To this question the Prophet could offer no answer other than a bodily one. He silently presented himself to the gaze of Malkiel, instinctively squaring his shoulders, opening out his chest, and expanding his nostrils in an effort to fill as large a space in the atmosphere of the parlour as possible. And Malkiel continued to regard him with the staring eyes of one whose mind is seething with strange, upheaving thoughts and alarming apprehensions. Mutely the Prophet swelled and mutely Malkiel observed him swell, till a point was reached from which further progress--at least on the Prophet’s part--was impossible. The Prophet was now as big as the structure of his frame permitted him to be, and apparently Malkiel realised the fact, for he suddenly dropped his eyes and exclaimed,-- “This matter must be threshed out thoroughly, Madame herself would wish it so.” He paused, drew his chair nearer to the Prophet’s, took off a glove and continued,-- “Sir, you may be a prophet. You may have prophesied correctly in the Berkeley Square. But if you are, and if you have, remember this--that you have proved the self-sacrifice, the privation, the denial, the subterfuge, the _mask_, and the position of Sagittarius Lodge in its own grounds beside the River Mouse at Crampton St. Peter, N.--N., I said, sir--totally and entirely unnecessary. I will go further, sir, and I will say more. You have not only done that. You have also proved the sacred instinct of a woman, a respectable married woman--such as we must all reverence--false and deceived. Remember this, sir, remember all this, then search yourself thoroughly and say whether what you have told me is strictly true.” “I assure you--” began the Prophet, hastily. But Malkiel sternly interrupted him. “Search yourself, sir, I beg!” he cried. “But upon my honour--” “Hush, sir, hush! I beg, nay, I insist, that you search yourself thoroughly before you answer this momentous question.” The Prophet felt rather disposed to ask whether Malkiel expected him to examine his pockets and turn out his boots. However, he sat still while Malkiel drew out a large gold watch, held it solemnly in his hand for a couple of minutes and then returned it to the waistcoat. “Now, sir,” he said. “I assure you,” said the Prophet, “on my honour that all I have said is strictly true.” “And took place in the Berkeley Square?” “And took place in the Berkeley Square.” Malkiel nodded morosely. “It may have been chance,” he said. “A weather forecast and an honoured grandmother may have been mere luck. Still it looks bad--very bad.” He sighed heavily, and seemed about to fall into a mournful reverie when the Prophet cried sharply,-- “Explain yourself, Malkiel the Second. You owe it to me to explain yourself. Why should my strange gift--” “If you have it, sir,” interrupted Malkiel, quickly.