Part 8 (1/2)
”The accident did take place in the square certainly, and on the very night for which I predicted it.”
Malkiel the Second looked very thoughtful, even morose. He poured out another gla.s.s of champagne, drank it slowly in sips, and when the gla.s.s was empty ran the forefinger of his right hand slowly round and round its edge.
”Can Madame be wrong?” he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed at length, in a m.u.f.fled voice of meditation. ”Can Madame be wrong?”
The Prophet gazed at him with profound curiosity, fascinated by the circular movement of the yellow dogskin finger, and by the inward murmur--so acutely mental--that accompanied it.
”Madame?” whispered the Prophet, drawing his cane chair noiselessly forward.
”Ah!” rejoined Malkiel, gazing upon him with an eye whose pupil seemed suddenly dilated to a most preternatural size. ”Can she have been wrong all these many years?”
”What--what about?” murmured the Prophet.
Malkiel the Second leaned his matted head in his hands and replied, as if to himself,--
”Can it be that a prophet should live in Berkeley Square--not Kimmins's”--here he raised his head, and raked his companion with a glance that was almost fierce in its fervour of inquiry--”not Kimmins's but--the Berkeley Square?”
CHAPTER IV
THE SECRET WATERS OF THE RIVER MOUSE
To this question the Prophet could offer no answer other than a bodily one. He silently presented himself to the gaze of Malkiel, instinctively squaring his shoulders, opening out his chest, and expanding his nostrils in an effort to fill as large a s.p.a.ce in the atmosphere of the parlour as possible. And Malkiel continued to regard him with the staring eyes of one whose mind is seething with strange, upheaving thoughts and alarming apprehensions. Mutely the Prophet swelled and mutely Malkiel observed him swell, till a point was reached from which further progress--at least on the Prophet's part--was impossible. The Prophet was now as big as the structure of his frame permitted him to be, and apparently Malkiel realised the fact, for he suddenly dropped his eyes and exclaimed,--
”This matter must be threshed out thoroughly, Madame herself would wish it so.”
He paused, drew his chair nearer to the Prophet's, took off a glove and continued,--
”Sir, you may be a prophet. You may have prophesied correctly in the Berkeley Square. But if you are, and if you have, remember this--that you have proved the self-sacrifice, the privation, the denial, the subterfuge, the _mask_, and the position of Sagittarius Lodge in its own grounds beside the River Mouse at Crampton St. Peter, N.--N., I said, sir--totally and entirely unnecessary. I will go further, sir, and I will say more. You have not only done that. You have also proved the sacred instinct of a woman, a respectable married woman--such as we must all reverence--false and deceived. Remember this, sir, remember all this, then search yourself thoroughly and say whether what you have told me is strictly true.”
”I a.s.sure you--” began the Prophet, hastily.
But Malkiel sternly interrupted him.
”Search yourself, sir, I beg!” he cried.
”But upon my honour--”
”Hush, sir, hus.h.!.+ I beg, nay, I insist, that you search yourself thoroughly before you answer this momentous question.”
The Prophet felt rather disposed to ask whether Malkiel expected him to examine his pockets and turn out his boots. However, he sat still while Malkiel drew out a large gold watch, held it solemnly in his hand for a couple of minutes and then returned it to the waistcoat.
”Now, sir,” he said.
”I a.s.sure you,” said the Prophet, ”on my honour that all I have said is strictly true.”
”And took place in the Berkeley Square?”
”And took place in the Berkeley Square.”
Malkiel nodded morosely.