"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."