Duffy said, “Now don’t go into a spin. It’s going to work out okay, you see.”
“But you don’t know,” she said, her breasts suddenly rising and falling. “Bill, you don’t know. I’ve been through so much… and—and now I’ve found you. I’m frightened it won’t be all right.”
Duffy said, “Hey! You don’t want to get worked up. I tell you, we’ll get away with it. We’re going to have a fine time. We’re going to be in the dough. You and me. We’re going to have dough to burn… you see.”
She said quite quietly, “I feel something horrible’s going to happen.”
Duffy said, “Skip it, honey. The Scotch’s got hold of you.” He kissed her and he had to push her gently from him. Then he walked to the door. “I shan’t be long,” he said over his shoulder, and shut the door behind him.
She stood motionless where he had left her, then she suddenly said in a low voice, “Come back, I’m scared. Bill, come back….”
Out in the street, Duffy paused to light a cigarette. He threw the match from him and climbed into the Buick. As he started the engine he saw in his driving-mirror a big Packard turn into the street and drive slowly towards him. He glanced at it and then engaged his gear. His mind was still brooding on his future plans.
Pushing the pedal down, he drove the Buick fast. The Packard vanished from his mirror, and he thought no more about it.
At the bank there was a slight delay. Duffy had trouble in convincing the watchman that he had arranged to speak to the teller. The watchman was a stolid Irishman, with a big, beefy face, and not much brain.
Duffy took him through the explanation slowly again.