signed John F. Cartwright, M.D.
.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Bombay, 4th December, 1934
‘Well, well, well,’ said Henry Sugar. ‘Now that is extremely interesting.’
He closed the exercise-book and sat gazing at the rain splashing against the windows of the library.
‘This,’ Henry Sugar went on, talking aloud to himself, ‘is a terrific piece of information. It could change my life.’
The piece of information Henry was referring to was that Imhrat Khan had trained himself to read the value of a playing-card from the reverse side. And Henry the gambler, the rather dishonest gambler, had realized at once that if only he could train himself to do the same thing, he could make a fortune.
For a few moments, Henry allowed his mind to dwell upon the marvellous things he would be able to do if he could read cards from the back. He would win every single time at canasta and bridge and poker. And better still, he would be able to go into any casino in the world and clean up at blackjack and all the other high-powered card games they played!
In gambling casinos, as Henry knew very well, nearly everything depended in the end upon the turn of a single card, and if you knew beforehand what the value of that card was, then you were home and dry!
But could he do it? Could he actually train himself to do this thing?
He didn’t see why not. That stuff with the candle-flame didn’t appear to be particularly hard work. And according to the book, that was really all there was to it – just staring into the middle of the flame and trying to concentrate upon the face of the person you loved best.
It would probably take him several years to bring it off, but then who in the world wouldn’t be willing to train for a few years in order to beat the casinos every time he went in?
‘By golly,’ he said aloud, ‘I’ll do it! I’m going to do it!’
He sat very still in the armchair in the library, working out a plan of campaign. Above all, he would tell nobody what he was up to. He would steal the little book from the library so that none of his friends might come upon it by chance and learn the secret. He would carry the book with him wherever he went. It would be his bible. He couldn’t possibly go out and find a real live yogi to instruct him, so the book would be his yogi instead. It would be his teacher.
Henry stood up and slipped the slim blue exercise-book under his jacket. He walked out of the library and went straight upstairs to the bedroom they had given him for the week-end. He got out his suitcase and hid the book underneath his clothes. He then went downstairs again and found his way to the butler’s pantry.
‘John,’ he said, addressing the butler, ‘can you find me a candle? Just an ordinary white candle.’
Butlers are trained never to ask reasons. They simply obey orders. ‘Do you wish a candle-holder as well, sir?’
‘Yes. A candle and a candle-holder.’
‘Very good, sir. Shall I bring them to your room?’
‘No. I’ll hang around here till you find them.’
The butler soon found a candle and a candle-holder. Henry said, ‘And now could you find me a ruler?’ The butler found him a ruler. Henry thanked him and returned to his bedroom.
When he was inside the bedroom, he locked the door. He drew all the curtains so that the place was in twilight. He put the candle-holder with the candle in it on the dressing-table and pulled up a chair. When he sat down, he noticed with satisfaction that his eyes were exactly level with the wick of the candle. Now, using the ruler, he positioned his face sixteen inches from the candle, which was what the book said must be done.
That Indian fellow had visualized the face of the person he loved best, which in his case was a brother. Henry didn’t have a brother. He decided instead to visualize his own face. This was a good choice because when you are as selfish and self-centred as Henry was, then one’s own face is certainly the face one loves best of all. Moreover, it was the face he knew best of all. He spent so much time looking at it in the mirror, he knew every twist and wrinkle.