Ripping Time by Robert Asprin & Linda Evans

“Yes, Mr. Maybrick?” He managed to sound politely concerned rather than homicidal.

“I was wondering when you might be able to perform the mesmeric operation?”

Lachley blinked for a moment, then recalled Maybrick’s request to be placed in a mesmeric trance in order to diagnose his disease and effect a “mesmeric surgical cure.” Maybrick was blinking slowly at him, clearly growing muzzy from the medication Lachley had given him.

“Why, whenever you are ready, sir,” Lachley answered with a faint smile.

“Then you do think there is hope?”

Lachley’s smile strengthened. “My dear sir, there is always hope.” One can certainly hope you will pass into an apoplectic fit while in trance and rid the world of your unfortunate presence. “Lie back on the daybed, here, and allow yourself to drift with the medication and the sound of my voice.” Maybrick shifted from the overstuffed chair where he’d spent the past hour giving his “medical history,” moving so unsteadily, Lachley was required to help him across to the daybed.

“Now, then, Mr. Maybrick, imagine that you are standing at the top of a very long staircase which descends into darkness. With each downward step you take, your body grows heavier and more relaxed, your mind drifts freely. Step down, Mr. Maybrick, one step at a time, into the safe and comfortable darkness, warm and cozy as a mother’s embrace . . .”

By the end of twenty-five steps, Mr. James Maybrick, Esquire, was in deep trance, having been neatly drugged into a state of not-quite oblivion.