'Now, my good man,' said the lawyer, 'be explicit. What are you afraid of?'
'I've been afraid for about a week,' returned Poole, doggedly disregarding the question, 'and I can bear it no more.'
The man's appearance amply bore out his words; his manner was altered for the worse; and except for the moment when he had first announced his terror, he had not once looked the lawyer in the face. Even now, he sat with the glass of wine untasted on his knee, and his eyes directed to a corner of the floor. 'I can bear it no more,' he repeated.
'Come,' said the lawyer, 'I see you have some good reason, Poole; I see there is something seriously amiss. Try to tell me what it is.'
'I think there's been foul play,' said Poole, hoarsely.
'Foul play!' cried the lawyer, a good deal frightened and rather inclined to be irritated in consequence. What foul play? What does the man mean?'
