He advanced a step, bowed, and laid his card upon the table.

"I believe," he said in his plaintive voice, and imperfect English,
"that I have the honor to introduce myself to Monsieur Arbuthnot."

"If you want me, sir," said my father, gruffly, "I am Doctor Arbuthnot."

"And I, Monsieur," said the little Frenchman, laying his hand upon his
heart, and bowing again--"I am the Wizard of the Caucasus."

"The what?" exclaimed my father.

"The Wizard of the Caucasus," replied our visitor, impressively.

There was an awkward pause, during which my father looked at me and
touched his forehead significantly with his forefinger; while the
Chevalier, embarrassed between his natural timidity and his desire to
appear of importance, glanced from one face to the other, and waited for
a reply. I hastened to disentangle the situation.

"I think I can explain this gentleman's meaning," I said. "Monsieur le
Chevalier will perform to-morrow evening in the large room of the Red
Lion Hotel. He is a professor of legerdemain."

"Of the marvellous art of legerdemain, Monsieur Arbuthnot," interrupted
the Chevalier eagerly. "Prestidigitateur to the Court of Sachsenhausen,
and successor to Al Hakim, the wise. It is I, Monsieur, that have invent
the famous _tour du pistolet;_ it is I, that have originate the great
and surprising deception of the bottle; it is I whom the world does