THE PROPHET RETIRES FROM BUSINESS
Exactly as the Prophet arrived at his resolution the hall door bell
rang violently, and Gustavus, who had slipped down before the Prophet in
order to seek the traveller to Java in the servants’ quarters, hurried
into the hall in rather a distracted manner.
“Stop, Gustavus!” said the Prophet.
Gustavus stopped. The bell rang again.
“Gustavus,” said the Prophet, “if that is a visitor I am not at home.
Mrs. Merillia is not at home either.”
It was by this time between one and two in the morning.
“Not at home, sir. Yes, sir.”
The Prophet concealed himself near the hat-rack, and Gustavus went
softly to the door and opened it.
“Not at home, ma’am,” the Prophet heard him say, formally.
“What d’you mean, young man?” replied the powerful voice of Madame.
“Where is my husband?”
“Ma’am?”
“Where, I say, is my husband?”
“I couldn’t say, I’m sure, ma’am. But Mrs. Merillia and Mr. Vivian are
not at home.”
“Then all I can say is they ought to be in at this time of night. Permit
me to pass. Are you aware that Mr. Vivian has invited me to spend the
night here? _Noctes ambrosianes_.”
“But, ma’am, Mr. Viv--”
“That’ll do. If I have any more of your impertinence I’ll make you
repent of it. You are evidently not aware who I am.”
The Prophet, by the hat-rack, did not fail to hear a new note in the
deep contralto of Madame, a note of triumph, a trumpet note of profound
conceit. His heart sank before this determined music, and it sank
even lower towards his pumps when, a moment later, he found himself
confronted by the lady, wrapped closely in the rabbit-skins, and
absolutely bulging with vanity and self-appreciation.
“What! Mr. Vivian!” began the lady.
“Hush!” said the Prophet, “for mercy’s sake--hush!”
And, acting upon the impulse of the moment, he suddenly seized Madame by
the hand, and hurried her through the swinging door into the servants’
hall.
“Here’s a go,” murmured Gustavus in the greatest trepidation. “If they
don’t find the thin party I’m a josser.”
Meanwhile the Prophet and Madame were standing face to face before the
what-not of Gustavus.
“My grandmother is awake--that is asleep,” said the Prophet. “We must
not wake her on any account.”
“Oh,” returned Madame, with a toss of her head, “your grandmother seems
to be a very fidgety old lady, I’m sure--although you do tell a parcel
of lies about her.”
“Lies!” said the Prophet, with some dignity.
“Yes--lies. She don’t wear long clothes--”
“I beg your pardon!”
“She do not. She don’t wear her hair down. She don’t put her lips to the
bottle. She don’t. Where is Mr. Sagi--where is Malkiel the Second?”
“I have no idea. And now, Madame, I regret that I must conduct you to
your carriage. The hour is late, my grandmother is seriously indisposed,
and I myself need rest.”
“Well, then, you can’t have it,” retorted the lady with authoritative
spitefulness. “You can’t have it, not till three o’clock.”
“I beg your pardon!” said the Prophet, with trembling lips.
“What for?”
“I really regret that I must retire. Allow me--”
“I’ll not allow you. Where is my husband? He’s not at the Zoological
Gardens.”
“He has probably returned home.”
“To the Mouse! Then he’s a coward and an oath-breaker, and if Sir
Tiglath was to catch him I shouldn’t be sorry. Kindly lead me at once
to the telescope. I will take his place. No one shall say that Madame
Malkiel ever flinched at duty’s call. _Praesto et persistibus_. Conduct
me at once to the telescope.”
“The telescope!” cried the Prophet. “What for?”
“Lawks!” cried Madame, with pronounced temper. “Did we not journey from
the Mouse a-purpose to go practically into the mystery of the dressed
Crab?”
“I really--I really cannot consent without a chaperon,” began the
Prophet.
“The wife of Malkiel the Second needs no chaperone,” retorted Madame.
“This night has altered my condition--I stand from henceforth far beyond
the reach of etiquette. The world knows me now and will not dare to
carp. _Carpe dies_.”
During the foregoing colloquy her voice had become louder and louder,
and the Prophet, dreading unspeakably lest his grandmother should be
disturbed and affrighted once more, gave up the struggle, and, without
more ado, conducted Madame into the butler’s pantry in which the
telescope still remained.
