"Because you can't walk a step on account of your sprained ankle."
Underwood turned to look at him in amaze.
"Oh, can't I?"
"Not a step."
"Suppose I don't agree with you?"
"If my orders are not obeyed, of course I shall throw up the case."
Underwood sat down on the edge of the bed. "So you think it's as bad as that!" he muttered. Suddenly he lifted his head with a keen look at Burton, but if a question were on his lips he checked it there. "All right," he said wearily. "I--I'll leave the case in your hands, Doctor. By the way, you didn't have any reward for your vigil last night, did you? There was no attempt to enter the surgery?"
"Oh, an amateur can't always expect to bag his game at the first shot," Burton said lightly.
He found Miss Underwood ready and waiting when he came downstairs, and they set out at once for the scene of the fire. She looked so thoughtful and preoccupied that he could not fail to realize how serious this affair must seem to her. Could it be that she entertained any of his own uncomfortable doubts as to the accidental character of the fire?
"I am consumed with wonder as to why you are going to visit the Spriggs," he said, as they went out into the shaded street. "Is it pure humanitarianism?"