And the head rolls down the platform and stops, and you see it's the head of the fellow who wanted to see something, and it's in the grisly grin of death...
"There's your latter end for you," says the conjurer.

"You wanted to see something.

I hope you're content." The big fellow turns white, gulps, gives a bellow, and makes a rush; but the conjurer isn't there, nor his screen nor anything.
Everybody in the room was white and shaken--all but the sea-captain.

He just tamps his pipe as if nothing had happened, and smokes on.

He doesn't even take a drink from his glass.
And a little while later an Irish chieftain walks in.