Meanwhile what had become of Malkiel the Second?
When Mrs. Merillia suddenly appeared before him in her night-bonnet and
accused him of being a ratcatcher he had very naturally fled, his first
impulse being to leave the house at once and continue his journey to the
docks. But even a prophet is but mortal. Malkiel had passed through an
eventful day followed by a still more eventful evening. His mind was
completely exhausted. Even so, however, he might have continued upon his
journey towards Java had not his legs prosaically shown signs of giving
way under him just as he once more gained the hall. This decided him. He
must have some short repose at whatever cost. He therefore pushed feebly
at the nearest door, and found himself promptly in the apartment of the
upper servants. Staggering to the what-not of Gustavus, he sank down
upon it and fell into a melancholy reverie, from which he was roused
by the constant tingling cry of Mrs. Merillia’s second bell, which rang
close to where he was reposing. He tried to start up, but failed, and
it was only when the hall door bell, attacked by the Prophet, added its
voice to its companion’s that his terror lent him sufficient strength to
flee very slowly into the inner fastnesses of this unknown region. There
was a light in the servant’s hall, but darkness lay beyond and Malkiel
knew not whither he was penetrating. He barked his shins, but could not
tell against what hard substance. He bruised his elbow, but could not
know what piece of furniture had assailed it. On coming in contact with
a dresser he saw a few sparks, but they speedily died out, and he was
obliged to feel his way onward, till presently he came across a large
leather chair in which Mrs. Merillia’s cook was wont to sit while
directing her subordinates at the basting machine. Into this he sank
palpitating, and for a moment remained undisturbed. Then, to his horror,
he heard in the adjoining room the strident voice of his loved and
honoured wife apparently carrying on a decidedly vivacious argument with
some person unknown. He bounded up. Possibly she was accompanied by Sir
Tiglath, who must now be aware of his identity. In any case, her wrath
at his scarcely chivalrous desertion of her in the house of a stranger
would, he knew, be terrible. He dared not face it. He dared not allow
his project of flight at dawn to be interfered with, as it certainly
would be if he came across Madame. He therefore proceeded to flee once
more. Nor did he pause until he had gained Mr. Ferdinand’s pantry, where
stood the telescope. Now, in this pantry there was a large cupboard in
which were kept the very numerous and magnificent pieces of plate, etc.,
possessed by Mrs. Merillia; tall silver candelabra, standard lamps
of polished bronze, richly-chased cups, gigantic vases for containing
flowers, oriental incense holders upon stands of ebony, Spanish charcoal
dishes of burnished brass, and other treasures far too numerous to
mention. This cupboard was always carefully locked at night, but on this
occasion Mr. Ferdinand, totally disorganised by the frightful scenes
which had taken place at his dinner table during the evening, had
retired to bed in a condition of collapse, leaving it open. Malkiel the
Second, feeling frantically about in the dark, came upon the door
of this cupboard, pulled it, found that it yielded to his hand, and,
hearing the rapidly approaching voices of Madame and the Prophet,
stumbled into the cupboard and sank down on a large gold loving-cup,
with one foot in a silver soup tureen, and the other in a priceless
sugar basin, just as the light of the candle borne by the Prophet
glimmered in the darkness of the adjacent corridor.
“This way, Madame,” said the Prophet. “But I really think such a
proceeding is calculated to cause a grave scandal in the square.”
Malkiel the Second drew the cupboard door to, and grasped a silver
candelabrum in each hand to sustain himself upon the rather sharp rim of
the loving-cup.
“What is the square to me or I to the square?” returned Madame with
ungrammatical majesty. “Madame Malkiel is not governed by any ordinary
laws. _Lexes non scripta_ is her motto. To these alone she clings.”
Her husband clung to the candelabra and burst into a violent
perspiration. Through the keyhole of the cupboard a ray of light now
shone, and he heard the frou-frou of his partner’s skirt, the flump
of the rabbit-skins as she cast them from her ample shoulders upon the
floor. The Prophet’s voice became audible again.
“What do you wish me to do?” he said, with a sort of embittered
courtesy.
