"No, no, Mr. Northwick!" Pinney pleaded. "I don't want to do that. I'm not afraid of your trying to get away. I assure you it isn't necessary between gentlemen."
Northwick held out his wrists. "Put them on, please."
"Oh, well, if I must!" protested Pinney. "But I swear I won't lock 'em." He glanced round to find whether any of the other passengers were noticing. "You can slip 'em off whenever you get tired of 'em." He pushed Northwick's sleeves down over them with shame-faced anxiety. "Don't let people see the damned things, for God's sake!'"
"That's good!" murmured Northwick, as if the feel of the iron pleased him.
The incident turned Pinney rather sick. He went out on the platform of the car for a little breath of air, and some restorative conversation with the brakeman. When he came back, Northwick was sitting where he left him. His head had fallen on his breast. "Poor old fellow, he's asleep," Pinney thought. He put his hand gently on Northwick's shoulder. "I'll have to wake you here," he said. "We'll be in, now, in a minute."
Northwick tumbled forward at his touch, and Pinney caught him round the neck, and lifted his face.
"Oh, my God! He's dead!"
The loosened handcuffs fell on the floor.