“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.