“Throw open the window, place yourself before the telescope, and proceed
at once to your investigations,” replied the lady.
“I am not in a condition to investigate,” said the Prophet. “I am not
indeed. If you will only let me get you a cab, to-morrow night--”
“It is useless to talk, Mr. Vivian,” said Madame, very sharply. “The cab
has not yet been made that will convey me to the Mouse to-night.”
“But your husband--”
“My husband is a coward, unworthy of such a wife as he possesses. At the
crisis of our fortunes--What’s that?”
At this painful moment Malkiel the Second was so overcome by emotion,
that he trembled, and allowed his left foot to rattle slightly on the
sugar basin.
“What was it?” repeated Madame.
“Rats, I have no doubt,” answered the Prophet, who had heard nothing. “I
believe that the basements of these old houses are simply--well--simply
permeated with rats.”
For a moment Madame blanched, but she was a woman of spirit, and
moreover she was almost intoxicated with ambition. Recognised at last as
a lady of position and importance in one of the mansions of the idiotic
great, she was more anxious than ever to remove forthwith into the
central districts, there to exercise that sway which she had so long
desired. Finding that there exists a world in which prophets--far from
being considered as dirty and deceitful persons--are worshipped and
adored, entertained with Pommery and treated almost as gods, she yearned
to dwell in the midst of it. The peaceful seclusion of the Mouse was
become hateful to her. The architects and their wives began to seem
to her uplifted fancy little better than the circle that frequented
Hagglin’s Buildings, or appeared at the paltry entertainments given by
the inhabitants of Drakeman’s Villas. She was resolved to soar, and even
rats should not turn her from her passionate purpose. Accordingly she
replied,--
“Rats or no rats, I intend to see this matter out. _Dixisti!_ The night
wanes. Kindly go at once to the telescope.”
The Prophet obeyed, first opening the window into the area. The rain
had now cleared off, but the sky was still rather cloudy, and only a few
stars peeped here and there.
“Really,” said the Prophet, after applying his weary eye to the machine,
“really I don’t think it’s any good, there are so very--”
“Have the goodness to place the old lady in the claws of the Crab,
according to the directions of the coward who has deserted me.”
Malkiel shook with shame upon the loving-cup.
“But I really can’t find the Crab,” said the Prophet, who was so tired
that he could scarcely stand. “I can see the Great Bear.”
“That is no use. The Bear has nothing to do with the old lady. You must
find the Crab. Look again.”
The Prophet did so. But his eye blinked with fatigue and the heavens
swam before it.
“There is no Crab to-night,” he said. “I assure you on my honour there
is none.”
Exactly as he finished making this statement a low whistle rang through
the silence of the night. The Prophet started, Madame jumped, and
Malkiel bounded on the loving-cup.
The whistle was repeated.
“It’s the thing!” whispered the Prophet.
“What thing?” inquired Madame, who had become rather pale.
“The dark thing that told me the Crab was dressed. It has come again.”
“My word!” ejaculated Madame, looking uneasily around. “Where is it?”
Just then Malkiel the Second’s feet once more began to tremble among the
plate of Mrs. Merillia.
“You hear it!” said the Prophet, much impressed.
“Did it rattle like that the other night?” gasped Madame, seizing the
Prophet by the arm.
The Prophet told a lie with his head.
“Address it, I beg,” said Madame, in a great state of excitement.
“Meanwhile I will retire a few paces.”
So saying, she backed into the passage, bearing the candle with her
for company, and leaving the Prophet in total darkness. The low whistle
sounded again, and a husky voice said,--
“Are you there?”
“Yes,” replied the Prophet, summoning all his courage. “I am.”
“What ‘a’ you put out the light for?” said the voice, which seemed to
come from far away.
“I haven’t put it out,” returned the Prophet. “It’s gone away.”
At this juncture Malkiel, impelled by curiosity, ceased from trembling,
and, leaning forward upon the loving-cup, glued his ear to the key-hole
of the cupboard.
“Why was you so late to-night?” proceeded the voice. “She’s been in a
rare taking, I can tell you.”
“Who?”
“Who? You know well enough.”
“Do you mean my grandmother?”
“Your grandmother!” ejaculated the voice with apparent sarcasm. “Ah! of
course, what do you think?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” said the poor Prophet, whose reason was
beginning to totter upon its throne.
