"My brother attends too many mission services to please my father," explained Alfred in a low tone.
The doctor heard, but did not take his eye from the old servant.
"Was this before he took the glass of wine you have just told us he asked for?"
"Yes, sir, just before. It was Mr. Leighton who came for it. He said his father looked tired."
"Ah, and how came the glass to be back then on the dining-room mantel-shelf?"
"I don't know, sir. Perhaps Mr. Gillespie put it there himself. He never liked any litter on his study table, sir."
At this statement the older brother opened his lips, but I noticed he did not speak. There were no traces of intoxication about him now.
"I wish you would show me the bottle from which you poured the wine."
The butler, whose name I afterwards learned to be Hewson, led the way to a large buffet extending half across the dining-room wall. From where I stood in the hall-way I could see him pointing out a bottle of what looked like sherry. Suddenly he gave a start.
"That isn't the one," he cried, loud enough for me to hear. "The bottle I took out for Mr. Leighton was half-empty. This is quite full."