybody has a cause now, you know. Conjurers' widows or something of that kind.

Conjurer. [With restraint.] No; I have no widows.

Duke. Then something like a pension or annuity for any widows you may – er – procure. [Gaily opening his cheque-book and talking slang to show there is no ill-feeling.] Come, let me call it a couple of thou.

    [The Conjurer takes the cheque and looks at it in a grave and doubtful way. As he does so the Rector comes slowly into the room.

Conjurer. You would really be willing to pay a sum like this to know the way I did that trick?

Duke. I would willingly pay much more.

Doctor. I think I explained to you that the case is serious.

Conjurer. [More and more thoughtful.] You would pay much more… [Suddenly.] But suppose I tell you the secret and you find there's nothing in it?

Doctor. You mean that it's really quite simple? Why, I should say that that would be the best thing that could possibly happen. A little healthy laughter is the best possible thing for convalescence.

Conjurer. [Still looking gloomily at the cheque.] I do not think you will laugh.