MALKIEL THE SECOND POISONS MISS MINERVA
"Miss Minerva!" exclaimed Malkiel the Second.
"Lady Enid!" cried the Prophet, at the same moment.
"You can't go in there, Miss Partridge!" ejaculated the young librarian, simultaneously, from the further room.
The lady, a tall girl of twenty-two, with grey eyes, dark smooth hair, and a very agreeable, though slightly Scottish, mouth, began to behave rather like a stag at bay.She panted, and looked wildly round as if meditating how, and in what direction, she could best bolt.
"What's the matter?" cried the Prophet, his voice becoming not a little piercing from surprise and his previous stress of agitation.
"You can't go in there, Miss Minerva," requested the young librarian, who had now gained the parlour threshold, and who seemed about to take up a very determined stand thereon.
"I must go in--I must," said the lady, in a mellow, but again slightly Scottish, voice."Don't tell anybody I'm here, or you'll be sorry."And, with these words, she bounded into the parlour and banged the door on the young librarian.The Prophet opened his lips preparatory to a third wild exclamation.
"Hush!" the lady hissed aristocratically.
She shook her head vigourously at him, sank down on one of the cane chairs, held up her right hand, and leant towards the door.It was obvious that she was listening for something with strained attention, and so eloquent was her attitude that the two prophets were infected with her desire.They turned their eyes mechanically towards the deal door and listened too.For a moment there was silence.Then a heavy footstep resounded upon the library floor, accompanied by the sharp tap of a walking stick.The lady's attitude became more tense and the pupils of her handsome grey eyes dilated.
"Has a young female just entered this shop?" said a very heavy and rumbling voice.
"This ain't a shop, sir," replied the high soprano of the young librarian, indignantly.
"Bandy no words with me, thou infamous malapert!" returned the first voice."But answer my question.Have you a young female concealed within these loathsome precincts?"Under ordinary circumstances it is very possible that the young librarian might have betrayed the lady as he had already betrayed Malkiel the Second.But it happened that there existed upon the earth one object, and one object only, towards which he felt a sense of chivalry.This object was Jellybrand's Library.His reply to the voice was therefore as follows, and was delivered in his highest key and with extreme volubility and passion:--"Loathsome precincts yourself! You're a nice one, you are, chasing respectable ladies about at your age.There ain't no young females in the library, and if there was I shouldn't trot 'em out for you to clap your ugly old eyes on.Now then, out yer go.No more words about it.
Out yer go!"
A prolonged sound of hard breathing and of feet scraping violently upon bare boards followed upon this deliverance, complicated by the sharp snap of a breaking walking stick, the thump of a falling chair, a bang as of a heavy body encountering firm resistance from some inflexible article of furniture--probably a bookcase--and finally a tremendous thundering, as of the hoofs of a squadron of cavalry charging over a parquet floor, the crash of a door, the grinding of a key swiftly turning in a lock, and--silence.
The lady, Malkiel the Second and the Prophet looked at one another, and the lady opened her mouth.
"D'you think he's killed him?" she whispered with considerable curiosity.
There came a distant noise of a torrent of knocks upon a door.
"No, he hasn't," added the lady, arranging her dress."That's a good thing."The two prophets nodded.The torrent of knocks roared louder, slightly failed upon the ear, made a crescendo, emulated Niagara, surpassed that very American effort of nature, wavered, faltered to Lodore, died away to a feeble tittup like water dropping from a tap to flagstones, rose again in a final spurt that would have made Southey open his dictionary for adjectives, and drained away to death.
The lady leaned back.For the first time her composure seemed about to desert her entirely.That fatal sign in woman, a working throat, swallowing nothing with extreme rapidity and persistence, became apparent.
"A glass of wine, Miss Minerva?" cried Malkiel, gallantly.
He placed a tumbler to her lips.She feebly sipped, than sprang to her feet with a cry.
"I'm poisoned!"
"You never spoke a truer word," said the Prophet, solemnly.
"What is it?" continued the lady, frantically."What has he given me?""Champagne at four shillings a bottle brought fresh from next door to a rabbit shop," answered the Prophet, looking at Malkiel with almost malignant satisfaction.
The lady, who had gone white as chalk, darted to the door and flung it open.
"A glass of water!" she cried."Get me a glass of water."The young librarian came forward with a black eye.
"It's all right, ma'am.The gentleman's gone," he piped.
"What gentleman? Give me a glass of water or I shall die!"The young librarian, who had already an injured air, proceeded from a positive to a comparative condition of appearance.
