, and taking advantage of this circumstance, he continued
rapidly:

"May I ask whether you recently received a letter--one
moment!--envelope--crest--I only want to know if you have
received--only--an elephant rampant--swarm of--of bees--"

"I have never received a rampant elephant and a swarm of bees," cried
Mr. Sagittarius with every symptom of unbridled terror. "Help, Frederick
Smith!"

"Right you are, Malkiel the Second!" cried the young librarian, hastily
pocketing the half sovereign and making a feverish lunge at nothing in
particular over the counter. "Right you are!"

"Malkiel the Second!" ejaculated the Prophet. "Then you are the man I
seek."

Malkiel the Second--for it was indeed he--sank back against the counter
in an attitude of abandoned prostration that would have made a fortune
of a comic actor.

"I trusted to Jellybrand's," he said, drawing from his tail pocket a
white handkerchief covered with a pattern of pink storks in flight. "I
trusted to Jellybrand's and Jellybrand's has betrayed me. Oh, Frederick
Smith!"

He put a stork to each eye. The young librarian assumed an injured air.

"It was the agitation did it, Mr. Sagittarius," he said. "If you hadn't
a-kep' dodging I shouldn't have lost my memory."

And he looked avariciously at the Prophet, who smiled at him
reassuringly and drew forth a card case.

"I feel sure, Mr. Sag--Malkiel--"

"Malkiel the Second, sir, is my name if it is betrayed by Jellybrand's,"
said that gentleman with sudden dignity. "There is no need of any
mister."

"I beg your pardon," said the Prophet, handing his card. "That is my
name and address. May I beg you to forgive my apparent anxiety to make
your acquaintance, and implore you to grant me a few moments of private
conversation on a matter of the utmost importance?"

Malkiel the Second read the card.

"Berkeley Square," he said. "_The_ Berkeley Square?"

"Exactly, the Berkeley Square," said the Prophet, modestly.

"Not the one at Brixton Rise behind the Kimmins's mews?" said Malkiel
the Second, suspiciously.

"Certainly not. The one near Grosvenor Square."

"That's better," said Malkiel, upon whom the Prophet's address had
evidently made a good impression. "Kimmins's is no class at all. Had you
come from there, I--but what may you want with me?"

The Prophet glanced significantly at the young librarian, who was
leaning upon the counter in a tense, keyhole position, with his private
ear turned somewhat