We must now go back to Uncle Andrew. His poor old heart went pit.a.pat as he staggered down the attic stairs and he kept on dabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief. When he reached his bedroom， which was the floor below， he locked himself in. And the very first thing he did was to grope in his wardrobe for a bottle and a wine.glass which he always kept hidden there where Aunt Letty could not find them. He poured himself out a glassful of some nasty， grown.up drink and drank it off at one gulp. Then he drew a deep breath.
“Upon my word，” he said to himself. “I‘m dreadfully shaken. Most upsetting！ And at my time of life！”