"Take them off yourself," growled Henry, with a black look.
Higgins whistled and the two other men answered, one by melodramatically dropping in through the open window, and the other by appearing at the door. "Take off his shoes,--carefully, mind you. We want that mud on them. And get another pair for him, if you can find them."
He motioned Henry to sit down, but instead of dropping obligingly into the nearest chair, Henry stalked indignantly across the room and threw himself down on an upholstered lounge. Then he thrust out both feet before him with an arrogant air, and the two policemen, who had followed him closely, dropped on their knees and unfastened and removed his shoes. Higgins, who was proud of himself for thinking of a detail which might prove important, watched the process so closely that he paid no attention to anything else. Underwood, who leaned heavily against the door-casing, watched his son's face with a look that was something like despair. But Burton, who stood silently at one side, watched Henry, and so saw an apparently casual motion that took his right hand from the vicinity of his breast pocket to the inner edge of the upholstered seat of the lounge.
"Well, what next?" Henry asked brusquely, when the men had shod him.
He rose without a word, and reached for his hat and coat.
"Henry!" The word broke from Dr. Underwood like a cry. "Have you anything to say to me?"
Henry gave him one look, and then dropped his eyelids.
"I think not," he said, with a curious air of deliberation.
"I'll come and see you to-morrow, my boy."
Henry nodded carelessly, and turned to Higgins.
"One moment," said Burton. "How is your cut finger? I think I'd better look at it before you go." And without waiting for permission, he picked up Henry's hand and examined the forefinger which had been cut the evening before. Henry had dressed it carelessly with court-plaster, but it was evident that the finger was both stiff and sore.
But Henry was far from being a model patient. He pulled his hand away with a look of surprise and resentment at Burton's touch. "That's nothing," he said impatiently. "What are you waiting for, Higgins?"
"You," replied Higgins succinctly, slipping his hand under Henry's elbow.