"No, I will not speak to him. I've got my reasons, Florence."
"Very well, dear," she said, her eyes following him as he stepped softly to the bedroom, and closed the door behind him.
His purpose was to examine Reginald's boots, and he saw them the moment he entered the room. Reginald having been in bed since Saturday they could not have been worn since his visit to Catchpole Square on Friday night. Dick took them up, and discerned on the soles traces of the waxed paper which Samuel Boyd had set as a trap. With his penknife he carefully scraped off these tell-tale evidences of the visit, and returned to Florence.
"Do you know," he asked, "when Reginald saw his father last?"
"No," she answered, "it must have been a long time ago."
He did not disabuse her. "He is sleeping quite calmly," he said. "Did the doctor say when he would be able to get up?"
"In two or three days, he told me, if the opiate he gave him had the desired effect. It is having it, Dick."
"No doubt of that. By the way, Florence, in your haste to escape from the policemen in Catchpole Square did you lose or drop anything?"
"How clever you are to think of it, Dick! I lost a handkerchief."
"With your name on it?"