Caroli glanced at it, and tossed it aside to continue an interesting account of something that happened to somebody at Monte Carlo, in which he had succeeded in getting the attention of George Early.
In his foreign way, Caroli gesticulated, and held George with his eyes through the most exciting part of the narrative. It was a long story, too, and if anybody else had been there, they would have noticed that George Early's glance had become a fixed stare, and that Caroli's gesticulations had developed mysteriously into the passes commonly used by music-hall mesmerists.
His speech had altered strangely, too, and had taken a more commanding tone. He told George that he (George) was Caroli's friend, that Caroli was his distinguished customer, and that they had spent a pleasant morning. He said also that to commemorate this auspicious occasion they would drink together.
Whereupon Caroli suddenly produced a flat bottle of spirits and a glass, drank himself, handed some to his friend, and then poured out a glassful for George.
What would happen? George was a teetotaler. Surely he would not do as this man suggested; and yet he appeared to offer no opposition. Did he realize what he was about to do—what serious issues were at stake?
To the amazement of Gray, who had silently entered the room, George Early lifted the glass at Caroli's command, and drank off the spirit.
The worst of this lapse on the part of George Early was that he knew nothing about it. He remembered some mesmeric influence, in which Caroli had been the agent, but knew nothing of the whisky until his customers had gone, when he recalled the taste and Gray described the scene.
In addition came the usual letter from the lawyers.
Who could be at the bottom of it? Mr. Dawkins strenuously and indignantly denied any complicity in the affair. Nobody else could be interested but the philanthropic institution to whom the property would go. But who dare accuse any of these pious gentlemen?