“I see. A sort of prophet! And where does he come from?”
I tried to evade. “He has just arrived—”
But the blood-hound of the press was not going to be evaded. “Where do you come from, sir?” he demanded, of Carpenter.
To which Carpenter answered, promptly: “From God.”
“From God? Er—oh, I see. From God! Most interesting! How long ago, may I ask?”
“Yesterday.”
“Oh! That is indeed extraordinary! And this mob that you've just been addressing—did you use some kind of mind cure on them?”
I could see the story taking shape; the headlines flamed before my mind's eye—streamer heads, all the way across the sheet, after the fashion of our evening papers: