He put a stork to each eye. The young librarian assumed an injured air.

"It was the agitation did it, Mr. Sagittarius," he said. "If you hadn't
a-kep' dodging I shouldn't have lost my memory."

And he looked avariciously at the Prophet, who smiled at him
reassuringly and drew forth a card case.

"I feel sure, Mr. Sag--Malkiel--"

"Malkiel the Second, sir, is my name if it is betrayed by Jellybrand's,"
said that gentleman with sudden dignity. "There is no need of any
mister."

"I beg your pardon," said the Prophet, handing his card. "That is my
name and address. May I beg you to forgive my apparent anxiety to make
your acquaintance, and implore you to grant me a few moments of private
conversation on a matter of the utmost importance?"

Malkiel the Second read the card.

"Berkeley Square," he said. "_The_ Berkeley Square?"

"Exactly, the Berkeley Square," said the Prophet, modestly.

"Not the one at Brixton Rise behind the Kimmins's mews?" said Malkiel
the Second, suspiciously.

"Certainly not. The one near Grosvenor Square."