“Well,” proceeded the voice, “she thought you’d give it up.”
“What--my grandmother did?”
“Ah, your grandmother. Get away with you! Ha! ha! ha!”
And the mysterious visitant broke forth into a peal of rather mundane
laughter. After indulging in this unseemly mirth for about a minute and
a half, the personage resumed,--
“The Crab did for her.”
Upon hearing the mystic word Madame crept stealthily a pace or two
nearer to the door, while the Prophet exclaimed,--
“The dressed Crab?”
“Ah, what do _you_ think? Not a wink of sleep and thought every minute’d
be ‘er next.”
“Good Heavens!”
“She says she’d never go near a crab again, not if it’s ever so.”
“You are sure?” said the Prophet, eagerly. “You are positive she said
that?”
“I’d stake my Davy, and I wouldn’t do that on everything. There ain’t
a man living as’ll ever get her to go within fifty miles of a crab this
side of Judgment.”
At this point in the colloquy the curiosity of Madame overcame her, and
she protruded her head suddenly beyond the edge of the doorway.
“Ulloh!” exclaimed the voice. “Why, what’s ‘a’ you got there?”
Madame hastily withdrew, and the voice continued,--
“Blessed if it ain’t a female!”
“I beg your pardon!” said the Prophet, trembling with propriety.
“I--I--there is no female here!”
“Yes there is!” cried the voice, with a chuckle. “There’s a female
creeping and crawling about behind that there door.”
The Prophet’s sense of chivalry was now fully aroused.
“You are mistaken,” he said firmly. “There are no females creeping
and--and crawling about in this--this respectable house.”
“Respectable!” ejaculated the voice, “respectable! I say there is a
female. You’re a nice one, you are! ‘Pon my word, I’ve a good mind to
run you in for Mormonism, I have. Wherever’s she got to?”
On the last words a sudden blaze of light shot into the pantry, and at
the same moment there was the sound of wheels rapidly approaching in the
square.
“Hulloh!” said the voice, “someone a-comin’.”
The light died out as rapidly as it had flashed in, the wheels drew
close and stopped, and a bell pealed forth in the silent house.
“Merciful Heavens!” cried the Prophet, pressing his hands to his
throbbing brow. “Merciful Heavens! who can that be?”
There was no answer, and the bell pealed again.
“Grannie will be disturbed!” exclaimed the Prophet, addressing himself,
passionately to the darkness. “Grannie will be killed by all this
uproar.”
The bell pealed again.
“This must cease,” cried the Prophet. “This must and shall cease. I will
bring it all to an end once and for ever!”
And, with sudden desperate decision, he shut the window, burst out of
the pantry and came upon Madame, who was standing in a somewhat furtive
manner by the door that opened into the cellars of the mansion.
“Mr. Vivian,” she began, in a rather subdued voice, “that isn’t a comet,
that’s a copper!”
The bell rang again.
“D’you think--d’you think that can be my husband?” continued Madame,
still seeming subdued. “I should like him--Do you think it’s him?”
“What?”
“The bell.”
“I will very soon see,” replied the Prophet, in a most determined
manner.
“But Mr. Viv--”
“Don’t hold me, if you please. Kindly let me pass!”
And, breaking from the lady’s anxious grasp, the Prophet rushed into
the hall just as Gustavus appeared, descending the front stairs from
the landing before Mrs. Merillia’s door, where he had been in close
conference with Mrs. Fancy.
“Stand back, Gustavus,” said the Prophet.
“Sir!”
“Stand back!”
“But, sir, there is someone--”
“I know there is. I am about to answer the door myself.”
“If you please, sir, Mrs. Merillia is greatly alarmed by the constant
ringing, and Mrs. Fancy thinks--”
“Gustavus,” said the Prophet in an awful voice, “you may retire, but
first let me tell you one thing.”
“Certainly, sir,” said the footman, beginning to tremble.
“The circumstances that have rendered a hitherto peaceful household more
disordered than an abode of madmen are about to be brought to an end for
ever. There is a point at which a gentleman must either cease to be a
gentleman or cease to be a man. I have reached that point, Gustavus, and
I am about to cease to be a gentleman.”
