Pinney reluctantly produced the paper, and Northwick read it carefully over. He folded it up with a deep sigh, and took a long stiff envelope from his breast-pocket, and handed it to Pinney, with the warrant. "Here is the money I brought with me."
"Mr. Northwick! It isn't necessary yet! Indeed it isn't. I've every confidence in your honor as a gentleman." Pinney's eyes glowed with joy, and his fingers closed upon the envelope convulsively. "But if you mean business—"
"I mean business," said Northwick. "Count it."
Pinney took the notes out and ran them over. "Forty-one thousand six hundred and forty."
"That is right," said Northwick. "Now, another matter. Have you got handcuffs?"
"Why, Mr. Northwick! What are you giving me?" demanded Pinney. "I'd as soon put them on my own father."
"I want you to put them on me," said Northwick. "I intend to go back as your prisoner. If I have anything to expiate"—and he seemed to indulge a question of the fact for the last time—"I want the atonement to begin as soon as possible. If you haven't brought those things with you, you'd better go out to the police station and get them, while I attend to the tickets."
"Oh, I needn't go," said Pinney, and his face burned.
He was full of nervous trepidation at the start, and throughout the journey he was anxious and perturbed, while on Northwick, after the first excitement, a deep quiet, a stupor, or a spiritual peace, seemed to have fallen.
"By George!" said Pinney, when they started, "anybody to see us would think you were taking me back." He was tenderly watchful of Northwick's comfort; he left him free to come and go at the stations; from the restaurants he bought him things to tempt his appetite; but Northwick said he did not care to eat.