“I hope you will find him,” continued the Prophet.
Sir Tiglath cleared his throat again and added,—
“Why?”
“Why? Because I think it quite time that he was murdered,” answered the Prophet, unemotionally. “Well! why don’t you search?”
The astronomer, whose face began to look less red than usual, rolled his glassy eyes round upon the shadowy hall, the dim staircase and the gloomy-looking closed doors that confronted them.
“Where is the old astronomer to search?” he asked, in a low voice. “Oh-h-h-h!”
The final exclamation sounded remarkably tremulous.
“Anywhere—except in my grandmother’s bedroom. That of course is sacred. Well, why don’t you begin?”
Sir Tiglath eyed the Prophet furtively.
“I’m—I’m going to,” he murmured hoarsely. “The old astronomer does not know the meaning of the word—fear.”