The Prophet of Berkeley Square Part 8

"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.

"It may have been chance," he said. "A weather forecast and an honoured grandmother may have been mere luck. Still it looks bad--very bad."

He sighed heavily, and seemed about to fall into a mournful reverie when the Prophet cried sharply,--

"Explain yourself, Malkiel the Second. You owe it to me to explain yourself. Why should my strange gift--"

"If you have it, sir," interrupted Malkiel, quickly.

"If I have it, very well--affect you? Why should it render the self-sacrifice and--and the position of--of Sagittarius Lodge on the river--the river--what river did you say--?"

"The River Mouse," rejoined Malkiel in a m.u.f.fled voice, and shaking his head sadly.

"Exactly--on the River Mouse at Crompton--"

"Crampton."

"Crampton St. Peter total--"

"N.!"

"What?"

"Crampton St. Peter. N. That is the point."

"Very well--Crampton St. Peteren, totally and entirely unnecessary?"

"You desire my revelation, sir? You desire to enter into the bosom of a family that hitherto has dwelt apart, has lain as I may say _perdew_ beside the secret waters of the River Mouse? Is it indeed so?"

"Oh, I beg your pardon," cried the Prophet, hastily. "I would not for the world intrude upon--"

"Those hallowed precincts! Well, perhaps you have the right.

Jellybrand's has betrayed me to you. You know my name, my profession.

Why should you not know more? Perhaps it is better so."

With the sudden energy of a man who is reckless of fate he seized his goblet, poured into it at least a s.h.i.+lling's worth of "creaming foam,"

drained it to the dregs and, shaking back his matted hair with a leonine movement of the head, exclaimed,--

"Malkiel the First, who founded the _Almanac_, lay _perdew_ all his life."

"Beside the secret waters of the River Mouse?" the Prophet could not help interposing.

"No, sir. He would never have gone so far as that. But he lived and died in Susan Road beside the gas-works. He was a great man."

"I'm sure he was," said the Prophet, heartily.

"He wished me to live and die there too," said Malkiel. "But there are limits, sir, even to the forbearance of women. Madame was affected, painfully affected, by the gas, sir. It stank in her nostrils--to use a figure. And then there was another drawback that she could not get over."