The fog curled like a cat around Ian’s feet as he trod westward toward Victoria Terrace. As he passed the Hound and Hare, he saw a slight, wiry form dart into the far alley. Something in the set of the man’s shoulders and quick movements looked familiar—and since the fellow was trying to avoid him, Ian decided to follow. He slipped around the corner of the building in time to see his quarry scurry behind the pub. Ian turned and came around the other side, figuring the man would continue in the same direction.
He was right. Beneath the gaslight where the alley met the street, he ran headlong into Rat Face. Shock and surprise registered on his ferret-like features before sliding into an unconvincing smile.
“Why, Detective Inspector Hamilton, what a pleasant surprise.”
“Is it? I had the distinct impression you were trying to avoid me.”
“Why on earth would I do that?”
“I can think of several reasons.”
“One must never be too careful about choosing one’s companions,” Rat Face replied, drawing Ian into the shadows beneath the building’s eaves. “But I would never avoid you—on purpose, that is,” he added, glancing nervously in the direction of the street.
“Perhaps you mistook me for someone else?”
“No doubt. My eyesight is not the best.”
“May I inquire whom you are so afraid of encountering, and why?”
Rat Face coughed delicately. “There was a slight misunderstanding over a card game.”
“When you cheat at cards, you must take care to not be found out.”
“Your insinuation wounds me,” he replied, with a hurt look no more believable than any of his other expressions.
“I believe we have some unfinished business.”
“Do we indeed?” Rat Face said, without taking his eyes off the street, as shouts and drunken laughter floated out of the Hound and Hare.
“I seem to recall the last time we met—at this very pub—I rescued you from a thrashing.”
“Most kind of you,” he said, shifting restlessly and scratching his long nose.
“Perhaps you could enlighten me on a matter regarding my investigation.”
“I am always delighted to assist members of the police force, Detective.”
“What can you tell me about card tricks?”
“Why do you ask?” he said nervously.
“I’m afraid some details of the case must remain hidden.”
“What makes you think I know anything about card tricks?”
“A little mouse told me—your cousin, perhaps.”
“How amusing,” he said, shrinking back against the building as the wheels of a passing cab threw a spray of muddy water in their direction. “I regret to say I really do have to be somewhere.”
“In other words, you need to be away from here.”
“Something like that.”
“Very well,” Ian said. “I know another place not far from here.”
Soon they were seated in the back room of the White Hart Inn, a pint of ale at their elbow. The clientele was considerably less boisterous than the patrons of the Hound and Hare—at this hour, mostly university students, more given to quoting Burns and Milton than brawling.
“Well?” Rat Face said, his eyes darting about the room. “What did you want to ask me?”
Ian withdrew the four of clubs from his pocket. “Have you seen this card before?”
“Dear me, what a strange design,” he replied, studying the grinning skeletons in their jaunty red fezzes. “I have not. What else do you wish to know?”
“I would appreciate anything you have to say about sleight of hand.”
“As much as I am gratified by your interest, I am a busy man.”
“I will pay for your time.”
A smile snaked across his thin lips, and he leaned forward. “May I assume you will not use anything I say against me in the future?”
“I am in search of more dangerous game.”
Rat Face drank deeply, wiping his mouth. “Sleight of hand is an ancient art, invented to beat the house, as it were.”
“And the other players.”
“Ah, but that can be risky. One must never succumb to the temptation to show one’s skill.”
“Why is that?”
“Because it is a very good way to court death. Your technique must be invisible, unless you want to die.”
“And do the same rules apply to magic tricks?”
“The great Robert-Houdin said magic is cheating for amusement. Your technique should always be secondary to the effect. That is what matters, not your skill.”
“How does one acquire this skill?”
“Doing magic is about focusing the audience’s attention on what you want it to perceive. There are many ways to accomplish this, but one of the most well-known methods is misdirection.”
Ian signaled the waiter for another round. “Please continue.”
“Simply put, you give the audience something else to focus on in order to hide the move that is the secret to the trick. Allow me to demonstrate,” he said, pulling a deck of cards from his vest pocket. “I always carry these with me just in case—not as colorful as the deck you showed me, but they do the trick. Oh, that’s rather good,” he added, chuckling. “They do the trick.”
He proceeded to shuffle the cards with great dexterity, his long, thin fingers flying over the deck, which he extended to Ian.
“Pick a card, any card.”
Ian plucked the four of diamonds from the pack.
“Ah,” Rat Face remarked with a sly smile. “I see you have chosen the Ambitious Card.”
“Meaning . . . ?”
“No matter where you place it in the deck, it always ends up on top. Allow me to show you what I mean.”
He cut the deck deftly in half, placing Ian’s card on the top of the bottom half, faceup, pushing it forward from the others so he could see it. “Is that your card?”
“Yes.”
“We’ll slide that in the middle of the other half—you see?” he said, sliding the card into the top half of the deck.
“I do.”
“Now we put the two halves together—and it should be in the middle, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And yet somehow it works its way to the top of the deck,” he said, turning over the top card—the four of diamonds.
Ian stared at him. “How on earth did you do that?”
“It relies upon a common technique known as a double lift. When I showed you that your card was on top of the bottom half, you noticed I turned it over so you could see the face?”
“Yes.”
“That was a misdirection. There was another card on top of it—and that was the card I slid into the middle of the top half. That was the double lift.”
“Remarkable.”
“Child’s play. But a trick should work even when it is explained—if it is well done.”
“Very impressive.”
“I believe you hinted at a more corporeal form of appreciation?” Rat Face said, his eyes hungry.
Pulling out his wallet, Ian handed him a five-pound note.
“Most generous,” his companion replied, folding it carefully before sliding it into his vest pocket. “I hope you’ll allow me to be of use in the future.”
“You may have helped to unlock a key part of the puzzle.”
“Would you care to elaborate?”
“I can only say that it involves misdirection,” he said, rising and tossing some coins onto the table.
“But—”