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Updated: June 24, 2025
"They do not know who we are, sir," continued Malkiel, furtively. "To them and to the whole world excepting Jellybrand's and you we are the Sagittariuses of Sagittarius Lodge, people at ease, sir, living upon our competence beside the Mouse. They do not see the telescope, sir, in the locked studio at the top of the lodge.
He saw the parlour, the ground glass of the door, the tumblers and bottles on the table, the sharp features and strained, farcical eyes of Malkiel framed in the matted, curling hair. Then all was not over yet. There was something still in store for him. He sat up, pushed the creaming four-shilling foam out of his sight, turned to his interlocutor, and with a great effort collected himself.
He was quite unable to speak, but he signed to the young librarian to open one of the bottles and pour its contents into the two tumblers of thick and rather dusty glass that Jellybrand's kept for its moments of conviviality. Malkiel the Second lifted the goblet to the window and eyed the beaded nectar with an air of almost rakish anticipation.
At this remark Malkiel started violently, and darted a searching glance from beneath his blonde eyebrows at Hennessey. "Do you live in the Berkeley Square, sir," he said, "and claim to be a prophet?" "I do," said Hennessey, with modest determination. Malkiel smiled, a long and wreathed smile that was full of luscious melancholy and tragic sweetness.
"Hitherto, true to myself, true to the principles of Malkiel the First, and to the instincts of Madame, I have declined her personal acquaintance. But there is no reason why you should not introduce me to the house as Mr. Sagittarius, no reason at all." The Prophet knew only too well that there was not, but before he had time to go on trying to wriggle out of the complication, Madame struck in.
"I fancy not. Still " "I fancy not, too," rejoined Malkiel. "Nor Bernard Wilkins either, or any prophet that ever I heard of. Why, even Jesse Jones lives off Perkin's Road, Wandsworth Common, though he does keep a sitting-room in Berners Street just to see his clients in, and he is a very low-class person, even for a prophet. No, no, sir, Madame is quite right.
Have you a young female concealed within these loathsome precincts?" Under ordinary circumstances it is very possible that the young librarian might have betrayed the lady as he had already betrayed Malkiel the Second. But it happened that there existed upon the earth one object, and one object only, towards which he felt a sense of chivalry. This object was Jellybrand's Library.
The lady, Malkiel the Second and the Prophet looked at one another, and the lady opened her mouth. "D'you think he's killed him?" she whispered with considerable curiosity. There came a distant noise of a torrent of knocks upon a door. "No, he hasn't," added the lady, arranging her dress. "That's a good thing." The two prophets nodded.
"I'm afraid I'm very stupid, but really I " he began. "Is it possible that you live in London, sir, and are not aware that Susan Road lies in the most sought-after portion of the sweeps' quarter?" said Malkiel, with pitying amazement. The Prophet blushed with shame. "I beg your pardon. Of course I understand. Pray go on." "It made for loneliness, sir." "Naturally."
"Have the goodness to place the old lady in the claws of the Crab, according to the directions of the coward who has deserted me." Malkiel shook with shame upon the loving-cup. "But I really can't find the Crab," said the Prophet, who was so tired that he could scarcely stand. "I can see the Great Bear." "That is no use. The Bear has nothing to do with the old lady. You must find the Crab.
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