And, with this terrible statement, the Prophet advanced with a sort of
appalling deliberation and threw the front door wide open.
Upon the doorstep stood Lady Enid wrapped in a pink opera cloak and Sir
Tiglath Butt shrouded in the Inverness. The Prophet faced them with a
marble demeanour.
“I thought you’d be here, Mr. Vivian,” began Lady Enid in a bright
manner.
“I am here,” said the Prophet, speaking in a voice that might well have
issued from a statue.
“Where is he?” roared Sir Tiglath. “Where is he? Oh-h-h-h!”
“Sir Tiglath means Malkiel,” explained Lady Enid. “He is most anxious to
meet him.”
“Why?” said the Prophet, still in the same inhuman voice.
“Well, we shall see when they do meet,” said Lady Enid, throwing a look
of keen curiosity at the astronomer. “I rather think--” here she lowered
her voice and whispered in the Prophet’s ear--“I rather think Sir
Tiglath wishes to try if he can murder Malkiel. Do you believe he could
bring it off?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” answered the Prophet, with stony indifference.
“Good-night to you!”
“But we want to come in,” cried Lady Enid.
“Young man,” roared Sir Tiglath, “the old astronomer will not leave this
house till he has searched it from attic to cellar.”
“I am sorry,” replied the Prophet, “but I cannot permit my grandmother’s
servants or wine to be disturbed at such an hour. If you wish to murder
Malkiel the Second, I shall not prevent you, but he is not here.”
“Then where is he?” cried Lady Enid.
“I don’t know. And now--”
The Prophet stepped back into the hall, and was about to close the door
unceremoniously--having, as he intended, ceased to be a gentleman--when
Lady Enid caught sight of the round and fixed eyes of Gustavus glaring
out into the night from behind his master. The appalling feminine
instinct, which makes woman the mistress of creation, suddenly woke
within her, and she cried out in a piercing voice,--
“Malkiel’s in the house, and Gustavus knows it!”
She spoke these words with such conviction that the Prophet spun round,
top-wise, and stared at the unfortunate flunkey, who instantly fell upon
his knee-breeches and stammered out,--
“Oh, sir, forgive me! It’s Dr. Carter done it, sir, it is indeed. It’s
Dr. Carter done it!”
“Dr. Carter!” ejaculated the Prophet.
“The library, sir. He offered me the library eight times over, sir!”
“Who offered you the library?”
“The gent, sir, in Mr. Ferdinand’s trouserings, what was at dinner, sir.
He only wanted to change ‘em, sir, and he says to me, he says, ‘Let me,’
he says, ‘but remove these trouserings,’ he says, ‘before I make off to
Java,’ he says--”
“To where?” roared Sir Tiglath.
“To Java, sir, where the jelly and the sparrows is manufactured, sir,
that is born, sir. ‘And,’ he says, ‘here is a hundred pounds,’ he says.”
“Then he is in the house?” said the Prophet, sternly.
“Well, sir, he was, sir. And, as I ain’t seen him go, sir, I expect as
he’s somewhere about changing of ‘em, sir. Oh, sir, if you’ll only look
it over sir, It’s all the thirst, sir, it’s all the thirst--”
“What? You have been drinking?” cried the Prophet, in an outraged
manner.
“No, sir, the thirst for knowledge, sir, as has brought me to this. Oh,
sir, if only you’ll--”
“Hush!” said the Prophet fiercely. “Sir Tiglath,” he added, turning
towards the puffing astronomer, “you can enter. My grandmother must have
been right.”
“Your grandmother?” said Lady Enid, with eager inquisitiveness.
“She informed me that the ruffian was in the house and had attempted to
make away with her--”
“Dear me! this is most interesting!” interposed Lady Enid.
“But I supposed she had had the nightmare. It seems that I was wrong. If
you will step in, you can search the house at once. And if you
discover this nameless creature changing his--that is Mr. Ferdinand’s
trouserings--trousers, that is,--in any part of the building, as far as
I am concerned you can murder him forthwith.”
