gun roared. The rug began to smoulder.
Duffy fired at Clive, but the big Colt kicked up and the bullet smacked against the wall two feet above Clive’s head. Moving with incredible rapidity, Shep flung himself on Clive.
Duffy walked cautiously over to Annabel, looked at her, then shoved his gun in his hip pocket and knelt down beside her. She lay on her back, one hand clenched tightly to her right side. She opened her eyes and looked at him, then she began to cry.
Duffy said, “Take it easy. You’ll be all right.”
He picked her up. Shep said, “Bring her here.” He had tossed Clive on to the floor. Clive lay flat. Shep had smacked him hard on the chin.
Duffy put her on the divan. He said urgently, “Get some water and dressing. She’s bleeding like hell.”
Shep went out of the room. Duffy could hear him pulling drawers open and hunting about in the next room. He took his pocket-knife and ripped away her clothes round the wound. “Hurry, damn you,” he shouted to Shep when he saw where she was shot.
Shep came back in a lumbering run. He had a handful of small towels and a jug of water. Duffy took them from him. “’Phone English, and tell him,” he said. “Get going, this is urgent.”
While he was fixing the wound, she opened her eyes again. She looked at him. She saw the sweat glistening on his face and she said, “Am I going to die?”
He couldn’t do anything to stop the bleeding. He said rather helplessly, “It’s the best way for you, I think.”
She said, “I think so, too,” and she began to cry again.
He tied a pad over the wound, but he knew it was useless. She said, “Give me a drink.”
He had to hold her head to give her the Scotch. She said, “I’m sorry about everything.”
Duffy’s face was very hard. “You little girls are always sorry when it’s too late.”
She said, “It was your fault that I killed your woman.”
Duffy said, “It’s best you should go like this.” He couldn’t bring himself to say anything else.
“No other man’s ever turned me down,” she said. “Remember I offered myself?”
“Yeah, I remember. I guessed you’d want to settle that score.”
“If you wrote down everything, I could sign it,” she said. “I’d like that.”
Duffy took a quick step to the writing-desk, found a pad and came back. She said, in a low voice, “You’ll be quick?”
Duffy said, “Sure. You killed Cattley, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Cattley was double-crossing Gleason, who was my husband. No one knew about that. Gleason was bad, but he was making money. I had to have that. I learnt that Cattley was taking half, so I pushed him down the lift shaft. He was a little man, it was quite easy. You came along and covered me on that. Then Max. You see, they all bothered me. I tried once just to see, but none of them were any good. So after that I didn’t want them again. Max was always pressing me. Then he got the photos, and asked me up to his flat to trade them in the usual way, so I went and I killed him too.”
Duffy wrote quickly. He gave her another drink. Shep came in and stood behind him. He said, “English is coming.” Duffy raised his hand for silence.
Annabel went on, “I hated you. When I went out to the Shann woman’s villa to find the book, I thought you’d both be out. I saw you drive the car away, and I thought she was with you. Then I went inside and she started getting excited, so I killed her too.”
Duffy said, “It got you nowhere, did it?”
She said, so faintly that Duffy had to lean forward, “I was so tired of… Murray… when you came… I… thought I could… put it… on you.”
Duffy scribbled quickly, put the pen in her hand. “Can you do it?” he said anxiously.
She said, “I… can’t… see.”
Duffy held her hand and put the nib on the paper. “Sign,” he said loudly and roughly. The pen slipped out of her fingers and her hand dropped out of his. He turned and looked at Shep. “Can you beat that?” he said savagely. “This confession lets me out, and I’m damned if she doesn’t die on me before she signs.”
Shep said, “That’s tough.”
Duffy stood up. “Look at her, Shep,” he said. “You ain’t likely to find a worse woman in the country.”
Shep shrugged. “What’s it matter, as long as she looks right?”
Duffy said impatiently, “Clive okay?”
Shep nodded. “He’ll be out for another hour.”
Duffy glanced at the clock. He saw it was quarter to six. He said, “Come on, we got a date. Let English fix this.”
Shep followed him out of the apartment and down the stairs. Duffy said when they got into the street, “Morgan’ll just hate me for this.”
Shep grinned as he climbed into the car. “Yeah,” he said. “Will they burn the nance?”
Duffy shrugged. “Maybe English’ll hush it all up. But you bet they’ll pin something on that nance to keep him busy.”
It was just after six when Duffy swung the Buick to the kerb outside the Belmont Plaza. “Come with me,” he said.
They walked into the busy lobby. Across the lounge he saw Schultz reading a newspaper. Schultz made no sign that he had seen him, but by the way he folded the paper and laid it down Duffy knew he had.
The little guy and Joe came in. Joe was looking mad, he scowled at Duffy. The little guy said, “You’re going to get into trouble one of these days.”
Duffy said, “Skip the talk. Let’s get down to business.” He walked into the bar. The little guy Followed him, leaving Joe in the lobby. Shep beamed at Joe, but said nothing.
The little guy said, when they got to the bar, “What you doing with Gilroy’s mob?”
Duffy stared at him coldly. “You’ll know before long,” he said. “Come on, let’s get this over, you stink.”
The little guy giggled. He put his hand inside his coat and took out an envelope. He opened it and drew out a sheaf of notes. Duffy watched him count them. Twenty-five grand. Then Duffy took the note-book out and they exchanged. The little guy said, “And the duplicate?” Duffy smiled. His eyes were like ice. “The State’s got that.”
The little guy shook his head sadly. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he said. “Morgan’s going to get mad when I tell him that.”
Duffy said deliberately, “Morgan can —— himself.”
The little guy giggled again. “I’ll tell him that too.” He put the note-book in his pocket. “Those notes are phoneys,” he said, as an afterthought.
Duffy took the envelope out of his pocket, examined one of the notes carefully. It looked all right to him. “You don’t say,” he said.
The little guy nodded cheerfully. “Sure, Morgan wouldn’t pay a punk like you in real dough.”
Duffy put the notes away. He had an idea.
The little guy said, “Well, for God’s sake, you’re taking it quietly, ain’t you?”
Duffy said, “Take my tip, scram.”
The little guy looked at him, then nodded. “You’ll see me again, of course,” he said apologetically.
Duffy said, “Before you think.”
He watched the little guy walk out, followed by Joe, then he beckoned to Shep and called for two ryes. Shep came over. “You got it?” he said.
Duffy slipped one of the notes out and gave it to him.
Shep glanced at it, beamed and said, “As easy as that, huh?”
Duffy pushed the glass over to him, drained his quickly and nodded at the barman. “One more,” he said.
Shep said, “You drink too quickly.”
“So long as I don’t drink too much, why should I worry?”
Shep frowned, then said, “It amounts to the same, don’t it?”
He gave Duffy back the note reluctantly. Duffy put it with the others. He said, “Let’s go.”
