His urgency touched her and she said quickly, “I don’t know. I think his name’s Cattley…”
Duffy stepped back. “Cattley… of course. By heck! I must be losing my grip. Cattley…” He swung round on her. “What the hell are you doing with a rat like Cattley?”
Her eyebrows came together. “Will you stop asking me questions—?” she began.
“Listen, baby.” Duffy came close to her. His voice had a sharp edge to it. “Cattley’s got a name that stinks in this town. Everyone knows him. Cattley the pimp. Cattley the dope. Cattley the slaver. I tell you he’s poison to dames like you. You… you’ve let yourself be photographed with him… and someone’s got those photos Does that mean anything to you?”
“But….” she stopped and he saw she had gone pale.
“Yeah! That’s made you think. Sit down and tell me quick. Make it snappy; I’ve got things to do.”
She turned on him suddenly with furious eyes. “You started this,” she stormed at him. “If it hadn’t been for you—”
“Forget it!” he snapped at her. “I’m getting those pictures back all right. But you’ve got to wise me up a hell of a lot before I do.”
The flash of temper was gone almost before it started. She sat down limply on the large settee and tossed the gun on the table. Duffy winced a little. Women were hell when it came to handling guns. He took a quick glance and saw that the safety catch was still down.
“Now come on, come on, let’s get down to it,” he said, sitting on the edge of the table. “What’s your name?”