The gentleman held out a hand covered with a yellow dogskin glove. “Thank you, Frederick Smith,” he said. And he turned to leave the building. But the Prophet intercepted him. “Excuse me,” said the Prophet. “I beg your pardon, but--but--” he looked at the young librarian and accidentally let the half sovereign fall on the counter. It gave the true ring. “I believe I heard you mention--let drop the name Mr. Sagittarius.” “I don’t know about let drop,” began the youth in his usual revising manner. “But I--” At this point the gentleman in question began to move rather hastily sideways towards the door. The Prophet followed him up and got before him near the letter rack, while the young librarian retrieved the half sovereign and bit it with his teeth. “I really beg your pardon,” said the Prophet, while Mr. Sagittarius stood still in the violent attitude of one determined to dodge so long as he has breath. “I am not at all in the habit of”--Mr. Sagittarius dodged--“of intruding upon strangers--” Mr. Sagittarius dodged again with such extraordinary abruptness and determination that he nearly caused the young librarian to swallow the Prophet’s golden bribe. “I see you don’t believe me,” the Prophet continued, flushing pink but still holding his ground, and indeed trying to turn Mr. Sagittarius’s flank by a strategic movement of almost military precision. “I see that plainly, but--” Mr. Sagittarius ducked to the left, endeavouring to cover the manoeuvre by an almost simultaneous and extremely passionate feint towards the Prophet’s centre, which was immediately withdrawn in good order--“but your remark--arkable name, Saag--itt-ittarius, suggested to me that you are rea-eally the man I seek.” He had now got Mr. Sagittarius into a very awkward bit of country between the letter P. in the rack, under which reposed Miss Partridge’s correspondence, and the newspaper bureau, with the counter immediately on his rear, and taking advantage of this circumstance, he continued rapidly: “May I ask whether you recently received a letter--one moment!--envelope--crest--I only want to know if you have received--only--an elephant rampant--swarm of--of bees--” “I have never received a rampant elephant and a swarm of bees,” cried Mr. Sagittarius with every symptom of unbridled terror. “Help, Frederick Smith!” “Right you are, Malkiel the Second!” cried the young librarian, hastily pocketing the half sovereign and making a feverish lunge at nothing in particular over the counter. “Right you are!” “Malkiel the Second!” ejaculated the Prophet. “Then you are the man I seek.” Malkiel the Second--for it was indeed he--sank back against the counter in an attitude of abandoned prostration that would have made a fortune of a comic actor. “I trusted to Jellybrand’s,” he said, drawing from his tail pocket a white handkerchief covered with a pattern of pink storks in flight. “I trusted to Jellybrand’s and Jellybrand’s has betrayed me. Oh, Frederick Smith!”