The Prophet spoke quite calmly, in a soft and level voice. Yet there
was something so frightful in his tone and manner that even Sir Tiglath
seemed slightly awe-stricken. At any rate, he accepted the Prophet’s
invitation in silence, and stepped almost furtively into the hall, on
whose floor Gustavus was still posed in the conventional attitude of the
Christian martyr. Lady Enid eagerly followed, and the Prophet was just
about to close the door, when a dark, hovering figure that was pausing
at a short distance off upon the pavement attracted his attention. He
stopped short, and, perceiving that it was a policeman, beckoned to it.
The figure approached.
“What’s up now?” it said familiarly, emphasising the question with
a sharp contraction of the left eyelid. “You’re having a nice game
to-night, and no mistake.”
“Game!” replied the Prophet, sternly. “This is no game. Stand there, by
the area gate, and if anyone should run out, knock him down with your
truncheon. Do you hear me?”
With these impressive words he entered the house and shut the door,
leaving the policeman to whistle inquiringly to the stars that were
watching over this house, once peaceful, but now the abode of violence
and tragedy.
In the hall he found Gustavus still on his knees between Lady Enid and
Sir Tiglath.
“Lady Enid,” he said, even in this hour mindful of the proprieties, “you
have heard what this villain is doing here, and must be sensible that
you can take no part in this search.”
“Oh, but I particularly want--” began Lady Enid, hastily.
“Pardon me,” said the Prophet, with more firmness than Napoleon ever
showed to his marshals. “You must retire. Please come this way. Mrs.
Fancy will look after you.”
“Oh, but really, Mr. Vivian, I--”
“Kindly follow me.”
Lady Enid hesitated for a moment, but the Prophet’s manner was too much
for her, and when he stepped, like a clockwork automaton with a steel
interior, towards the staircase, she crept mildly in his wake.
“Can’t I really--?” she whispered in his ear.
“Certainly not. If you were a married woman, possibly--”
“Well, but I am engaged,” she murmured.
The Prophet stopped short.
“Engaged!” he said. “To whom?”
“Sir Tiglath.”
“Engaged to Sir Tiglath!”
“Yes. He proposed to me to-night at Zoological House.”
“Why?”
She might well have resented the question, but perhaps she divined the
distraught and almost maniacal condition of mind that the Prophet masked
beneath his impassive demeanour. At any rate she answered frankly,--
“Because he didn’t find out I’m Miss Minerva, and in the midst of Mrs.
Bridgeman’s silly world I stood right out as the only sensible creature
living. Isn’t it fun?”
“Fun!”
“Yes. I always meant him to propose to me.”
“Why?”
“Because I always thought it would be supremely idiotic of me to accept
him.”
The Prophet felt that if he listened to another remark of such a nature
his brain would snap and he would instantly be taken with a tearing fit
of hysterics. He therefore turned round and slowly ascended to the first
floor.
“Kindly step into the drawing-room,” he said, having first, by a rapid
glance, assured himself that Malkiel was not changing Mr. Ferdinand’s
trousers there. “I will send Mrs. Fancy to chaperon you.”
Lady Enid stepped in obediently, and the Prophet, who could distinctly
hear Mrs. Fancy sobbing on the landing above, proceeded thither, took
her hand and guided her down to the drawing-room.
“Oh, my poor, poor missis!” gulped the devoted creature. “Oh, my--”
“Precisely,” rejoined the Prophet, with passionless equanimity. “Please
go in there and remain to guard this young lady.”
He assisted Mrs. Fancy to fall in a heap upon the nearest sociable, and
then, still moving with a species of frozen deliberation, betook himself
once more to the hall. The astronomer and Gustavus were standing there
in silence.
“Sir Tiglath,” said the Prophet, in a very formal manner, “you can now
begin to search for this ruffian.”
Sir Tiglath cleared his throat, and continued to stand still.
“I hope you will find him,” continued the Prophet.
Sir Tiglath cleared his throat again and added,--
“Why?”
“Why? Because I think it quite time that he was murdered,” answered the
Prophet, unemotionally. “Well! why don’t you search?”
The astronomer, whose face began to look less red than usual, rolled
his glassy eyes round upon the shadowy hall, the dim staircase and the
gloomy-looking closed doors that confronted them.
“Where is the old astronomer to search?” he asked, in a low voice.
“Oh-h-h-h!”
The final exclamation sounded remarkably tremulous.
