the truth."

For answer the Precursor slowly lifted the gold flask and replenished
his own glass. "Truth in a golden flask! But, to throw a sop to your
curiosity, it was a matter of native genius engineered by Providence. I
don't mind admitting that when I stood on the doorstep of this house
fifteen nights ago and knocked the mystic knock, I felt like a man
embarking on a coffin-ship." He stopped to drain his glass.

The Prophet took a step forward.

"And then?" he said, eagerly. "Then?"

The other waved his empty glass.

"Oh, there entered the native genius of Terence Dominick Devereaux!
Under that tremendous escort I stormed the citadel--"

The Prophet smiled. "And the Mystic ears, I have no doubt."

For a third time the Precursor filled his glass.

"The tongue is mightier--and a good deal more portable--than either the
pen or the sword, John," he said, sagely. "Paving your way with words
has been an unrecognized work of art. But how about yourself? I have my
own curiosity." He wheeled round in his seat and looked into his
companion's face.

The Prophet looked away.

"Oh, I had my qualms, too!" he said, slowly. "Just for a moment the
world seemed to tremble, when the old Arch-Councillor groped forward and
put his hands over my face. It swept me off my feet--swept me back ten
years. It was like a vision in a crystal--if such a thing could exist. I
saw the whole past scene. The bare room--the old dead man--myself; the
overwhelming wish to avenge my wrongs, and the sudden suggestion that
turned the wish cold. I saw the long, bleak night in which I completed
the colossal task of copying the Scitsym line for line; I saw the gray
morning steal in across the room as I closed the book, returned it to
its safe and replaced the key on my uncle's neck in preparation for the
arrival of the Arch-Councillor. It all passed before my mind, and then
in a flash was gone. I ceased to be John Henderson."

The Precursor glanced quickly towards the door.

"Avoid that name. Habits grow--and so do suspicions. Your probation has
been too long and too hard to permit us to run risks. Now that you've
stepped into your kingdom--" He made an expressive gesture.

The Prophet laughed shortly, then suddenly turned grave again.

"You are right!" he said. "Only a man with a light conscience can skate
on thin ice. To return to our original subject, what about the inner
workings of this odd game? It is so curious to have lived for years