Three hours later, when the curious rite of acknowledgment had been completed and the concourse of zealots had departed from Hellier Crescent, the first night in his new kingdom opened for the Prophet.

As the clocks of Brompton were striking two, the six Arch-Mystics--each of whom possessed rooms in a remote portion of the house--lingeringly and fearfully bade him good-night, and left him alone with the Precursor in the apartments that for nearly fifty years had been kept swept and garnished in expectation of his advent.
Apart from their suggestion of the mystical and fantastic, these rooms possessed an intrinsic interest of their own.

And some consciousness of this interest appeared to be at work within the Prophet's mind; for scarcely had he and his companion been assured of privacy, than he rose from the massive ivory chair which had been apportioned to him and from which he had made his second and private justification of his claims; and very slowly and deliberately began a circuit of the chamber.
With engrossed attention he passed from one to another of the rare and costly objects that formed the furniture of the place; while, from the ebony table in the centre of the room, his red-haired companion watched him with vigilant eyes.
Still moving with unruffled deliberation, he completed his tour of the apartment; then a remarkable--a startling thing took place.

He wheeled round, laid his hands heavily on the Precursor's shoulders, and looking closely into his face, broke into speech.
"Well ?" he demanded, intensely.

"Well?
Well?
What have you to say ?" At first the red-haired man sat watching him, mute and motionless; then with a suddenness equal to his own, he released himself, leaned forward in his chair, and silently uncorked a gold flask that stood upon the table before him.