The Missing Ship: The Log of the Ouzel" Galley"

om 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 fea

ed 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

bjects that formed the furniture of the place; while, from the ebony table in t

en a remarkable-a startling thing took place. He wheeled round, laid his hands heavi

ntensely. "Well? Well?

, leaned forward in his chair, and silently uncorked a gold flask that stood upon the table before him. Lifting it high, he pou

were magnificent! Let me give you

rophet extended his hand,

e!" he responded, i

ced his glass upon the table, the Prophet shook o

has been native adroitness, and how much unbelievable good-

our curiosity, it was a matter of native genius engineered by Providence. I don't mind admitting that when I stood on the doorstep of t

t took a s

he said, eag

waved his

Terence Dominick Devereaux! Under that t

"And the Mystic ea

the Precursor f

said, sagely. "Paving your way with words has been an unrecognized work of art. But how about your

het look

ist. I saw the whole past scene. The bare room-the old dead man-myself; the overwhelming wish to avenge my wrongs, and the sudden suggestion that turned the wish cold. I saw the long, bleak night in which I completed the colossal task of copying the Scitsym line for line; I s

lanced quickly

has been too long and too hard to permit us to run risks. Now tha

shortly, then sudden

ut the inner workings of this odd game? It is so curious to have lived for years on theory, and suddenly to come face to face wi

? You know what I mean. The master-spirit in the tru

ked meditatively

rian is the cipher; Bale-Corphew's the meaning. Bale-Corphew i

's lip curl

gero

angerous. Among the six Arch-Mystics there is, to my thinking, only one

eaned forward

spied upon them in the last six months, he always struck me as curiously un-English, with that sleek exterior and those flashing e

ther

soul is in this business-every fibre of it. He attempts no divi

glanced up

rmit themselves hearts? The Scitsym ma

rsor laug

s! That's where we become dramatic. You can't have effect witho

dee

an once, when my Soul has been communing with your August Spirit, I

e Prophe

frequents th

terally swept her into the fold. She wa

ection crossed t

t beside him? The woman with the big eyes?

osophy and found it too deep; and upon her horizon of desires and disappointments has loomed the colossal presence of Bale-Corphew-enthusiast, mystic, leader of a fascinatingly unorthodox sect. What i

om his seat and walked round the table. "Devereaux," he said,

arked, expressive eyebrow

er-day Prophet a

then he took a step forward and laid his h

marked it in the chapel-"the Prophet of the Mystics has come to rule. He has not come to follow the l