the Prophet.
“You are looking for another glass of wine, perhaps?”
“No, indeed,” said the Prophet, desperately. “For anything but that.”
But Malkiel, moved by some abruptly formed resolution, called suddenly in a powerful voice—
“Frederick Smith!”
“Here, Mr. Sagittarius!” cried the young librarian, appearing with suspicious celerity upon the parlour threshold.
“Draw the cork of the second bottle, Frederick Smith,” said Malkiel, impressively. “This gentleman is about to take the pledge”—on hearing this ironic paradox the Prophet stood up, very much in the attitude formerly assumed by Malkiel when about to dodge in the library—“that I shall put to him,” concluded Malkiel, also standing up, and assuming the library posture of the Prophet.
Indeed the situation of the library seemed about to be accurately reversed in the parlour of Jellybrand’s.
The young librarian assisted the cork to emerge phlegmatically from the neck of the second bottle of champagne, mechanically smacking his lips the while.
“Now pour, and leave us, Frederick Smith.”
The young librarian helped the fatigued-looking wine into the two glasses, where it lay as if thoroughly exhausted by the effort of getting there, and then languidly left the parlour, turning his bulging head over his shoulder to indulge in a pathetic oeillade ere he vanished.
The Prophet watched him go.
“Close the door, Frederick Smith,” cried Malkiel, in a meaning manner.
The Prophet blushed a guilty red, and the young librarian obeyed with a bang.
“And now, sir, I must request you to take a solemn pledge in this vintage,” said Malkiel, placing one of the tumblers in the Prophet’s trembling hand.
“Really,” said the Prophet, “I am not at all thirsty.”
“Why should you be, sir? What has that got to do with it?” retorted Malkiel. “Lift your glass, sir.”
The Prophet obeyed.
“And now take this pledge—that, till the last day—”
“What day?”
“The last day, sir, you will reveal to no living person that there is such an individual as Malkiel, that you have ever met him, who he is, or who Madame and family are, unless I give the word. You have surprised my secret. You have forced yourself upon me. You owe me this. Drink!”
Mechanically the Prophet drank.
“Swear!”
Mechanically—indeed almost like a British working man—the Prophet swore.
Malkiel drained his tumbler, and drew on the dogskin glove which, in the agitation of a previous moment, he had thrown aside.
“I have your card, sir, here is mine. I shall now take the train to the River Mouse, on whose banks I shall confer at once with Madame. Till I have done this I cannot tell you what form the tests I shall have to apply to you will take. When I have done it you will hear from me. Your servant, sir.”
He bowed majestically, and was turning towards the door when it was hastily opened and a lady appeared frantically in the aperture.
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