Tux shuffled forward, gave Johnny a light tap to turn him and then drove his fist into Johnny’s face.
Johnny’s head slammed against the wall and he slid down on his hands and knees.
O’Brien watched from the doorway.
“Soften him up a little,” he said. “Don’t do too much damage.”
As he went out into the passage, Tux stepped back and kicked Johnny in the ribs, sending him over on his back.
O’Brien closed the door. He went up on deck to the motor-boat, showing his teeth in a fixed, mirthless grin.
II
Raphael Sweeting stood on the edge of the kerb, waiting for a break in the traffic before crossing to the far side. He carried his Pekinese under his arm, and the dog watched the traffic with the same impatience as its master.
The rain that had been falling had stopped, and the humid heat made Sweeting sweat. He watched the onrush of traffic as it flowed past him, and thought how pleasant it would be if he had enough money to buy a car.
At the moment Sweeting was worth exactly two dollars and sixty cents, and in spite of his inflexible optimism, he saw no possibilities of increasing his assets during the present week.