When they had settled themselves in their chairs before the door, Mahaffy, who was notably jealous of his privileges, drew the cork from the flask and took the first pull at its contents.

The judge counted the swallows as registered by that useful portion of Mahaffy's anatomy known as his Adam's apple.

After a breathless interval, Mahaffy detached himself from the flask and civilly passing the cuff of his coat about its neck, handed it over to the judge.

In the unbroken silence that succeeded the flask passed swiftly from hand to hand, at length Mahaffy held it up to the light.

It was two-thirds empty, and a sigh stole from between his thin lips.