“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 ostentatiously towards the two speakers.

“I can tell you in an inner room,” he murmured, in his most ingratiating manner.

“You’re certain it’s not Berkeley Square behind Kimmins’s?” said Malkiel, with a last flicker of suspicion.

“Quite certain—­quite.”

“Frederick Smith,” said Malkiel the Second, “since Jellybrand’s has betrayed me Jellybrand’s must abide the consequences.  Show this gentleman and me to the parlour.”

“Right, Mr. Sagittarius,” replied the young librarian whose memory had again become excellent.  “But Miss Minerva is coming at three-thirty.”

“Has she bespoke the parlour, Frederick Smith?”

“Yes, Mr. Sagittarius.”

“Then she can’t have it.  That’s all.  Jellybrand’s must abide the full consequences of my betrayal.  Go forward, Frederick Smith.”

The young librarian went forward towards a door of deal and ground glass which he threw open with some ceremony.

“The parlour, gents,” he said.

“After you, sir, after you,” said Malkiel the Second, making a side step and bringing his feet together in the first position.

“No, no,” rejoined the Prophet, gently drawing the sage to the front, and inserting him into the parlour in such an ingenious manner that he did not perceive the journey of a second half sovereign from the person of the Prophet to that of the young librarian, who thereafter closed the deal and ground glass door, and returned to the counter, whistling in an absent-minded manner, “I’m a Happy Millionaire from Colorado.”

CHAPTER III

THE TWO PROPHETS PARTAKE OF “CREAMING FOAM.”

“And now, sir,” said Malkiel the Second, pointing to a couple of cane chairs which, with the table, endeavoured, rather unsuccessfully, to furnish forth the parlour at Jellybrand’s, “now sir, what do you want with me?”