accomplished?” said De l’Escalopier.

“Simplest thing in the world,” replied Houdin. “The claw consists of a number of very short but sharp points, so fixed as to form the word: and these points are shoved through a pad soaked with nitrate of silver, a portion of which is forced by the blow into the punctures, thereby making the scars indelible for life. A fleur de lys stamped by an executioner with a red-hot iron could not be more effective.”

“But, M. Houdin,” said the Count, horror-stricken at the idea. “I have no right to anticipate Justice in this way. To brand a fellow-being in such a fashion would forever close the doors of society against him. I could not think of such a thing. Besides, suppose some member of my family through carelessness or forgetfulness were to fall a victim to this dreadful apparatus.”

“You are right,” answered Houdin. “I will alter the mechanism in such a way that no harm can come to any one, save a mere superficial flesh wound that will easily heal. Give me a few hours.”

The Count assented, and the mechanician went home to his work-shop to make the required alterations. At the appointed time, he returned to the nobleman’s mansion, and the machine was adjusted to the desk. In place of the branding apparatus, Houdin had arranged a kind of cat’s claw to scratch the back of the thief’s hand. The desk was closed, and the two men parted company.

The Count did everything possible to excite the cupidity of the robber. He sent repeatedly for his stock-broker, on which occasions sums of money were ostentatiously passed from hand to hand; he even made a pretense of going away from home for a short time, but the bait proved a failure. Each day the nobleman reported, “no result,” to Houdin, and was on the point of giving up in despair. Two weeks elapsed. One morning De l’Escalopier rushed into the watchmaker’s shop, sank breathlessly on a chair, and ejaculated: “I have caught the robber at last.”

“Indeed,” replied Houdin; “who is he?”

“But first let me relate what happened,” said the Count. “I was seated this morning in my library when the report of a pistol resounded in my sleeping-apartment. ‘The thief!’ I exclaimed excitedly. I looked around me for a weapon, but finding nothing at hand, I grasped an ancient battle-ax from a stand of armor near by, and ran to seize the robber. I pushed open the door of the sleeping-room and saw, to my intense surprise, Bernard, my trusted valet and factotum, a man who has been in my employ for upwards of twenty years. ‘What are you doing here?’ I asked; ‘what was that noise?’

“In the coolest manner he replied: ‘I came into the room just as you did, sir, at the explosion of the pistol. I saw a man making his escape down the back stairs, but I was so bewildered that I was unable to apprehend him.’

“I rushed down the back stairs, but, finding the door locked on the inside, knew that no one could have passed that way. A great light broke upon me. ‘Great God!’ I cried, ‘can Bernard be the thief?’ I returned to the library. My valet was holding his right hand behind him, but I dragged it forward, and saw the imprint of the claw thereon. The wound was bleeding profusely. Finding himself convicted, the wretch fell on his knees and begged my forgiveness.

“‘How long have you been robbing me?’ I asked.

“‘For nearly two years,’ he said.

“‘And how much have you taken?’ I inquired.

“‘Fifteen thousand francs, which I invested in Government stock. The scrip is in my desk.’

“I found the securities correct, and in the presence of another witness, made Bernard sign the following confession:

“‘I, the undersigned, hereby admit having stolen from the Count de l’Escalopier the sum of 15,000 francs, taken by me from his desk by the aid of false keys.

“‘Bernard X——.

“‘Paris, the — day of ——, 18—.

“‘Now go,’ I exclaimed, ‘and never enter this house again. You are safe from prosecution; go, and repent of your crime.’

“And now,” said the Count to Houdin, “I want you to take these 15,000 francs and begin your career as a conjurer; surely you cannot refuse to accept as a loan the money your ingenuity has rescued from a robber. Take it——”

The nobleman produced the securities, and pressed them into Houdin’s hands. The mechanician, overcome by the Count’s generosity, embraced him in true Gallic style, and this embrace, Houdin says, “was the only security De l’Escalopier would accept from me.”

Without further delay the conjurer had a little theatre constructed in the Palais Royal, and began his famous performances, called by him: “Soirées Fantastiques de Robert-Houdin,” which attained the greatest popularity. He was thus enabled within a year to pay back the money borrowed from the Count de l’Escalopier.

Jean Eugène Robert, afterwards known to fame by the cognomen of Robert-Houdin, was born at Blois, the birthplace of Louis XII, on the sixth of December, 1805. His father was a watchmaker. At the age of eleven Robert was sent to a Jesuit college at Orleans, preparatory to the study of law, and was subsequently apprenticed to a notary at Blois, but finding the transcribing of musty deeds a tiresome task, he prevailed on his father to let him follow the trade of a watchmaker. While working in this capacity, he chanced one day to enter a bookseller’s shop to purchase a treatise on mechanics, and was handed by mistake a work on conjuring. The marvels contained in this volume fired his imagination, and this incident decided his future career, but he did not realize his ambition until later in life, when De l’Escalopier came to his aid.

In his early study of sleight-of-hand Houdin soon recognized that the organs performing the principal part are the sight and touch. He says in his memoirs: “I had often been struck by the ease with which pianists can read and perform at sight the most difficult pieces. I saw that, by practice, it would be possible to create a certainty of perception and facility of touch, rendering it easy for the artist to attend to several things simultaneously, while his hands were busy employed with some complicated task. This faculty I wished to acquire and apply to sleight-of-hand; still, as music could not afford me the necessary element, I had recourse to the juggler’s art.” Residing at Blois at the time was a mountebank who, for a consideration, initiated the young Houdin into the mysteries of juggling, enabling him to juggle four balls at once and read a book at the same time. “The practice of this feat,” continues Houdin, “gave my fingers a remarkable degree of delicacy and certainty, while my eye was at the same time acquiring a promptitude of perception that was quite marvelous.”