“Look here, Lawrence, I’ve been thinking that a glass of toddy and one of the old Partagas apiece would be good medicine, eh? Excusable under the circumstances?”
“My dear Hampton, you ought to have been a physician,” said the doctor smiling.
“There, Mr Blank,” whispered the old lawyer, rubbing his hands; “indorsed by the faculty. Here are the cigars,” he said, opening the cabinet and taking out a box; “and here is a spirit-stand, but it is empty, I know; but I thought of going to the cellar and getting a bottle of that old Cognac from the far bin. Would you mind letting me reach to that drawer? Bless my heart, I seem to be quite at home in the old place.”
He opened the drawer, took out the cellar keys softly, nodded to the doctor, and, followed by George Harrington, went out, closed the door carefully, and then descended the passage and the few steps leading to the cellar door.
“Now, I do not hold, Mr Blank,” said the old man, pausing, candle in one hand, keys in the other, before the door, “that you are the rightful heir here; but I do say this, that the real Simon Pure will own as fine a cellar of wine as any man in the country.”
“Many a good bottle of which, my dear sir, I hope we shall discuss.”
“Ah, that remains to be proved. Would you mind holding the candle? Thanks. Look like burglars or debauchees, opening cellars at this time of the night; but my poor old friend had some very choice Cognac. Come along. Now, the other door. Hold up the light. Bin number twenty-four. Bless my soul, what’s that?”
A long, low, dismal howl close behind them nearly made the lawyer drop the long-necked bottle.
“That dog escaped?” cried George Harrington excitedly; and as there was a panting noise, he caught at the collar of the dimly-seen dog as it came by him; but instead of struggling, the great beast rose upon its hind legs, planted its paws upon his breast, threw up its head again, and uttered its dismal howl.
“The gardener must have let him out,” said George quickly.