'It gains time.' 'Well,' said he aloud, and with rather a painful

affectation of heartiness, 'it's long since we have had an evening

together, Michael; and though my habits (as you know) are very

temperate, I may as well make an exception. Excuse me one moment till I

fetch a bottle of whisky from the cellar.'

'No whisky for me,' said Michael; 'a little of the old still champagne

or nothing.'

For a moment Morris stood irresolute, for the wine was very valuable:

the next he had quitted the room without a word. His quick mind had

perceived his advantage; in thus dunning him for the cream of the

cellar, Michael was playing into his hand. 'One bottle?' he thought. 'By

George, I'll give him two! this is no moment for economy; and once the

beast is drunk, it's strange if I don't wring his secret out of him.'

With two bottles, accordingly, he returned. Glasses were produced, and

Morris filled them with hospitable grace.

'I drink to you, cousin!' he cried gaily. 'Don't spare the wine-cup in

my house.'

Michael drank his glass deliberately, standing at the table; filled it

again, and returned to his chair, carrying the bottle along with him.

'The spoils of war!' he said apologetically. 'The weakest goes to the

159

The Wrong Box