"Certainly. Look at that high dome of intelligence glistening at you
across the table. But that it is forbid to tell the secrets of the
prison house, it could a tale unfold whose slightest word would harrow
up thy soul----"

Harris, the footman, entered, carrying a decanter.

"Mr. Hilton Fenley's compliments, gentlemen, and will you try this
port? He says Mr. Tomlinson will recommend it, because Mr. Fenley
himself seldom takes wine. Mr. Fenley will not trouble you to meet him
again this evening. Mr. Tomlinson, Mr. Fenley wants you for a
moment."

The butler rose.

"That is the very wine I spoke of," he said. "If Mr. Hilton did not
touch it, Mr. Robert evidently appreciated it."

He glanced at Harris, but the footman did not even suspect that his
character was at stake. The decanter was nearly full when placed on
the sideboard; now it was half empty.

Singularly enough, both Winter and Furneaux had intercepted that
questioning glance, and had acquitted Harris simultaneously.

"Are the gentlemen still in the dining-room?" inquired Winter.

"Mr. Hilton is there, sir, but Mr. Robert went out some time since."

"Please convey our thanks to Mr. Hilton. I'm sure we shall enjoy the
wine."

When Tomlinson and Harris had gone, the eyes of the two detectives
met. They said nothing at first, and it may be remembered that they
were reputedly most dangerous to a pursued criminal when working
together silently. Winter took the decanter, poured out a small
quantity into two glasses, and gave Furneaux one. Then they smelled,
and tasted, and examined the wine critically. The rich red liquid
might have been a poisonous decoction for the care they devoted to its
analysis.

Furneaux began.

"I have so many sleepless nights that I recognize bromide, no matter
how it is disguised," he murmured.

"Comparatively harmless, though a strong dose," said Winter.

"If one has to swallow twenty grains or so of potassium bromide I can
not conceive any pleasanter way of taking them than mixed with a sound
port."

Winter filled one of the glasses four times, pouring each amount into
a tumbler. Furneaux looked into a cupboard, and found an empty beer
bottle, which he rinsed with water. Meanwhile Winter was fashioning a
funnel out of a torn envelope, and in a few seconds the tumblerful of
wine was in the bottle, and the bottle in Winter's pocket. This done,
the big man lit a cigar and the little one sniffed the smoke, which
was his