Morgan said, “Wait outside.”
Joe shrugged, but he went out, passing close to Duffy. As he passed, he pushed his flat face into Duffy’s and grinned. “Nice boy, ain’t you?” he said.
Duffy didn’t move. “Your breath’s bad,” was all he said.
Joe shut the door behind him, then Duffy walked over to a big arm-chair and sat down. He didn’t remove his hat. Morgan leant against the overmantel and waited.
“We’re due for a talk, ain’t we?” Duffy said.
Morgan took out a cigar case, selected a long thin Havana, put it between his small teeth, bit off the end neatly and spat the end into the empty grate. He put the cigar case back in his pocket.
Duffy said, “I’ll smoke too.”
Morgan looked at him. His hooded eyes were very hostile. “Not mine, you won’t. You talk.”
Duffy shrugged and took a cigarette from his case. “If that’s how you feel…”
Morgan hid his face behind thick smoke as he lit the cigar. “You’ve still got five hundred bucks of mine,” he said.