Bridgeman and
I were old friends and had made investigations together, assisted by Mr.
Sagittarius, you--"
"Oh, well, that's nothing. But Sir Tiglath mustn't see me here as Miss
Minerva. Has he arrived yet?"
"I don't think so. He's got the cab we had yesterday and the horse."
"The one that tumbles down so cleverly when it's not too tired? Capital!
Run to the cloak-room, meet Sir Tiglath there, and persuade him to go
home."
But here the Prophet struck.
"I regret I can't," he said, almost firmly.
"But you must."
"I regret sincerely that I am unable."
"Why? Mr. Vivian, when a lady asks you!"
"I am grieved," said the Prophet, with a species of intoxicated
obstinacy--the guitars seemed to be playing inside his brain and the
flute piping in the small of his back,--"to decline, but I cannot
contend physically with Sir Tiglath, a man whom I reverence, in the
cloak-room of a total stranger."
"I don't ask you to contend physically."
"Nothing but personal violence would keep Sir Tiglath from coming in."
"Really! Then what's to be done?"
She pursed up her sensible lips and drew down her sensible eyebrows.
"I know!" she cried, after a moment's thought.
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