Эрл Гарднер - The Amazing Adventures of Lester Leith

Shogiro followed the direction of Leith’s eyes, and said, “Excusse pleasse. That is handkerchief for wiping eyes which have tears of laughter caused by amusement at honorable act.”

There was just a trace of sarcasm in what he said, although his manner was that of smiling politeness. The audience applauded, and waited for Leith’s comeback.

Leith reached out to take the corner of the silk handkerchief in his thumb and forefinger. He started pulling it out an inch or two at a time. “Very nice handkerchief,” he said, “but what is this?”

Shogiro, smiling broadly, watched Lester Leith pull out yards and yards of silk ribbon and handkerchiefs. When he had finished he tossed the ball of silk to Ora Sanders.

Shogiro, standing very still, said, “Honorable gentleman have removed everything from pocket?”

“I certainly hope so,” Leith said.

“Are sure is not more?” Shogiro asked.

The audience, sensing that the Japanese was trying to turn the tables on Leith, leaned forward in their seats.

“Well,” Leith said, “if there’s anything left in that pocket, Mr. Shogiro, you may keep it.”

The audience laughed at the sally, but the laughter changed into roars as Shogiro, reaching into the pocket, pulled out what apparently was a human finger. He held it up and bent it double, showing that it was made of colored rubber. He inserted it between the fingers of his own hand, moved his hand rapidly, and the finger had vanished.

“Excusse pleasse,” Shogiro said, “but in my country when honorable gentleman perform trick with false finger, unwinding yards of silk ribbon stored therein, is always customary to remove empty finger after trick is completed.”

Shogiro turned and started toward the front row once more, but Leith again called him back. This time there was an ominous glitter in the eyes of the Japanese, although his lips continued to frame a polite smile.

“Anyone who turns the tables on me that well,” Leith said, “is entitled to a reward. Now let me see. What can I give you?... I guess food would be the best. How about it, Miss Sanders? Can we cook up a little food for Mr. Shogiro?”

“Oh, I think so,” she said.

Leith said, “Well, we might at least fry him an egg.”

“We haven’t any more eggs,” Miss Sanders said.

“That’s too bad,” Leith said, “but... what’s this?... Oh, yes, our friend, Shogiro, seems to have something else up his sleeve.”

Leith picked up Shogiro’s forearm, held his coat by the cuff, and shook it gently. Two eggs rolled out.

Leith, juggling the eggs in his hand, said, “That’s fine. Now if we had a frying pan. Has anyone in the audience a frying pan?”

In the silence which followed, one of the stewards, who had been coached in the part, called out, “Why don’t you look in the fishbowl?”

“An excellent idea,” Leith said.

He walked over to the fishbowl, still holding the eggs, reached down, apparently plunging his hand into the water, and brought out a frying pan without in any way disturbing the fish.

“Now,” he said, “we’re ready. If you’ll hold a match for us, Miss Sanders...”

He broke both eggs into the frying pan, tossed the shells to one side, held the frying pan over a match which Ora Sanders lighted, shook the pan, and then approached the Japanese. “Here you are,” he said.

Sergeant Ackley, in the back row, said to Beaver, “Watch him like a hawk, Beaver. He’s getting ready to pull something. He’s worked the buildup. Now, he’s after blood.”

Lester Leith, with the frying pan held rather high so that the Japanese could not see its interior, said, “A plate, please, Miss Sanders.”

Ora Sanders picked up a plate from a table, started toward Leith, and stumbled. The plate slipped from her hands, fell to the floor, and broke into two pieces.

For a moment there was a gasp from the audience, but it was quickly apparent that Ora Sanders’s fall had been far too gracefully done to be accidental. She got to her feet, smiled, then stared ruefully at a run in her stocking.

With the quick instinct which is the natural reaction of a woman, she lifted her abbreviated skirt to see how far up the run had gone, then suddenly, as though realizing her position, laughed and dropped the skirt back into place.

Lester Leith said, “That’s too bad. Just pick up the fragments of the plate, Miss Sanders, and I’ll see what I can do with them.”

She picked up the two segments of the plate and handed them to Leith, who took them in his left hand, still holding the frying pan in his right hand.

“Oh,” he said, “this isn’t bad.”

Ora Sanders stepped forward, swiftly passing between Leith and the audience. A half second later, Leith gave his left hand a deft twist, and there was the plate unbroken and apparently none the worse for having been dropped.

“Now,” Lester Leith said, “we’ll put the egg into the plate.”

He tilted the frying pan and shook it.

“Hello!” he exclaimed. “What’s this?”

What came out of the frying pan was not a cooked egg, but a very fine pearl necklace which dangled for a moment on the lip of the frying pan, then dropped with a clatter to the plate which Leith was holding.

Leith dropped the frying pan, picked up the pearl necklace, and said, “What an egg!”

The audience applauded. Leith, as though the trick had been completed, turned back toward the table on which Ora Sanders was rearranging his stage properties.

For a long moment Shogiro stood rigid, the smile frozen on his face. Then he took a quick step toward Leith and said, “Begging honorable pardon, but that is my necklace!”

Leith turned to face him, urbanely smiling, holding the necklace in his hand. “Certainly it’s your necklace,” he said, and handed it to the Japanese.

Shogiro took the necklace, stared at it for a moment, then said ominously, “Begging honorable pardon, but this is not same necklace which came from frying pan.”

Leith looked at it and said, “By George, I don’t believe it is! It does seem different.”

“It is different,” Shogiro said. “Begging pardon, this necklace very cheap. Other necklace my property.”

Leith said, “Well, there’s only one thing for us to do then, and that’s put the necklace in the frying pan, and see if we can change it back into the original necklace.”

He dropped the necklace into the frying pan, shook it for a moment, then snatched up the plate which Miss Sanders had placed on the table. He tilted the frying pan over the plate — and what came out was not a necklace, but apparently an omelette.

“Tut, tut,” Lester Leith said, “I’m afraid we dropped the necklace into those eggs, and we now have a pearl omelette. Here. I’ll wrap it up in a handkerchief, and you can take it with you.”

He picked up a silk handkerchief, placed it over the plate, apparently wrapped up the omelette, and handed it to Shogiro.

Shogiro took the handkerchief. He shook it out. It was empty. The plate was empty. With quick, purposeful strides, Shogiro walked over to the table and snatched up the frying pan. It too was empty.

The audience roared.

Leith, smiling broadly, bowed to the right and left, marking the termination of the act.

Shogiro, standing ominously tense, watched him for several seconds, then without a word turned and walked back to his seat.

Leith looked over the audience. Mah Foy was no longer in the front row, and Silman Shore seemed to have vanished as completely as had the omelette in the handkerchief.

Sergeant Ackley and Beaver sat in their stateroom staring moodily at each other.

“Well,” Beaver said, “there it is.”

Sergeant Ackley said, “It’s plain as the nose on your face. Shogiro had the necklace all the time. Leith knew it. He wanted an opportunity to pick his pockets. If he’d tried to do it surreptitiously, there’d have been hell to pay.