“What is the meaning—­” began Mr. Sagittarius.

“I’m not aware that—­” started Madame.

The Prophet darted to the library door and opened it.

“Pray, pray come in here,” he hissed.  “My grandmother!  Softly!”

“But the old la—­”

“Hush, please!”

“I must remark, Mr. Viv—­”

“Tsh!  Tsh!  Mr. Ferdinand, wait in the hall.  I shall want to speak to you in a moment.”

“Yes, sir.”

The Prophet closed the door and turned to this indignant visitors.

“This is terrible,” he said.  “Terrible!”

“Pray why?” cried Madame.

“Why,” cried the Prophet, “why?”

He sought frantically for some excuse.  Suddenly a bright idea occurred to him.

“Why,” he said, impressively.  “Because Sir Tiglath Butt, the gentleman who is coming to dinner, is the person who for five-and-forty years has been seeking Mr. Sagittarius with the firm intention of assaulting, perhaps of killing, him.”

Mr. Sagittarius turned deathly pale, and made a movement as if to get out of the nearest window.

“This is a trap!” he stammered.  “This is a rat-trap.  This was planned.”

“Really”—­began the Prophet.

But Mr. Sagittarius did not heed the exclamation.  Trembling very violently, he continued,—­

“Sophy, my darling, you are in danger.  Let us fly!”

And, clutching his wife by the arm, to the Prophet’s unspeakable delight he endeavoured to lead, or rather to drag her to the door.  But Madame now showed the metal she was made of.

“Jupiter,” she exclaimed, in her deepest note, “if you are a Prophet you can surely at moments be also a man.  Where is your toga virilibus?”

“I don’t know, my love, I’m sure.  Don’t let us lose a moment.  Come, my angel!”

“I shall not come,” retorted Madame, whose leaping ambition had been fired by the sound of titled names.  “The gentleman believes you to be an American syndicate.”

“I know, my blessing, I know.  But—­”

“Very well.  If you don’t behave like one he will never suspect you.”

The Prophet saw his chance slipping from him and hastened to interpose.

“He might divine the truth,” he said.  “One can never—­”

But at this moment he was interrupted by Mr. Ferdinand who abruptly opened the door and observed,—­

“If you please, sir, Mrs. Merillia has sent down orders that the police are to be fetched at once.”

Mr. Sagittarius, now thoroughly unnerved, turned from white to grey.

“The police!” he vociferated.  “Sophy, my angel, let us fly.  This is no place for you!”

“The police!” cried the Prophet.  “Why?”

“I believe it’s Mrs. Fancy’s doing, sir.  If you would go to Mrs. Merillia, sir, I think—­”

The Prophet rushed from the room and hastened upstairs four steps at a time.  He found his beloved grandmother in a state of grave agitation, and Mrs. Fancy, in floods of tears, reiterating her statement that there were robbers in the house.