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Hichens, Robert Smythe, 1864-1950

"The Prophet of Berkeley Square"


"Good-night, my dear boy."
She kissed him, then added,--
"You like Lady Enid, don't you?"
"Very much."
"So does Robert Green. He thinks her such a thoroughly sensible girl."
"Bob! Does he?" said the Prophet, concealing a slight smile.
"Yes. If you want her to get on with you, Hennessey, you should come up
to tea when she is here."
"I couldn't to-day, grannie."
"You were really busy?"
"Very busy indeed."
"I suppose you only saw her for a moment on the stairs?"
"That was all."
It was true, for Lady Enid had scarcely stayed to speak to the Prophet,
having hurried out in the hope of discovering who were the "two parties"
he had been entertaining on the ground floor.
Mrs. Merillia dropped the subject.
"Good-night, Hennessey," she said. "Go to bed at once. You look quite
tired. I am so thankful you have given up that horrible astronomy."
The Prophet did not reply, but, as he went out of the room, he knew, for
the first time, what criminals with consciences feel like when they are
engaged in following their dread profession.
As he walked across the landing he heard a clock strike eleven. He
started, hastened into his room, tore off his coat, replaced it with
a quilted smoking-jacket, sprang lightly to his table, seized a
planisphere, or star-map, which he had succeeded in obtaining that
night from a small working astronomer's shop in the Edgeware Road,
and, mindful of the terms of his oath and the decided opinion of Robert
Green, scurried hastily, but very gingerly, down the stairs.


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