He said firmly: "This wine isn't corked, m'lord. Its flavour is perfect.
Besides, a cork like this couldn't cork it."

A less sensitive man than Lord Loudwater might have risen to the
double emergency. Lord Loudwater could not. He sat perfectly still.
But his eyes rolled so horribly that the Lady Loudwater started from
her chair, uttered a faint scream, and fairly ran through the long
window into the garden.

James Hutchings advanced to the table, thumped the decanter down on
it--no way to treat an old vintage port--at Lord Loudwater's right hand,
walked out of the room, and shut the door firmly behind him.

In the great hall he smiled a triumphant, malevolent smile. Then he
called Wilkins and Holloway, who stood together in the middle of it,
cowardly dogs and shirkers, and strode past them to the door to the
servants' quarters.

A few moments later Lord Loudwater rose to his feet and staggered
dizzily along to the other end of the table. He picked up his wife's
half-emptied glass and sipped the port. It was _not_ corked. It was
incredible! He would never forgive her!

He rang the bell. Both Wilkins and Holloway answered it. He bade them
tell Hutchings to pack his belongings and go at once. If he were not out
of the castle by four o'clock, they were to kick him out. Then he went,
still scowling, to the stables.

Mr. Manley had already finished his lunch. Halfway through his
after-lunch pipe he rose, took his hat and stick, and set out to pay a