The Prophet of Berkeley Square Part 33

Mrs. Merillia was looking pleased.

"No, no. Go with Lady Enid, my dear boy. If any telegrams come shall I open--"

"No," cried the Prophet, with sudden fierce energy. "For mercy's sake--I mean, grannie, dear; that none will come. If they should"--his ordinary gentle eyes flamed almost furiously--"Mr. Ferdinand is to burn them unread--yes, to ashes. I will tell him." And he escorted Lady Enid tumultuously downstairs, missing his footing at every second step.

In the square they parted from Mr. Green, who said,--

"Good-bye, Niddy, old girl. What do I want to pick up at Tattersall's?"

"A polo pony, Bob," she answered firmly.

"Oh, a polo pony. Thanks, Chin, chin, Hen. Polo pony is it?"

He strode off, whistling "She wore a wreath of roses" in a puzzled manner, but still preserving the accepted demeanour of a bulwark.

As soon as Mr. Green was out of sight Lady Enid said,--

"We aren't going to Hill Street."

"Aren't we?" replied the Prophet, feebly.

"No. I must see Sir Tiglath b.u.t.t to-day. I want you to take me to his door."

"Where is his door?"

"In Kensington Square. Do you mind hailing a four-wheeler. We can talk privately there. No one will hear us."

The Prophet hailed a growler, wondering whether they would be able to hear each other. As they got in Lady Enid, after giving the direction, said to the cabman, who was a short person, with curling ebon whiskers, a broken-up expression and a broken-down manner:

"Drive slowly, please and I'll give you an extra six-pence."

"Lydy?"

"Drive slowly, and I'll give you another six-pence."

"How did yer think I was gawing to drive, lydy?"

"I wonder why cabmen are always so interested in one's inmost thoughts,"

said Lady Enid, as the horse fell down preparatory to starting.

"I wonder."

"I hope he will go slowly."

"He seems to be doing so."

At this point the horse, after knocking on the front of the cab with his hind feet ten or a dozen times, got up, hung his head, and drew a large number of deep and dejected breaths.

"Am I gawing slowly enough, lydy?" asked the cabman, anxiously.

"Yes, but you can let him trot along now."

"Right, lydy, I ain't preventing of him."

As eventually they scrambled slowly forward in the Kensington direction, Lady Enid remarked,--

"Why don't you have them sent to Jellybrand's?"

"Have what?" asked the Prophet.

"Your telegrams. The messages from your double life. I do."

"But I a.s.sure you--"

"Mr. Vivian, it's useless really. I find you hidden away in the inner room of Jellybrand's with Mr. Sagittarius, closely guarded by Frederick Smith; fourpenny champagne--"

"Four bob--shilling, I mean."

"Oh, was it?--Upon the table. After I've been poisoned, and we are leaving, Mr. Sagittarius calls after you such expressions as 'Banks of the Mouse--hear from me--marrow--architects and the last day.' You are obviously agitated by these expressions. We reach your house. I find you have been prophesying through a telescope. The name of Malkiel--a well-known prophet--is mentioned. You turn pale and glance at me imploringly, as if to solicit my silence. I am silent. The next day you announce that you are going to have two afternoon parties."

"No, no, not afternoon! I never said afternoon!" interposed the Prophet, frantically, as the horse fell down again in order to earn the extra sixpence.

"Well, two parties in the afternoon. It's the same thing. You say they are odd. You yourself acknowledge it. You tell me you have secrets."

"Did I?"

"Yes. When I said I had guessed your secret you replied, 'Which one?'"

"Oh!" murmured the Prophet, trying not to say "come in!" to the horse, which was again knocking with both feet upon the front of the cab.

"You go home. I call during the afternoon, and find that you are entertaining all your guests in your own little room and that your grandmother knows nothing of it and believes you to be working. As I am leaving I see the backs of two of your guests. One is a pelisse, the other a spotted collar. As I near them they mount into a purple omnibus on which is printed in huge letters, _'To the "Pork Butcher's Rest'_--"

"No! No!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the Prophet, pale with horror at this revelation.

"_Rest_, Crampton Vale, N. I lose them in the shadows. The next day I call and find your grandmother is dying from the noise made by boys bringing you private telegrams. And then you tell me, me--Minerva Partridge--that you have no double life! Yes, you can let him get up now, please."

The cabman permitted the horse to do so and they again struggled funereally forward. The Prophet was still very pale.

"I suppose it is useless to--very well," he said. "My life is double."

"Ah!"

"But only lately, quite lately."

"Never mind that. Oh! How glad I am that you have had the courage too! You will soon get into it, as I did. But you should have all your telegrams and so forth directed to Jellybrand's."

"It's too late," replied the Prophet, dejectedly. "Too late. I do wish that horse wouldn't fall down so continually! It's most monotonous."

"The poor man naturally wants the extra sixpence. I think I shall give him a shilling. But now who is Mr. Sagittarius?"