Perhaps it was the strong glare of light issuing from the half-open door of the Templar's Hall that attracted the attention of the Clockwork man as he wandered along towards the lower end of the town. He entered, and found himself in a small lobby curtained off from the main body of the hall. He must have made some slight noise as he stepped upon the bare boards, for the curtain was swept hastily back, and the Curate, who was acting as chief steward of the proceedings, came hurriedly forward. As he approached the figure standing beneath the incandescent lamp, the clerical beam upon the Curate's clean-shaven features deepened into a more secular expression of heartfelt relief. "I'm so glad you have come at last," he began, in a strong whisper, "I was beginning to be afraid you were going to disappoint us." "I am certainly late," remarked the Clockwork man, "about eight thousand years late, so far as I can judge." The Curate scarcely seemed to catch this remark. "Well, I'm glad you've turned up," he went on, "it's so pitiful when the little ones have to be disappointed, and they have been so looking forward to the conjuring. Your things have arrived." "What things?" enquired the Clockwork man. "Your properties," said the Curate, "the rabbits and mice, and so forth. They came this afternoon. I had them put on the stage." He fingered nervously with his watch, and then his eye rested for a second upon the other's head gear. "Excuse me, but you _are_ the conjurer, aren't you?" he enquired, a trifle anxiously. Before the Clockwork man had time to reply to this embarrassing question, the curtain was again swiftly drawn, and an anxious female face appeared. "James, has the conjurer--Oh, yes, I see he has. Do be quick, James. The picture is nearly over." The face disappeared, and the Curate's doubts evaporated for the moment. "Will you come this way?" he continued, and led the way through a long, dark passage to the back of the hall. Behind the screen, upon which the picture was being shown, there was a small space, and here a stage had been erected. Upon a small table in the centre stood a large bag and some packages. The Curate adjusted the small gas-jet so as to produce an illumination sufficient to move about. "We must talk low," he explained, pointing to the screen in front of them, "the cinematograph is still showing. We shall be ready in about ten minutes. Can you manage in that time?" But the Clockwork man made no reply. He stood in the middle of the stage and slowly lifted a finger to his nose. The Curate's doubts returned. Something seemed to occur to him as he examined his companion more closely. "You haven't been taking anything, my good man, have you? Anything of an alcholic nature?" "Conjuring," said the Clockwork man, slowly, "obsolete form of entertainment. Quickness of the hand deceives the eye."