“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!” ejaculated 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?” “Who is he?” “Yes. I’ve seen him several times at Jellybrand’s, and when I first met him I though he was an outside broker.” “You! Was it on the pier at Margate?” “Certainly not! Really, Mr. Vivian! even in my double life I occasionally draw the line.” “I beg your pardon. I--the horse confuses me.” “Well, he’s stopped knocking now and will be up in another minute. Who did you say Mr. Sagittarius was?” “I didn’t say he was anybody, but he’s a man.”