She tottered towards him and leaned upon his arm.
"Trust me, trust me, I will," said the Prophet. "Direct me!" he added to
the young librarian.
"There's one on the other side of the rabbit shop," said that worthy,
who had suddenly become exceedingly glum in manner and morose in
appearance.
"Thank you. Kindly unlock the door."
The young librarian did so, lethargically, and the lady and the Prophet
began to move slowly into the street. Just as they were gaining it
Malkiel the Second cried out,--
"One moment, sir!"
"Not one," retorted the Prophet, firmly. "Not one till this lady has had
an antidote."
He walked on with determination. Supporting the lady. But ere he got
quite out of earshot he caught these fragments of a shattered speech,
hurtling through the symphony of London noises:--
"Banks of the Mouse--Madame--sake of Capricor--be
sure I--probe--quick--search--the very core--hear from
me--architects--marrow--almanac--the last day--the Berkeley square--"
The final ejaculation melted away into the somewhat powerful discord
produced by the impact of a brewer's dray with a runaway omnibus at the
corner of Greek Street, which was eventually resolved by the bursting
of a motor car--containing two bookmakers and an acting manager--which
mingled with them at the rate of perhaps forty miles an hour.
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