Annabel came out of the bathroom. She stood near Gleason. Her face was very hard, and her eyes were frightened.
Duffy looked at her, then he said, “What now?”
Gleason said, “I want that note-book.”
Duffy nodded. “Sure, I can understand that. I told you before, it’s in the mail.”
Annabel said breathlessly, “He’s lying.”
Duffy shrugged. “You think so? Ask yourself, what would you do? I guessed it was important, so I put it in an envelope and posted it to an address in Canada. When I want it, I just write for it.”
Gleason’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe we could persuade you to write for it.”
Duffy mashed the cigarette into the tray. “Meaning what?”
“We’ve got ways….”
“Be your age. You can’t scare me. Do you think anything you can do to me would pry me loose from something I want? If you want to have that book, talk terms.”
Gleason let the barrel of the Luger fall a shade. It pointed at Duffy’s waistcoat.
“How much?” he said.
Annabel said. “You mad?”
Gleason frowned at her. “Let me handle this.”
Duffy studied his finger-nails. “What’s it worth to you?” he said at last.
Gleason showed his teeth in a little grin. “I’d pay five hundred dollars for it,” he said casually.
Duffy got to his feet slowly. “Okay,” he said, “if that’s all you rate it, why bother?”
Gleason jerked up the gun. “Sit down,” he said, his voice suddenly harsh.
Duffy just looked at him. “Wake up, louse,” he said evenly. “You’ve got nothing on me. That heater don’t mean anything now.”
Annabel said with a little hiss, “Shoot him low down.”
Duffy glanced at her. “Hell,” he said. “At one time I got a kick out of looking at you, you murderous little bitch.”
Gleason got to his feet and stood hesitating. His face was almost bewildered. Duffy said to him, “I’m on my way. When you want that note-book back, give me a ring. I’m in the book.”
Gleason said, “Wait.”
Duffy shook his head. He wandered to the door. “You won’t get anywhere by letting the gun off. You’ll never find the book without me being around.”
Gleason’s arm dropped to his side. “Well, five grand,” he said with an effort.
Duffy shook his head, he opened the door. “Don’t rush it,” he said, “take your time. Think about it. I’ll wait.” He pulled the door behind him and walked to the elevator. He suddenly felt very tired and his brain refused to think. He slid the grille and stepped into the elevator and pressed the ground-floor button.
Outside, he beckoned to a yellow cab, and in a short time he was again climbing the stairs to McGuire’s apartment. He opened the door with his key and went in. The clock on the mantelpiece stood at 1.45. He tossed his hat on the sofa and wandered over to the apple-jack, that was still standing on the table. The bottle was light; it was nearly empty. He made a little face. Then he drained the bottle and put it down on the table again. He held his breath for a moment, then gently puffed out his cheeks. The stuff was good.
He stood perfectly still and listened. The apartment was very silent, except for a faint rumbling of Sam’s snores. He lit a cigarette and tossed the match into the fireplace, then remembering Alice, he went over and picked it up, putting it carefully in the ash-tray.
With legs that felt rubbery with fatigue, he walked to the spare room and gently opened the door. The room was in darkness. He could hear Olga breathing softly.
He felt his way cautiously to the bed and flipped on the small reading-lamp, then he sat down on the bed gently.
Olga started up, her fists clenched and her lips formed into an “O”. Duffy put his hand gently on her mouth. “Okay,” he said softly. “Take it easy.”
She looked at him and then lay back. “You scared me silly,” she said.
“Quiet,” he said, “I don’t want the others to wake.”
She looked from him to the clock and then back at him again. “It’s so late… what is it?”
“Things are happening,” he said. “I gotta talk to you. You know the spot you’re in, don’t you? Max has been knocked off. Someone paid him a visit and slit his throat for him.”
The pupils of her eyes became very big. “You mean—?”
“I’m going to start from the beginning. Then you gotta fill in the gaps.” He lay back a little, resting on his elbow. His battered face was drawn with fatigue. She suddenly felt a little pang of compassion for him.
“Take off your shoes and lie here beside me.”
He shook his head. “I’d go to sleep,” he said. “Now listen. There’s a redhead called Annabel English, she’s the daughter of Edwin English, the politician. She’s wild and bad. One of her boy friends is this guy Weidmer. She has dealings with Cattley. This punk called on her and she tossed him down the elevator shaft. Right, before we go any further, you gotta tell me all you know about Cattley.”
She said in a low voice, “Cattley was mixed up in a big dope traffic. He started off in a small way, peddling the stuff and taking a rake-off. That was when I knew him. Then he got big and began to make money. Weidmer was his boss. Gleason was the big shot. Cattley got tired of taking orders and he stole the list of customers ——”
“Stop!” Duffy’s voice sounded like the snap of a steel trap. He took the little note-book from his pocket and put it on the coverlet before her. “Is this the list?”
Her startled face told him. “So that’s it,” he said. He thumbed the book through. “Why, these guys can’t operate without this list… the dope buyers must be hopping mad.” He shut his eyes and tried to think.
“How… how did you get that?” she asked.
He opened his eyes. “I got it from Cattley’s joint. Annabel came down to look for it, and I took it off her. This makes things pretty clear. Hell! They certainly operated in a big way. Look at those names, for God’s sake.”
She put her hand on his arm. “They’ll get it away from you,” she said, fear coming into her eyes. “It means millions to them.”
Duffy turned on his elbow and looked at her. His tired eyes searched her face. “You know,” he said, speaking slowly, “years ago, I used to think of being in a spot like this. To have the chance of grabbing a million dollars from a bunch of toughs. Well, I’ve got my chance. I’m going to play the ends against the middle.”
“What do you mean?”
“If they find you’ve squawked, you’re going to be washed up. I like you, honey. Will you come in on this with me?”
Her eyes became shrewd again. “How?”
“This guy Morgan,” Duffy said, “you ain’t heard about him. I can’t quite see how he fits, except he’s looking for easy dough.”
She looked blank. “Morgan?”
Quickly and with economy, he told her about Morgan and the three toughs. “They thought they’d blackmail Annabel. It’d be good enough to publish a photo of Cattley and Annabel to upset old man English. I thought it was deeper than that. Gee! I gave her the benefit and thought they killed Cattley to pin it on her. All the time she had killed Cattley herself, and I was sucker enough to help her shift the body. Anyway, that’s her funeral now. I’m selling the book to the highest bidder.”
Olga said, “Why should Morgan want to buy it?”
Duffy grinned. “Use your head,” he said. “This crowd here,” he tapped the note-book, “is lousy with dough. They’d pay anything to hush up scandal. How’d it look if it got round that they traded in dope?”
She leant back in the bed and brooded. Then she said, “I believe you’ve got something.”
Duffy put the note-book away. “You bet I’ve got something,” he said. “Why not? Why the hell shouldn’t I make a little dough out of these punks? Why shouldn’t you?”
“How much will it be?” she asked.
“Fifty grand, hundred grand, anything.”
She lay back flat, and ran her fingers through her thick hair. Duffy thought she was a very nice broad indeed.
