The front door was a plate-glass affair, plastered with wrought iron. The bell had to be reached for and pulled down, like the plumbing in an old-fashioned toilet.
Duffy called back to Olga, who was sitting in the car, “Some joint.” He self-consciously jerked the bell-pull hard.
Clive opened the door.
Duffy said, “Tell your Queen I want to see him.”
Clive threw up his hands and backed away from the door. He said in a shrill voice, “You get out…” Duffy pushed the door wide open, but he stayed where he was. He said in a level voice, “Get going or I’ll start on you.”
Clive slid his hand inside his coat, and Duffy took a quick step forward and smacked Clive across the face.
The little guy said from the head of the stairs, “Don’t hit him again. He’ll be all right.”
Clive took his hand away from his coat and backed farther away. A high whinnying sound was coming from his mouth. Duffy said, “Why don’t you take this bum away?”
The little guy came down the stairs. He wore his hat pulled low down. Duffy couldn’t imagine him without that hat.
Duffy said, “Where’s Morgan?”