"Quite so. You may be sure I am overlooking no point in the case. Let me proceed with my view. You and I don't get on well together, and you attack me. You are clearly the burglar, and I am attacked by you, and I defend myself with force. You kill me; that is no good to you. You won't make a penny by my death. But suppose it should unhappily occur that the revolver, on the trigger of which, Joe, I now have my finger, and the muzzle of which is about a foot from your heart, suppose it should go off, what then? You can see the accident would be all in my favour." Farleg uttered a loud whistle. For a second no word was spoken. No movement was made in that room. All at once, apparently from the feet of the two men, a wild alarmed scream of a woman shot up through the silence, and shook the silence into echoes of chattering fear. As though a blast had struck the banker's face, it shrivelled up like a withered leaf. Something heavy fell from his hand in the drawer, and he rose slowly, painfully, to his feet. Farleg rose also, keeping his face in the same relation, and on the same level as the banker's, until the pinched face of the banker stole slowly above the burglar's. The hands of Grey rested on the table. His eyes were fixed on vacancy. He seemed to be listening intently, spellbound by some awful vision, some distracting anticipation intimately concerned with appalling voices. Slowly from his lips trickled the whispered words: "What was that?" "_My_ wife's voice," whispered Farleg. "You thought it was _yours_. When I told you no one knew, I meant I had no pal. But my wife knows _all_, and if anything came amiss to me she'd tell all." "I understand," the banker answered, still in a whisper. The dread was slowly descending from his face, and he made a hideous attempt at a smile. "I, too," pursued Farleg, "was afraid we might quarrel, and left her there. For one whistle she was to scream out to show she was on the watch. For two whistles she was to run away and call help. Do you see, sir?" "Very clever. Very neat. You have won the odd trick." "And honours are divided." "Yes. How is that money to reach you?" "I'd like it in gold, sir, if you please. You can send it in a large parcel, a hamper, sir, or a large box, so that no one need be the wiser. I'm for your own good as well as my own in this matter." "You shall have the money the day after to-morrow at four o'clock. It will reach you from London. Now go." "Well, after what has been done, and our coming to a bargain, shake hands, Wat," said the man, in a tone of insolent triumph. "Go, sir. Go at once!" "Honours are not divided; I hold three to your one. Give me your hand, old man. Joe Farleg will never split on a pal." With a shudder of loathing the banker held out his hand.