Of course, the Doctor would be in a towering rage. Hickey was not unreasonable, he understood and expected a natural exhibition of vexation. What could the Doctor do, after all? Ask him questions which he would refuse to answer—that was all, but that was not evidence.
He found the Doctor alone, quietly writing at his desk, and received a smile and an invitation to be seated. Somehow the tranquillity of the head master's attitude did not reassure Hickey. He would have preferred a little more agitation, but this satisfied calm was disquieting.
He stood with his hands behind his back, twirling his cap, studying the photographs of Grecian architecture on the walls, finding it awfully still and wishing the Doctor would begin.
Presently the Doctor turned, put down his spectacles, shoved back from the desk and glanced at Hickey with a smile, saying:
"Well, Hicks, we're going to let you go."
"Beg your pardon, sir," said Hickey, smiling frankly back, "you said——"
"We're going to let you take a vacation."
"Me?"
"You."