Duffy said, “Lend me your rod.”
“Hey! You ain’t going to mess around with a heater, for God’s sake.”
“Don’t talk; I’m getting action. Come on, give me the gun. I want to get going.”
Sam sighed and began taking off his dressing-gown. “Okay,” he said, “but I’m coming with you.”
Duffy touched his arm. “You ain’t,” he said. “Things might happen round this burg. You gotta stay and keep an eye on things.”
Sam screwed up his eyes. “What is this?” he demanded.
“Weidmer tried to twist that dame’s neck. He thinks she knows too much. I fancy he might try and get at her here. That’s why you stay put.”
Sam’s eyes grew big. “You want to take my gun?” he said. “What about me?”
“Get going,” Duffy said impatiently, “give me the gun before Alice starts on me. If you drink enough of that panther’s breath, you won’t need any gun.”
Sam went over to the hall table and came back with a .38 automatic. Duffy took it, looked at the magazine, then stuck it down the waist-band of his trousers. He adjusted the points of his vest to hide the butt.