The String of Pearls 37Mr. Fogg Finds That All Is Not Gold That Glitters
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Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
The String of Pearls 37
Mr. Fogg Finds That All Is Not Gold That Glitters
PrestEnglish
We feel that we ought not entirely to take leave of that unfortunate, who failed in escaping with Tobias Ragg, from Mr. Fogg's establishment at Peckham, without a passing notice. It will be recollected that Tobias had enough to do to get away himself, and that he was in such a state of mind that it was quite a matter of new mechanical movement of his limbs that enabled him to fly from the madhouse. Horror of the place, and dread of the people who called it theirs, had lighted up the glare of a partial insanity in his brain, and he flew to London, we admit, without casting another thought upon the wretched creature who had fallen in the attempt to free herself from those fiends in human shape who made a frightful speculation in the misery of their fellow creatures. The alarm was already spread in the madhouse, and Mr. Fogg himself arrived at the spot where the poor creature lay stunned and wounded by her fall.
"Watson! Watson!" he cried.
"Here," said that official, as he presented himself.
"Take this carcase up, Watson. I'm afraid Todd's boy is gone."
"Ha! ha!"
"Why do you laugh?"
"Why where's the odds if he has. I tell you what it is, Fogg, I haven't been here so long without knowing what's what. If that boy ever recovers his senses enough to tell a rational tale, I'll eat him. However, I'll soon go and hunt him up. We'll have him again."
"Well, Watson, you give me hopes, for you have upon two different occasions brought back runaways. Bring the woman in and--and, Watson?
"Aye, aye."
"I think I would put her in No. 10."
"Ho! ho!--No. 10. Then she's booked. Well, well, come on Fogg, come on, it's all one. I suppose the story will be 'An attempt to escape owing to too much indulgence;' and some hints consequent on that, and then brought back to her own warm comfortable bed, where she went asleep so comfortably that we all thought she was as happy as an Emperor, and then--"
"She never woke again," put in Fogg. "But in this case you are wrong, Watson. It is true that twice or thrice I have thought, for the look of the thing, it would be desirable to have an inquest upon somebody, but in this case I will not. The well is not full!"
"Full?"
"No, I say the well is not full, Watson; and it tells no tales."
"It would hold a hundred bodies one upon another yet," said Watson, "and tell no tales. Ha! ha!"
"Good!"
"It is good. She is to go there, is she? well, so be it."
Watson carried the miserable female in his arms to the house.
"By-the-bye, it is a second thought," he said, "about No. 10."
"Yes, yes, there's no occasion. Watson, could you not at once--eh? It is a good hour. Could you not go right through the house, my good Watson, and at once--eh?"
"At once what?"
"Oh, you know. Ha! ha! You are not the dull fellow at comprehending a meaning you would fain make out; but you, Watson--you understand me well enough, you know you do. We understand each other, and always shall."
"I hope so, but if you want anything done I'll trouble you to speak out. What do you mean by 'couldn't you go through the house at once--eh?'"
"Pho! pho! Put her down the well at once. Humanity calls upon us to do it. Why should she awaken to a sense of her disappointment, Watson? Put her down at once, and she will never awaken at all to a sense of anything."
"Very well. Come on, business is business."
"You--you don't want me?"
"Don't I," said Watson, bending his shaggy brows upon him, and looking extra hideous on account of a large black patch over one eye, which he bore as a relict of his encounter with Tobias. "Don't I? Hark you, Fogg; if you won't come and help me to do it, you shall have it to do by yourself, without me at all."
"Why--why, Watson, Watson. This language--"
"Is nothing new, Fogg."
"Well, well, come on.--Come on--if it must be so, it must.--I--I will hold a lantern for you, of course; and you know, Watson, I make things easy to you, in the shape of salary, and all that sort of thing."
Watson made no reply to all this, but went through the house to the back part of the grounds, carrying with him his insensible burthen, and Fogg followed him, trembling in every limb. The fact was, that he, Fogg, had not for some time had a refresher in the shape of some brandy. The old deserted well to which they were bound was at a distance of about fifty yards from the back of the house; towards it the athletic Watson hastened with speed, closely followed by Fogg, who was truly one of those who did not mind holding a candle to the devil. The walls of that building were high, and it was not likely that any intruder from the outside could see what was going on, so Watson took no precaution.--The well was reached, and Fogg cried to him--
"Now--now--quick about it, lest she recovers."
Another moment and she would have been gone in her insensibility, but as if Fogg's words were prophetic, she did recover, and clinging convulsively to Watson, she shrieked--
"Mercy! mercy! Oh, have mercy upon me! Help! help!"
"Ah, she recovers!" cried Fogg, "I was afraid of that. Throw her in. Throw her in, Watson."
"Confound her!"
"Why don't you throw her in?"
"She clings to me like a vice. I cannot--Give me a knife, Fogg. You will find one in my coat pocket--a knife--a knife!"
"Mercy! mercy! Have mercy upon me! No--no--no,--Help! Oh God! God!"
"The knife! The knife, I say!"
"Here, here," cried Fogg, as he hastily took it from Watson's pocket and opened it. "Here! Finish her, and quickly too, Watson!"
The scene that followed is too horrible for description. The hands of the wretched victim were hacked from their hold by Watson, and in the course of another minute, with one last appalling shriek, down she went like a flash of lightning to the bottom of the well.
"Gone!" said Watson.
Another shriek and Fogg, even, stopped his ears, so appalling was that cry, coming as it did so strangely from the bottom of the well.
"Throw something upon her," said Fogg. "Here's a brick--"
"Bah!" cried Watson, "bah! there's no occasion to throw anything on her. 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."
He rose and drank more raw brandy, after which, still muttering maledictions upon Watson, he returned to his bed-room, where, if he did not sleep, and if during the still hours of the night his brain was not too much vexed, he hoped to be able to concoct some scheme which should present him with a prospect of exemplary vengeance upon Watson.
