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.

CHAPTER V

MALKIEL THE SECOND POISONS MISS MINERVA

"Miss Minerva!" exclaimed Malkiel the Second.

"Lady Enid!" cried the Prophet, at the same moment.

"You can't go in there, Miss Partridge!" ejaculated the young librarian,
simultaneously, from the further room.

The lady, a tall girl of twenty-two, with grey eyes, dark smooth hair,
and a very agreeable, though slightly Scottish, mouth, began to behave
rather like a stag at bay. She panted, and looked wildly round as if
meditating how, and in what direction, she could best bolt.

"What's the matter?" cried the Prophet, his voice becoming not a little
piercing from surprise and his previous stress of agitation.

"You can't go in there, Miss Minerva," requested the young librarian,
who had now gained the parlour threshold, and who seemed about to take
up a very determined stand thereon.

"I must go in--I must," said the lady, in a mel