In the inside pocket of the coat that he was wearing--Amory's coat--his fingers suddenly closed about something made of glass.

He seized it and drew it forth.
It was a little vase of rock-crystal, ornamented with gold medallions, covered with exquisite and precise engraving of great beauty and variety of design--gryphons, serpents, winged discs, men contending with lions.

St.George stared at it uncomprehendingly.

In the press of events of the last eight-and-forty hours Amory had quite forgotten to mention to him the prince's intended gift of wine, almost three thousand years old, sealed in Phoenicia.
St.George drew the stopper.

In an instant an odour, spicy, penetrating, delicious, saluted him and gave life to the dead air of the room.