Duffy went over to her and put his hands round her back. “This is the way it’s going to go,” he said. “It’ll take a little time, but it’ll yield the most dough.”
She looked up into his face. “Can’t you trust him?”
Duffy shook his head. “It’s going to be tricky getting away with the dough,” he said, “but you watch me, we’ll beat ’em.”
She leant against him. “I didn’t care what happened, but I do now. I don’t want you to get into a jam after this.”
He led her back into the bedroom. “Put on a wrap,” he said, “I can’t think with you like that.”
He watched her undo the small case she had brought with her, and find a wrap, then he helped her put it on.
They went back into the sitting-room again. Olga lit a cigarette, drawing down the smoke and holding it. She said, “You’re hatching something, what is it?”
Duffy took from his inside pocket a little note-book and put it on the table. Then he brought out another book, identical with the first. He laid it beside the other.
Olga looked at them closely, then released a cloud of smoke down her nostrils. “A double-cross,” she said.
“You’ve got it.” Duffy drew up a chair and sat down. “I’m showing you how dough’s made.” He took out a fountain-pen and began to copy the list of names from the first book into the second.