Milsom's face as he shut the door
on these two departing guests.
"Good night, and a good riddance to you," he muttered; "and now for
Matthew Brook. You'll sleep sound enough to-night, Stephen Plumpton,
I'll warrant. So sound that if Old Nick himself went through your room
you'd scarcely be much wiser."
He went back to the little parlour in which he had left his guest, the
coachman. As he went, he slipped his forefinger and thumb into his
waistcoat pocket, where they closed upon a tiny phial. It contained a
pennyworth of laudanum, which he had purchased a week or so before from
the Raynham chemist, as a remedy for the toothache.
Here he found Matthew Brook seated with his arms folded on the table,
and his eyes fixed on the cribbage-board with that stolid, unseeing
gaze peculiar to drunkenness.
"He's pretty far gone, as it is," Mr. Milsom thought to himself, as he
looked at his guest; "it won't take much to send him further. Take
another glass of punch before we begin, eh, Brook?" he asked, in that
tone of jolly good-fellowship which had made him so agreeable to the
castle servants.
"So I will," cried Matthew; "'nother glass--punish the punch--eh--old
boy? We'll punish glass--'nother punch--hand cribbage--glorious
evenin'--uproarious--happy--glorious--God save--'nother glass."
While Mr. Brook attempted to shuffle the cards, dropping them half
under the table during the process, Black Milsom moved the bowl and
glasses to a table behind the coachman's back.
Pages:
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625
626
627
628
629
630
631
632
633
634
635
636