But Esther Mawson had another purpose in view, with
respect to that bottle. Carrying it to her own sitting-room, she
carefully cut off the thick mass of sealing-wax at its neck, drew the
cork, and poured a little of the wine away. And that done, she unlocked
a small box which stood on a corner of her dressing table, and took from
it a glass phial, half full of a colourless liquid. With steady hands
and sure fingers, she dropped some of that liquid into the wine,
carefully counting the drops. Then she restored the phial to its
hiding-place and re-locked the box--after which, taking up a spoon which
lay on her table, she poured out a little of the sherry and smelled and
tasted it. No smell--other than that which ought to be there; no
taste--other than was proper. Pratt would suspect nothing even if he
drunk the whole bottle.
Esther Mawson had anticipated Pratt's desires in the way of refreshment,
and she now went to a cupboard and took from it a plate of sandwiches,
carefully swathed in a napkin. Carrying these in one hand, and the
bottle of sherry and a glass in the other, she stole quietly back to the
disused part of the house, and set her provender before its expectant
consumer. Pratt poured out a glassful of the sherry, and drank it
eagerly.
"Good stuff that!" he remarked, smacking his lips. "Some of old John
Mallathorpe's--no doubt.
Pages:
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268