"None of your lip, young man. I don't know who the devil you think you are—anyway hand over the key."
"No," said Henry paling, "I can't."
"You can't? What the devil do you mean?"
"Simply I can't. I was told not to—I'm your brother's secretary and have to do what he says—not what you say!"
Henry felt himself growing more happily defiant.
"Do you want to get the damnedest hiding you've ever had in your young life?"
"I don't care what you do."
"Don't care what I do? Well, you soon will. Are you going to give me that key?" (All this time he was pulling at the drawers with angry jerks, pausing to stare at Henry, then pulling again.)
"No."