"Come along, then. Can always give a friend a good glass of wine when he comes." Saul followed, noting how silent and tomb-like the place was, and how his footsteps made not the slightest sound in the thick coating of sawdust on the stone floor. Then he remarked how grotesque and strange his companion looked in the darkness, with the light sending his shadow here and there, and a strange sensation attacked Saul Harrington,--the blood flew to his head, and he saw dimly, as through a mist in which various scenes were being enacted, and all connected with the man before him--the man who stood in his way, and without whom he would have been a rich man, perhaps a happy one. "I could have made her love me," he muttered. "Eh?" "I did not speak. Cleared my throat." "Oh, I say! what's the matter? You look ghastly." "The darkness and your candle," said Saul, smiling. "I don't know, though; I do feel a bit giddy. Is it the smell of the wine?" "Perhaps. Come and have the whiskey. That will soon set you right." The doors were carefully locked, and Saul Harrington shuddered, his brow contracted, and he seemed to be looking far away into futurity as he followed his host upstairs into the study, where the cork was drawn, fresh cigars lit, and, after placing the keys in the cabinet drawer, another was opened, and an oblong book taken out. "Look at that, my lad. Cellar book. There you are--age and quantity of all the wines, and when laid down." "Wonderful care he took of all these things." "The old man was a trump. But look here, Saul, my lad: `Cellar number seven entered by bricked-up archway from number six.' Remember number six?" "No." "Yes, you do; where I spoke when you were staring at the blank wall. That's the way into number seven. And read here: `Eight bins, four on each side. Three on the right, port; four on the left, sherry. The fourth bin on the right I shall fill with Madeira when I come across a good vintage. Bricked up, JH.'" "Yes, my uncle's writing," said Saul, looking eagerly, and greatly attracted by the book. "That's a bricked-up cellar, then, beyond the others?" "Yes, with the bins also bricked-up. We'll break through some day, Saul, and taste them." "We will," said the latter, rising hastily, and giving his head a shake, as if to clear away some mist. "What, going?" "Yes," said Saul huskily. "I must be off. Good-night, old fellow." "Good-night, Saul, old chap. I'll let you out and lock up. Quite early. Only eleven. Better stop and have another glass." "No, no," said Saul hurriedly. "Not to-night." "Won't you come up and say good-night to Gertie and Mrs Hampton?" "No. Say good-night for me." Saul caught up his hat and hurried away out into the gloomy suburban road. "If you miss your train, come back," shouted the young man.