“I ’ave a passenger for you as far as Herrovosca.”
“A passenger?” I repeated, stupidly.
“Yes. Only one.”
“May we ask the identity of this passenger?”
“It is the self-styled prophet who was preaching from the fountain. ’e is a mad monk, a ’ermit, who takes every opportunity to preach sedition to people who believe ’im a saint. ’e is suppose to ’ave effected a few miraculous cures. ’e is a great fakir, but ’armless except at a time like this, when any slight disturbance may create a civil war. I do not wish to arrest ’im ’ere for fear the people may take ’is part. ’e ’as refused to go with my men to Herrovosca, though ’e wishes to go there, but ’e ’as agreed to go with two American tourists. If you will not take ’im I will arrest ’im, but this way may prevent bloodshed.”
“That sounds most reasonable,” said John.
“It is best that you should not speak to ’im, nor to answer ’im if ’e speaks to you. ’e ’as also promised not to speak, though I am not so sure ’e will keep ’is word. You will drive by the straight road, going through the city as far as the church of St. Nicholas. There you will turn to the left. Do not mistake that. At the Central Bridge you will be met by police who will remove the Prophet from the car, and you will be free to do, from that time forward, whatever it may please you, even so far as a visit to our Dowager Queen.”
“Well,” said John, “of all the topsy-turvy countries I’ve ever been in—though, of course, that is no affair of ours.”
“None,” said the Black Ghost, “unless, of course, you would wish to make it so.”
“And the alternative?” I asked.