"First, though, I'd like to have a clean collar, some clean linen; and I want to get rid of this brace," Bristow interrupted.
"To hell with what you want!" Greenleaf cried, a shade more purple with rage.
Bristow turned to Braceway:
"You're right. The stuff's in the sole of this shoe."
"Let's take charge of that now," Braceway said to the chief. They each grasped one of the prisoner's arms and hustled him with scant ceremony to his bedroom. Bristow removed his trousers and, unbuckling the belt and straps of the steel brace, took off the thick-soled shoe.
Greenleaf put his hand into it and tugged at the inner sole.
"Opens on the outside," prompted Braceway, "underneath, near the instep."
The chief, after fumbling with it a moment, got it open. The jewels streamed to the floor, a little cascade of radiance and colour. He picked them up, getting down on all-fours so as not to miss one.
"Don't be unreasonable," Bristow complained as he slipped on another shoe. "Let me have a clean shirt and collar."
"Be quick about it," Braceway consented, his voice heavy with contempt.