“Anywhere--except in my grandmother’s bedroom. That of course is sacred.
Well, why don’t you begin?”
Sir Tiglath eyed the Prophet furtively.
“I’m--I’m going to,” he murmured hoarsely. “The old astronomer does not
know the meaning of the word--fear.”
Exactly as he uttered these inspiring words the hall clock growled, like
a very large dog, and struck two. Sir Tiglath started and caught hold
of Gustavus, who started in his turn and shrank away. The Prophet alone
stood up to the clock, which finished its remark with a click, and
resumed its habitual occupation of ticking.
“Pray begin, Sir Tiglath,” said the Prophet.
“The old astronomer--must have a--a--a--candle.”
“Here is one,” said the Prophet, handing the desired article.
“A lighted candle.”
“Why lighted? Oh, so that you can see to murder him! Gustavus, light the
candle.”
Gustavus, who was trembling a good deal more than an autumn leaf,
complied after about fifteen unavailing attempts.
“There, Sir Tiglath,” said the Prophet. “Now you can begin.” And he
seated himself upon a settee, leaned back and crossed his legs.
“You will not accompany the old astronomer? Oh-h-h”
“No. I will rest here. When you have found the ruffian and murdered him,
I shall be glad to hear your news.”
And, so saying, the Prophet settled himself comfortably with a cushion
behind his back, and calmly closed his eyes. The candlestick clattered
in Sir Tiglath’s gouty hand. The Prophet heard it, heard heavy feet
shuffling very slowly and cautiously over the floor of the hall, finally
heard the door leading to the servants’ quarters swing on its hinges.
Still he did not open his eyes. He felt that if he were to do so just
then he would probably begin to shriek, rave, foam at the mouth, and
in all known ways comport himself as do the inhabitants of Bedlam. A
delicate silence fell in the hall. How long it lasted the Prophet never
knew. It might have been five minutes or five years as far as he
was concerned. It was broken at length by the following symphony of
sounds--an elderly man’s voice roaring, a woman’s voice uttering a
considerable number of very powerful screams on a rather low but
still resounding note, a loud thump, a crash of glass, a prodigious
clattering, as of utensils made in some noisy material falling from a
height and rolling vigorously in innumerable directions, two or three
bangs of doors, and the peculiar patter of rather large and flat feet,
unaccustomed to any rapid exercise, moving over boards, oilcloth and
carpet. Then the swing door sang, and the Prophet, opening his eyes,
perceived Madame Malkiel moving forward with considerable vivacity,
and screaming as she moved, her bonnet depending down her back and the
rabbit-skins flowing from her ample shoulders. Immediately behind her
ran her spouse, holding in one hand a silver pepper castor, and in the
other a small and very beautifully finished bronze teapot of the William
of Orange period. The worthy couple fleeted by, and the Prophet turned
his expressionless eyes towards the swing door expecting immediately
to perceive Sir Tiglath Butt in valiant pursuit. As no such figure
presented itself, and as the Malkiels were now beginning to mount
the stairs with continually increasing velocity, the Prophet slowly
uncrossed his legs, and was thinking of getting upon his feet when there
came a loud knock upon the hall door.
“Gustavus!” said the Prophet, glancing round.
He perceived the footman lying in a dead faint near the umbrella stand.
“Oh!” he said, speaking to himself aloud. “Oh! Then I must go myself.”
Acting upon his conception of his duty, he accordingly walked to the
front door, opened it, and found the policeman outside supporting the
senseless form of Sir Tiglath Butt in one hand and holding a broken
truncheon in the other.
“Well?” said the Prophet, calmly. “Well?”
“I knocked him down as he was making a bolt,” said the policeman.
The Prophet found himself wondering why so industrious and even useful
an occupation should be interfered with in such a manner. However, he
only replied,--
“Indeed!”
“Ah,” said the policeman, stepping into the hall and laying the
astronomer out across a chair, “what’s up?”
“They are both up,” answered the Prophet, pointing with a lethargic
finger towards the staircase, from which, at this moment, arose a
perfect hubbub of voices.
“Come on!” cried the policeman.
“Why?” asked the Prophet.
“Why! you’re a nice un, you are! Why! And nab ‘em, of course!”
