She'll soon get sick of such squealing." Another shriek, mingled with a strange frothy cry, as though some one
had managed to utter it under water, arose. The perspiration stood in
large drops upon the face of Fogg.--He seized the brick he had spoken
of, and cast it into the well. All was still as the grave before it
reached the bottom, and then he wiped his face and looked at Watson. "This is the worst job," he said, "that ever we have had--"

"Not a whit.--Brandy--give me a tumbler of brandy, Fogg. Some of our own
particular, for I have something to say to you now, that a better
opportunity than this for saying is not likely to occur." "Come into my room then," said Fogg, "and we can talk quietly.--Do you
think--that--that--"

"What?" "That she is quite dead?" "What do I care.--Let her crawl out of that, if she can." With a jerk of his thumb, Watson intimated that the well was the "that"
he referred to, and then he followed Fogg into the house, whistling as
he went the same lively air with which he had frequently solaced his
feelings in the hearing of poor Tobias Ragg. Never had Fogg been in such
a state of agitation, except once, and that was long ago, upon the
occasion of his first crime. Then he had trembled as he now trembled,
but the

    "Dull custom of iniquity"

had effectually blunted soon the keen edge of his conscience, and he had
for years carried on a career of infamy without any other feeling than
exultation at his success.--Why then did he suffer now? Had the well in
the garden ever before received a victim? Was he getting alive to the
excellence of youth and beauty?--Oh no--no. Fogg was getting old. He
could not stand what he once stood in the way of conscience. When he
reached his room--that room in which he had held the conference with
Todd, he sank into a chair with a deep groan. "What's the matter now?" cried Watson, who got insolent in proportion as
Fogg's physical powers appeared to be upon the wane. "Nothing, nothing." "Nothing?--Well, I never knew anybody look so white with nothing the
matter. Come, I want a drop of brandy; where is it?" "In that cupboard; I want some myself likewise. Get it out, Watson. You
will find glasses there." Watson was not slow in obeying this order. The brandy was duly produced,
and, after Fogg had drank as much as would have produced intoxication in
any one not so used to the ardent spirit as himself, he spoke more
calmly, for it only acted upon him as a gentle sedative. "You wished to say something to me, Watson." "Yes." "What is it?" "I am tired, completely tired, Fogg." "Tired? Then why don't you retire to rest at once, Watson? There is, I
am sure, nothing to keep you up now; I am going myself in a minute." "You don't understand me, or you won't, which is much the same thing. I
did not mean that I was tired of the day, but I am tired of doing all
the work, Fogg, while you--while you--"

"Well--while I--"

"Pocket all the profit. Do you understand that? Now hark you. We will go
partners, Fogg, not only in the present and the future, but in the past. I will have half of your hoarded up gains, or--"

"Or what?" Mr. Watson made a peculiar movement, supposed to indicate the last kick
of a culprit executed at the Old Bailey. "You mean you will hang yourself," said Fogg. "My dear Watson, pray do
so as soon as you think proper. Don't let me hinder you." "Hark you, Fogg. You may be a fox, but I am a badger. I mean that I will
hang you, and this is the way to do it. My wife--"

"Your what?" "My wife," cried Watson, "has, in writing, the full particulars of all
your crimes. She don't live far off, but still far enough to make it a
puzzle for you to find her. If she don't see me once in every
forty-eight hours, she is to conclude something has happened to me, and
then she is to go at once to Bow Street with the statement, and lay it
before a magistrate. You understand. Now I have contrived, with what I
got from you by fair means as well as by foul, and by robbing the
patients besides, to save some money, and if you and I don't agree, Mrs.
Watson and I will start for New Zealand, or some such place, but--but,
Fogg--"

"Well?" "We will denounce you before we go." "And what is to be the end of all this? The law has a long as well as a
strong arm, Watson." "I know it. You would say it might be long enough to strike me." Fogg nodded. "Leave me to take care of that. But as you want to know the result of
all this, it is just this. I want to have my share, and I will have it. Give me a couple of thousand down, and half for the future." Fogg was silent for a moment or two, and then he said--

"Too much, Watson, too much. I have not so much." "Bah! At your banker's now you have exactly £11,267." Fogg writhed. "You have been prying. Well, you shall have the two thousand." "On account." Fogg writhed again. "I say you shall have so much, Watson, and you shall
keep the books, and have your clear half of all future proceeds. Is
there anything else you have set your mind upon, because if you have,
while we are talking about business, you may as well state it, you
know." "No, there's nothing else--I am satisfied. All I have to add is, that
you had better put your head into the fire than attempt to play any
tricks with me. You understand?" "Perfectly." Watson was not altogether satisfied. He would have been better pleased
if Fogg had made more resistance. The easy compliance of such a man with
anything that touched his pocket looked suspicious, and filled the mind
of Watson with a thousand vague conjectures. Already--aye, even before
he left Fogg's room, Watson began to feel the uneasiness of his new
position, and to pay dearly for the money he was to have. Even money may
be given an exorbitant price for. When he was by himself, as he
traversed the passage leading to his own sleeping room, Watson could not
forbear looking cautiously around him at times, as though gaunt murder
stalked behind him, and he fastened his bed-room door with more than his
usual caution. The wish to sleep came not to him, and sitting down upon
his bed-side he rested his chin upon his hand and said to himself in a
low anxious shrinking kind of whisper--

"What does Fogg mean to do?" Nor was the recent interview without its after effects upon the
mad-house keeper himself. When the door closed upon Watson he shook his
clenched hand in the direction he had taken, and muttered curses,

    "Not loud, but deep." "The time will come," he said, "Master Watson, and that quickly too,
when I will let you see that I am still the master spirit. You shall be
satisfied for the present, but your death-warrant is preparing. You will
not live long to triumph over me by threats of what your low cunning can
accomplish."