"The wine, sir, was one of my late husband's bad debts. It was all he
could get from a Frenchman who owed him money."

"It's worth money, ma'am."

"Indeed, sir?"

"Yes, indeed. This is some of the finest and purest claret that I have
tasted for many a long day past."

An alarming suspicion disturbed the serenity of the landlady's mind.
Was his extraordinary opinion of the wine sincere? Or was it Mr.
Mountjoy's wicked design to entrap her into praising her claret and
then to imply that she was a cheat by declaring what he really thought
of it? She took refuge in a cautious reply:

"You are the first gentleman, sir, who has not found fault with it."

"In that case, perhaps you would like to get rid of the wine?" Mr.
Mountjoy suggested.

The landlady was still cautious. "Who will buy it of me, sir?"

"I will. How much do you charge for it by the bottle?"

It was, by this time, clear that he was not mischievous--only a little
crazy. The worldly-wise hostess took advantage of that circumstance to
double the price. Without hesitation, she said: "Five shillings a
bottle, sir."