But he now became aware that his companion’s wits had completely succumbed to the influence of the wine. Mr. Urquhart was engaged in a fatuous attempt to measure out the last few drops of the Malmsey equally between their two glasses. “Empty⁠ ⁠… quite empty⁠ ⁠…” he murmured, with a deep sigh; and then he began muttering something that sounded like “Who’ll toll the bell? ‘I’ said the bull, ‘because I can pull.’ ”

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Urquhart?”

His recognition that the man had sunk instantaneously through all the intervening stages and was now hopelessly drunk was a sobering shock to his own fuddled mind.

“It’s ringing still,” he remarked gravely.

“I’m the only magistrate round here,” cried the Squire. “What does Torp know of the law?”