“What day?”
“The last day, sir, you will reveal to no living person that there is such an individual as Malkiel, that you have ever met him, who he is, or who Madame and family are, unless I give the word. You have surprised my secret. You have forced yourself upon me. You owe me this. Drink!”
Mechanically the Prophet drank.
“Swear!”
Mechanically—indeed almost like a British working man—the Prophet swore.
Malkiel drained his tumbler, and drew on the dogskin glove which, in the agitation of a previous moment, he had thrown aside.
“I have your card, sir, here is mine. I shall now take the train to the River Mouse, on whose banks I shall confer at once with Madame. Till I have done this I cannot tell you what form the tests I shall have to apply to you will take. When I have done it you will hear from me. Your servant, sir.”
He bowed majestically, and was turning towards the door when it was hastily opened and a lady appeared frantically in the aperture.