“You think it would be wise to--what was the word--nab them?” inquired
the Prophet. “You really think so?”
“Well, what am I here for then?” said the policeman, with angry irony.
“Oh, if you prefer,” rejoined the Prophet, civilly. “Nab them by all
means. I shall not prevent you.”
The policeman, who was an active and industrious fellow deserving of
praise, waited for no further permission, but immediately darted up the
stairs, and in less than a minute returned with Mrs. Merillia--attired
in a black silk gown, a bonnet, and an Indian shawl presented to her on
her marriage by a very great personage--in close custody.
“Here’s one of ‘em!” he shouted. “Here, you lay hold of her while I
fetch the rest!”
And with these words he thrust the Prophet’s grandmother into one of his
hands, the broken truncheon into the other, and turning smartly round,
again bounded up the stairs.
In a famous poem of the late Lord Tennyson there is related a dramatic
incident of a lady whose disinclination to cry, when such emotion would
have been only natural, was overcome by the presentation to her of her
child. A somewhat similar effect was produced upon our Prophet by the
constable’s presentation to him of his honoured grandmother. The sight
of her reverent head, surmounted by the bonnet which she had assumed in
readiness to flee from the house which she could no longer regard as
a home--the touch of her delicate hand--the flutter of her so hallowed
Indian shawl--these things broke down the strange calm of her devoted
grandson. Like summer tempest came his emotion, and, when the policeman
presently returned with Malkiel the Second and Madame nabbed by his
right and left hands, and followed by Lady Enid and the weeping Mrs.
Fancy, he was confronted by a most pathetic tableau. The Prophet and
Mrs. Merillia were weeping in each other’s arm’s while Sir Tiglath and
Gustavus--just returned to consciousness--were engaged in examining the
proceeding with puppy dog’s eyes.
Over the explanations that ensued a veil may be partially drawn. One
lifted corner, however, allows us to note that Sir Tiglath Butt, having
come upon Madame hidden behind a bin of old port in the Prophet’s
cellar, had been seized by a desire not to alarm a lady so profound that
it prompted him to hurry to the butler’s pantry, and to seek concealment
in the very cupboard which already contained Malkiel the Second. On
perceiving that gentleman perched upon the loving-cup, and protected by
candlesticks, sugar basins, teapots and other weapons, the astronomer’s
anxiety to become a murderer apparently forsook him. At any rate, he
passed through the plate-glass of the window rather hastily into the
area, where, as we know, he received the solicitous attentions of
the policeman who had served as an intermediary between the Lord
Chancellor’s second cook--whose supper of dressed crab had caused so
much confusion--and the supposed Mr. Ferdinand. Malkiel the Second,
finding himself discovered, took to the open just as Madame fled forth
from the cellar, to be overtaken by the very natural misconception that
she was about to become the victim of a husband whose jealousy had at
length caused him to assume his _toga virilibus_.
Perhaps it was Sir Tiglath’s throwing off of the said garment which
caused Lady Enid to throw him over. At any rate, she eventually married
Mr. Robert Green and made him a very sensible wife.
The Malkiels returned to the Mouse, where they still live, and still
carry on a certain amount of intercourse with architects and their
wives. From time to time, however, they attend the receptions at
Zoological House, and a rumour recently ran through the circles of the
silly to the effect that they had been looking at a house not far from
the Earls Court Station, with a view--it is surmised--of removing to
more central districts.
They are no longer on terms with the Prophet.
He has retired from business and put down his telescope once and for
all, recognising that prophecy is a dangerous employment, and one likely
to bring about the very evils it foreshadows. Calmly he dwells with his
beloved grandmother in the Berkeley Square, which has received them once
more into its former favour. Sometimes, at night, when the sky is
clear, and the bright stars, the guardian stars, keep watch over
his aristocratic neighbourhood, he draws aside the curtain from the
drawing-room window and glances forth at Mercury and Uranus, Jupiter,
Saturn and Venus. And when his eyes meet their twinkling eyes, he
exchanges with them--not a question and answer, not a demand for
unholy information and a reluctant reply, but a serene, gentlemanly and
perfectly decorous good-night.
End of Project Gutenberg’s The Prophet of Berkeley Square, by Robert Hichens