THE PRINCE WHO STABBED HIS PARTNER.

NOT long ago, when looking through some old books, I came across my diary for 1915. Amongst the entries for July, I found the words "Prince Askedop stabbed his partner," and the whole story came back to me. I recalled the adventure of the dusky Prince, and his unfortunate partner, Primo Mulatti, as vividly as if they had been standing at my side.

It was in the early part of the month that I first encountered the Prince. He walked into my office one hot morning, and flung himself into an easy chair. He was a fine figure of a man, quite six foot in height, and his coal black skin and thick woolly hair told me he came from West Africa.

"Good morning," he said, grinning from ear to ear. "You Mr. Goldston?"

"That's me," I returned. "I haven't seen you before, have I?"

"No, sir. Me's Prince Acid Drop."

"Acid Drop?"

"Sure. My friends call me Acid Drop. My real name is Askedop--I'm a Prince in my own land. Can you build me real magic show?"

"Certainly," I assented. "How much do you want to spend?"

"About £300, sir."

"Righto. What do you know about magic?"

"Nothin'."

"Ah, that's awkward. What sort of illusions do you want?"

"Don't know."

"That's more awkward still."

"Wait a minute--me call my partner. He got the money, sir." As he spoke, my prospective client rose to his feet and walked to the door. "Primo," he bellowed in a voice of thunder.

He was answered by rapid footsteps on the office stairs, and a second later, a weedy little individual entered the room. His clothes had obviously been made for another man, and his appearance was not enhanced by a number of dark food stains which decorated the lapels of his jacket.

"This is Mr. Primo Mulatti," said the Prince. "He's a waiter, and also my partner."

Mr. Mulatti was evidently a man who knew his business. He told me exactly what sort of illusions he required, and explained that Prince Askedop would present them whilst he himself acted only as business manager. I told him I should be pleased to make his apparatus, and hastily added I should want £150 left as a deposit. I did not feel inclined to run any risks with such queer clients.

"Certainly," replied Mulatti, who spoke perfect English. "I'll give it to you now." He pulled his tie from beneath his waistcoat, and exposed a huge metal safety pin. This he undid, and, inserting his hand into that part of the tie where the lining usually lies, he pulled out a bunch of five-pound notes.

I watched this proceeding in amazement.

"That's the queerest place for keeping money I've ever seen," I ventured.

"The notes are all good," came the quick reply, "and they're safer there than in a bank." He counted out thirty, and pushed them across the table to me. "That's right, I think."

I checked the amount, and made out a receipt.

"I can have those things ready for you in ten days' time," I said. "All the tricks are simple to operate, so there will not be much chance of the Prince making a mistake."

"That's fine," returned Mulatti. "So long as I know when everything will be prepared, I can start fixing my engagements."

On the following morning, Prince Askedop again came in to see me.

"When will de tricks be finished, Mr. Goldston?" he asked placidly.

"I told you yesterday they would take ten days to complete," I said, somewhat annoyed at the unnecessary intrusion.

"Three hundred pounds is good order for you, eh?"

"Very good," I agreed.

"Then you give me £50, eh?

"Fifty pounds! Whatever for?

"You give me £50 or I tell partner de tricks is no good."

"You swindling nigger!" I cried, forgetting myself in the heat of the moment. "So you're trying to double cross your partner?"

In a few well chosen words, I told the Prince just what I thought of him. He did not seem at all abashed at the strength of my language, and took his departure promising to visit me again at an early date. He kept his word. He called every day for the next ten days, on the pretext of inquiring "just how dem tricks was goin'." He always contrived to work the question of a bribe of £50 into his conversation, only to meet with the same flat refusal. I finally gave him a small trick table, and he was frank enough to tell me that this pleased him far more than "any ole £50." The table was worth about thirty shillings, but I did not trouble to point this out to him.

Meanwhile, Mulatti had not been idle. Most of the managers he approached refused to engage Prince Askedop until they had seen him perform. The Italian eventually persuaded an East-end manager to give him a week's trial run, this meaning that Askedop had to work a week for nothing.

On the opening night, Askedop was sitting in his dressing room, making up as an Eastern mystic. Mulatti went in to see him in order to make the final arrangements for the presentation of the act.

"What do you want in my dressing room demanded the Prince turning round as the Italian entered. "You get out here, quick, please!"

"Don't talk such nonsense," said Mulatti. "As your manager I've got a perfect right to come here--as much right as you have."

"Get out here at once, please. You my manager round de front, but not in de dressin' room."

"You're mad. I shall stop here as long as I like."

Prince Askedop wasted no further words in argument. With one swift motion he drew a knife from his pocket and stabbed Mulatti in the back.

And so the partners Askedop and Mulatti never even gave their first performance. For at the time the dusky magician was supposed to present his act, he was sitting in a police cell musing on the bitterness of Fate.