"Oh, well, if I _must_!" protested Pinney. "But I _swear_ I won't lock
'em." He glanced round to find whether any of the other passengers were
noticing. "You can slip 'em off whenever you get tired of 'em." He
pushed Northwick's sleeves down over them with shame-faced anxiety.
"Don't let people see the damned things, for God's sake!'"
"That's good!" murmured Northwick, as if the feel of the iron pleased
him.
The incident turned Pinney rather sick. He went out on the platform of
the car for a little breath of air, and some restorative conversation
with the brakeman. When he came back, Northwick was sitting where he
left him. His head had fallen on his breast. "Poor old fellow, he's
asleep," Pinney thought. He put his hand gently on Northwick's shoulder.
"I'll have to wake you here," he said. "We'll be in, now, in a minute."
Northwick tumbled forward at his touch, and Pinney caught him round the
neck, and lifted his face.
"Oh, my God! He's dead!"
The loosened handcuffs fell on the floor.