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.