The String of Pearls (1850), p. 172

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," 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!"