“So simple-yet so convincing. The lengths of mirror are concealed behind the slats. Then they slide into place when I actuate them with this concealed radio control. To the audience the cage appears to be empty since they are looking at the blue side curtains reflected in the mirrors. While they gape the porcuswine is led away, the illusion is reversed, the mirrors vanish-and the cage is really empty this time. Simple and highly effective, is it not?”

“A showstopper and a winner,” I said.

“I agree completely,” Chaise said, strolling in through what had been a locked door. “You have been spending a lot of my money, Jim, and I had a natural desire to see where it was going. I have been reading your daily reports, as well as those of my agents of course. You are sure that this circus is connected with the thefts?”

“Computer programs don’t lie. Every theft to every bank was logged. I ran search programs to examine the relevant dates in incredibly minute detail. News files were combed, spaceport and airport departures gone through meticulously. Some similar events did occur, but these were merely coincidences considering the amount of data that was searched and compared. Out of all this there was only a single overlap with the robberies. There were different circuses in every city when the thefts occurred. But the strongman, Puissanto, was in every one of them at the time.”

Meanwhile the Great Grissini was staring at us, baffled by what was going on.

“Time for a break,” Angelina said, taking him gently by the arm and leading him away. “With perhaps a small drink for your dry throat.

“The logic is sound,” Chaise said, sitting down in a chair and pressing smooth the hairs of his fur morning suit. “However you have been paid a great deal of money and I would like to see some positive results. In fact, to encourage you in your investigation I am suspending your daily payments until you actually make contact with this suspect strongman.”

“You can’t do that!”

“Of course I can. Clause six, paragraph eighteen of our contract.”

“I don’t remember any clause that said that.” My vision was blurred by the image of winged credits flying out into the night.

“You would if you had looked more closely at what you signed. You have a copy of the contract with you?”

“No. It’s in the bank.”

“A wise precaution. It just so happens that I have a copy with me, should you wish to peruse it.”

He took a copy from his fur purse. No crisp vellum this time, but a printed copy. I read through it quickly, then raised it victoriously over my head. “I was right! There are only seventeen paragraphs in clause six.”

“Indeed.” Chaise did not seem disturbed by this announcement. He leaned over and pointed to end of the seventeenth paragraph. “And what do you think this is?”

I leaned close and blinked rapidly. “It looks like a blob of ink.”

“Some might differ.” He took a brass tube out of the bag and passed it over to me. “Look at it through this optic magnifier.”

I did. “It still looks like a blob of ink.”

“That is because the instrument is set on four times magnification. Try setting it to four hundred.”

I found the setting wheel and gave it a twist. Looked again. The blob of ink resolved into a chunk of copy; paragraph eighteen. I was hooked.

“Do not despair,” he advised. “Just work faster. This golden goal should act as some inspiration.”

“It does! I’m on my way. Soon. My agent has been dealing with Bolshoi’s Big Top and contracts have been drawn up. I will join them shortly, in time for opening night in Fetorr.”

I spoke with firm resolution. A sales pitch to hide the fact that I had not mastered all of the illusions that I would need. Plus the fact that there wasn’t a single porcuswine farm here on this pleasure planet. Still the fact remained that up until this moment Chaise had been a good and munificent employer and I wanted to keep him happy. Even if it meant being a little parsimonious with the truth. If he could renege on making the agreed daily payments, it seemed perfectly fair for me to massage the facts a little as well.

“See that you do arrive in time for opening night at the circus. For our mutual benefit,” he said. “See you on opening night.” He exited as swiftly as he had arrived and I went looking for Angelina, looking forward to one of those drinks she had talked about. She and Grissini were sitting and chatting in the atrium garden. I joined them and looked with more need than pleasure at a chilled and brimming glass that awaited me.

“Thank you,” I said, and knocked it back in a single gulp.

Angelina’s lovely eyebrows rose in a singularly questioning manner.

“Well some of us seem to have developed a sudden thirst. Trouble with Chaise?”

“Not exactly trouble. But not exactly pleasure as well. You know those little payments he has been making daily? It seems, according our contract, which contains a paragraph that looks like a blob of ink only isn’t, that he can suspend them whenever he wishes. He now wishes. He will start them again when we join the circus.”

“Blob of ink?” Angelina asked, puzzled.

“Only to the naked eye. Under magnification it becomes the dreaded paragraph.”

“Then what we have been discussing before you came is most relevant. The Great Grissini and I have been talking about deadlines. Made more imperative now by the appearance of our employer.”

“Everything cannot be done in time,” Grissini said. Gulped from his glass and sighed. “You catch on quickly, but not quickly enough.” I lowered my eyes and tried to look humble before my maestro. “I will see that you have enough illusions and tricks for a performance. But you will not be able to do the Vanishing Boy Sprout.. .”

“But I must! Your most famous turn. Why can’t we do it?”

“Mainly because we don’t have an eight-year-old Boy Sprout,” Angelina said with chill logic. “I have looked into it and little boys are hard to find. Also against the law.”

“My great blessing was that the Grissinis are a large family,” he said. “I could always find a small cousin or nephew to aid me. Alas, all grown now and scattered to the far corners of the galaxy.”

“Couldn’t it be done without a boy?” I asked peevishly.

“Never! That is the strength of the illusion. The boy has been planted in the audience so he can volunteer. I always save this illusion for the last, the closing and most appreciated act of magic. To begin I shake out my great cape. A pigeon flies up, two rabbits hop away. The audience claps and applauds. I then raise my hands and there is a loud fanfare and a roll of thunder. The audience is instantly silent. I speak to them. This is the moment you have all been waiting for. Is there a Boy Sprout in the audience? In uniform? There are always a few. Show yourselves I say, and they spring to their feet. Come forward I cry. The first one here will join me in this next act of magic-and will receive twenty credits as well. They cry out and struggle to reach the stage first. But my assistant is seated in the first row, close to the aisle. He springs to his feet, pushing himself forwards. In doing so he brushes against people in his hurry, even stepping on their toes. Assuring all present that he really is a corporeal little boy. He assists me by bringing over a basket, sets it down before me. I take a length of rope and throw it into the basket. The boy waits patiently as the most eerie music begins. I make magical passes over the basket and the end of the rope appears, unsupported, and rises writhing into the air. The boy is just as impressed by this as is the audience. I wave him over and he passes behind me to approach the basket. The music grows louder still. Take the rope I command him and he draws back, afraid. I make a magical pass and his eyes roll back, his body stiffens. His will is now under my control. Now he does exactly what I order him to do. I wave my hand and he seizes the rope, then begins to climb it.”