s credit be it said, it did not
once occur to him that he might safely confiscate the treasure and
dedicate it to his own delight.

"I'll go after those glasses," he said promptly. "Sure it's good
stuff, Charlie?"

"Wouldn't drink it myself if I wasn't, would I? Hustle up--I'm ready
for a drink right now."

Tempted beyond his strength, the faithless keeper of the Hambleton
lockup departed on winged feet. He was back in remarkably quick time,
a checkerboard under his coat and two bar glasses in his pockets. A
last feeble flicker of responsibility stayed his hand an instant as he
opened the cell door.

"No tricks, Charlie!"

"'Course not. Cross my heart and hope to die."

With the doors locked and no windows through which they could be seen,
they sat themselves confidently at a small table, a glass at each side,
the checkerboard between them and the precious bottle on the floor
within easy reach. The proceedings opened with one apiece.

"A-a-a-ah!"

"Told you it was good, didn't I? Have another."

"Thanks. This is like old times. Black moves first."

"Teach your grandmother. Chin-chin."

"If that's bootleg, it's good enough for me."

"It ain't, though. He gets it from Canada himself."

"An empty glass is a mournful sight. Thanks. Your move."

They played and drank and drank and played. Moody won most of the
games, which suited both of them. An hour passed. There was lots of
time, Charlie told himself. He wasn't due at Drusilla's until
eleven-thirty--the rendezvous she had made in the event that all went
well. On the other hand, he was beginning to feel the effect of the
whisky he was drinking. It wouldn't do to get tight himself. Better
speed things up a bit, then take a walk for half an hour or so before
going to Drusilla's--

"Em-py glash--mournful shight."

Charlie's left hand hovered an instant over the mournful sight, his
fingers crumbling something; then he picked up the glass and filled it.

"A-a-a-ah."

Five minutes later he was half-carrying, half-dragging the inert figure
of his jailer to the cell which by rights he should have been occupying
himself. He dropped Moody on the narrow cot, relieved him of his keys
and stepped out, grinning as he locked the door behind him. It would
be a long, long time before the recreant warder awakened to discovery
and disgrace. No one from outside would come near the place until
eight or nine in the morning; he had oceans of time in