"You would have bled me," said M. Felix, with a dark frown, "till I had lost every shilling of my fortune."
"Of our fortune, comrade, of our fortune. It is in my power to strip you of it at any moment, therefore, in common equity, the money is as much mine as yours."
"We made a bargain, and I adhered to it--have adhered to it up to this day."
"Quite correct. Every quarter-day I find paid into my bank the sum of one hundred and fifty pounds. Woe to you if there had been a single omission. I might have advertised for you, in terms which would have drawn unpleasant notice upon you; I would have left no stone unturned to unearth you. I think it is five years ago since we last met. It was not an amicable meeting; angry words passed between us. You gave me the money I asked for and insisted upon having, but you declined to accept the view I presented for your consideration, that you were but the treasurer of a common fund. We parted, not the best of friends, and the next thing I heard of you was conveyed in a letter you wrote to me from Brindisi--it was actually posted from there--informing me that you had left England never to return, and that the six hundred a year would be paid regularly into my bankers in quarterly instalments, as usual. My dear friend, that letter naturally did not please me, and I did not propose to submit patiently to the desertion. I was working for you, for your ease, for your safety; I had an establishment to keep up. My little private asylum in the country, with its patients and keepers, entails upon me a great expense. I am getting tired of it; it chains me down; I have to be very watchful and careful; I have to wheedle and bribe, and, besides, I have to live. I knew that you lied when you wrote that you had left England never to return; I knew that it was the only country in the world you cared to live in, and I set to work to discover your hiding place. For five years I have been hunting for you; I have been in London a dozen times; I have searched everywhere. Oh, the money you have cost me, every shilling of which you shall refund. You shall; I have kept an account, and you shall pay me not only what I am out of pocket, but so much a day for my personal labor. But you are extraordinarily cunning, and it is only now I have succeeded in tracking you down. And being tracked, I mean to keep my hold upon you; I mean to have my due; I mean to share equally with you. It was by the merest chance that I obtained a clue, and I followed it up, until, behold, in the person of M. Felix, who passes as a foreigner, I discover my dearest friend, Mr. Leonard Paget, a partner with me in a conspiracy which, if it were made public, would insure, for you, certainly, for me probably, penal servitude for life. Now, what is it you propose to do?"
"What do you want?" demanded M. Felix.
"I have already stated--an equal share of the fortune for which we both conspired."
"What if I told you that it was pretty well squandered, and there was but little left?"
"I should not believe you."
"It is a fact."
"It is a lie."