The Prophet began to feel extremely uneasy. But he said nothing. He felt
that there was more to come. And he was right.
"It is my duty," continued Malkiel, in a louder voice, "my sacred duty
to Madame--to say nothing of Corona and Capricornus--to probe you to
the core"--here the Prophet could not resist a startled movement of
protest--"and to search you to the quick."
"Oh, really!" cried the Prophet.
"This duty I shall carry out unflinchingly," pursued Malkiel, "at
whatever cost to myself. This will not be our last interview. Do not
think it."
"I assure you," inserted the Prophet, endeavouring vainly to seem at
ease, "I do not wish to think it."
"It matters little whether you wish to do so or not," continued Malkiel,
with an increasingly Juggernaut air. "The son of Malkiel the First is
not a man to be trifled with or dodged. Moreover, much more than the
future of myself and family depends upon what you really are. From this
day forth you will be bound up with the _Almanac_."
"Merciful Heavens!" ejaculated the Prophet, unable, intrepid as he was,
to avoid recoiling when he found himself thus suddenly confronted with
the fate of an appendix.
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