"It is very like the sound a gentleman makes when he reels home from a
tavern."

Gaydon and Misset raised themselves with a common effort springing from
a common thought and shot O'Toole back into the room.

"What if it is?" began Misset.

"He was never drunk in his life," said Gaydon.

"It's possible that he has reformed," said O'Toole; and the three men
precipitated themselves down the stairs.

The drunkard was Wogan; he was drunk with fatigue and sleeplessness and
pain, but he had retained just enough of his sober nature to spare a
tired mare who had that day served him well.

The first intimation he received that his friends were on the watch was
O'Toole's voice bawling down the street to him.

"Is it a lottery? Tell me we're all rich men," and he felt himself
grasped in O'Toole's arms.

"I'll tell you more wonderful things than that," stammered Wogan, "when
you have shown me the way to a stable."

"There's one at the back of the house," said Gaydon. "I'll take the
horse."

"No," said Wogan, stubbornly, and would not yield the bridle to Gaydon.