第49章

"I am so thankful, Hennessey.Are you dining out to-night?""No, grannie.I don't feel very well.I have a headache.I shall go and lie down for a little.""Yes, do.Everybody is lying down; Fancy, the upper housemaid, the cook.Even Gustavus, they tell me, is trying to snatch a little uneasy repose on his what-not.It has been a terrible day."Mrs.Merillia lay back and closed her eyes, and the Prophet, overwhelmed with remorse, retired to his room, lay down and stared desperately at nothing for half an hour.He then ate, with a very poor appetite, a morsel of dinner and prepared to take, if possible, a short nap before starting on the labours of the night.As he got up from the dining table to go upstairs he said to Mr.Ferdinand,--"By the way, Mr.Ferdinand, if I should come into the pantry again to-night, don't be alarmed.I may chance to require a bradawl as I did last night.Kindly leave one out, in case I should.But you need not sit up."As the Prophet said the last words he looked Mr.Ferdinand full in the face.The butler's eyes fell.

"Thank you, Master Hennessey, I shall be glad to get to bed--entirely to bed--in good time.We are all a bit upset in the kit--that is the hall to-day.""Just so.Retire to rest at once if you like.""Thank you, sir."

"Gustavus," said Mr.Ferdinand, a moment later in the servants' hall, "you are a man of the world, I believe."Gustavus roused himself on his what-not.

"I am, Mr.Ferdinand," he replied, in a pale and exhausted manner.

"Then tell me, Gustavus, have you ever lived in service with a gentleman who was partial to a bradawl--of a night, you understand?""No, never, Mr.Ferdinand.The nearest to it ever I got was the Bishop of Clapham.""Explain yourself, Gustavus, I beg."

"He used to ask for a nip sometimes before retiring, Mr.Ferdinand.""A nip, Gustavus?"

"Warm water, with a slice of toast in it.But he was only what they call a suburban bishop, Mr.Ferdinand.""Ah! a nip is hardly on all fours with a bradawl, Gustavus.""P'r'aps not, Mr.Ferdinand, but it's the nearest ever I got to it."Mr.Ferdinand said no more, but when he retired to rest that night he double-locked his door, and dreamt of bradawls till he woke, unrefreshed, the next morning to find the area full of telegrams.

Meanwhile the Prophet was conscientiously fulfilling his promise and keeping the oath he had pledged his honour over, although he had to work under a grave disadvantage in the total loss of his planisphere, or star-map.

He entered the butler's pantry precisely on the stroke of eleven, and found it, to his great relief, untenanted.The dwarf was no longer at the telescope, and the silence in the region dedicated to Mrs.

Merillia's menials was profound.The night, too, was clear and starry, propitious for prophetic labours, and as the Prophet gazed out upon the deserted square through the open window a strange peace descended upon his fevered soul.Nature, with all her shining mysteries, her distant reticences and revelations, calmed the turmoil within him.He looked upon the area railings and upon the sky, and smiled.

Then he looked for the star-map.He perceived in a very prominent position upon a silver salver, the bradawl laid out, according to order, by the obedient Mr.Ferdinand.He perceived also the open pot of "Butler's Own Special Pomade," but the planisphere had been removed from it.Where could it have been bestowed? The Prophet instituted a careful search.He explored cupboards, drawers--such at least as were unlocked--in vain.He glanced into a silver teapot reposing on a shelf, between the pages of an almanac hanging on the wall, among some back numbers of the /Butler's Gazette/, which were lying in a corner.But the planisphere was nowhere to be found, and at last in despair he resolved to do without it, and to trust to his fairly accurate knowledge of the heavens.He, therefore, took up his station by the window and proceeded to extract from the pocket of his smoking-jacket the account-book in which he had dotted down the directions of "Madame and self." They were very vague, for his dots had been agitated.Still, by the help of the George the Third candlestick, in which was a lighted taper, the Prophet was able to make out enough to refresh his memory.

He was to begin by placing his beloved grandmother in the claws of the crab.Leaning upon the sill of the window he found the crab and--breathing a short prayer for forgiveness--committed his dear relation to its offices.He then retreated and, assuming very much the position of Mr.Ferdinand, applied his right eye to the telescope, at the same time holding his left eye firmly shut with the forefinger of his left hand.At once the majesty of the starry heavens burst upon him in all its glory.

Exactly at half-past one o'clock, two hours and a half later, the enthralled Prophet heard a low whistle which seemed to reach him from the square.He withdrew his fascinated right eye from the telescope and endeavoured to use it in an ordinary manner, but he could at first see nothing.The low whistle was repeated.It certainly did come from the square, and the Prophet approached the open window and once more tried to compel the eye that had looked so long upon the stars to gaze with understanding upon the earth.This time he perceived a black thing, like a blot, about six feet high, beyond the area railings.From this blot came a third whistle.The Prophet, who was still dazed by the fascination of star-gazing, mechanically whistled in reply, whereupon the blot whispered at him huskily,--"At it again, are you?"

"Yes," whispered the Prophet, also huskily, for the night air was cold.

"But how should you know?"

Indeed he wondered; and it seemed to him as if the blot were some strange night thing that must have companioned him, invisibly, when he kept his nocturnal watches in the drawing-room, and that now partially revealed itself to him in the, perhaps, more acutely occult region of the basement.