a palette knife he struck the neck off with a cleanness and dexterity which denoted practice. The wine foamed up. He filled a soda-water tumbler, emptying it at a draught
"That's the stuff! It's got a sting in it! I like my drink to have a sting!"
Bernstein drew the inspector's attention to his proceedings.
"You see. That's how he goes on—drink! drink! drink! He does nothing else but drink. You wouldn't pay any attention to his ravings when they reflect upon a respectable man?"
"Respectable man! Isaac Bernstein, respectable man?"
He tossed the bottle he was holding towards the Jew. If the other had not ducked, it would have struck him.
"He's a liar, that's what he is; a liar to his finger-tips. No one who knows him would believe him on his oath."
This was young Moore. Lawrence pointed at him with his tumbler.
"A Solomon risen to judgment! See truth's imaged superscription on his brow."
The lady stepped forward before I had guessed her intention.
"What he is he in great part owes to you—and to him!"—pointing to the Jew. "You are an older man than he, with a wider knowledge
