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By Root 301 0

noticing that the maid who showed me to the drawing room carried a letter addressed in his handwriting, that bore the postmark of that town. Mrs. Murray put the letter quickly in her pocket, and when I asked her where her husband was, she told me that he had gone to Edinburgh about a book. You must agree with me, Dryden, that that is enough. Well, I’ve got one last proof, the most conclusive of all. When they went to Birmingham, I followed and took a room that commanded a view of the stage door of the hall. All day long I sat in that window, concealed by the curtains, and every day, sometimes only just before the show, sometimes two or three times during the day, I saw a man, heavily bearded and with spectacles, walk into the hall, With Murray’s walk. Once I saw him with Greet, but generally he was alone. That man was Murray I have no doubt at all. He is the brain of the Automaton. Philip Murray has worked one of the biggest deceptions on the world that has ever been conceived, and I doubt not he has nicely feathered his own nest in the working of it. What do you think of my story?”

“I own that I am fairly astounded,” said Mr. Dryden, “and I cannot think how it is done. I tell you I have looked inside the thing, from both sides, and it’s full of wheels. I’ve pushed it about the stage; and I’ve sat there during the play and never taken my eyes off it.”

“Did Greet let you put your hand inside and touch the machinery,” said Mr. Druce.

“Well, I never thought of doing that, nor, when I come to think of it, did anyone else; but I saw wheels, and cogs and springs, as distinctly as I see you.”

“That can be arranged by an elaborate system of mirrors, some improvement on the Pepper’s Ghost idea. Edouard Roulain is quite clever enough to fool anyone by a trick of that sort. It’s my belief that Murray gets inside it; I don’t think it could be worked by any other means. I expect that the plot was conceived somewhat after this fashion. Edouard Roulain, in the course of his investigations, stumbled on a really exceptionally brilliant idea for an optical delusion. It then occurred to him that this idea might be put to more profitable use than mere exhibition. How he hit on the notion of the chess-playing Automaton, I can’t think. He has been a friend of Murray’s for some time, I found that out; and very likely he told Murray of his find and asked for suggestions. Murray may have got it from some old book, or perhaps thought it out himself. Wait a minute though; I never told you how I proved Roulain’s connection with the affair. When the Automaton was in London, I met him repeatedly about the town; but that was before I was so sure about Murray, and didn’t think much of it. He had grown a moustache, but I recognized him easily. I daresay he’s gone now, he wasn’t in Birmingham.”

“What about Greet?” Said Mr. Dryden.

“Oh, he is only a figurehead; perhaps he doesn’t even know the secret. He has been an operatic manager all over Europe and the States; he took Roulain to New York when he made his first great success there. He is about the best business manager they could have.”

“Well, I suppose I must grant you that Murray does work it — exactly how he does it doesn’t matter much. What I want to think out is how does this knowledge help me? Suppose that you or I give the thing away, what do we gain? Have you thought of doing it yourself?”

No, I have not. To tell you the truth, I have rather been enjoying the joke, and were it not for my orders, I should have in time thrown down the gauntlet myself. If there is one man in England who knows Murray’s play, it is myself, and I think I might have got the better of him. The feeling of mystery that has surrounded the Automaton has helped him immensely; he would not have had so complete and easy a success if his opponents had not been frightened out of their best game. I could see that by studying the records of the play. As it is, I shall do nothing; but if this knowledge will be any help to you in your game, you are most heartily welcome to it. Believe me, that I shall so far escape from my