For moment the only thing that Duffy could think of was that she had offered herself to him not an hour ago, and he had refused.
A little trickle of sweat ran from under his hat, down his nose to his chin. He still stood looking at Olga. The telephone began to ring downstairs insistently. Duffy raised his head and listened. Then he turned and went down into the sitting-room. He pulled the telephone to him and said, “Yes?”
The dry, brittle voice of the little guy said, “We’re waiting for that list. Zero hour’s eleven o’clock. Then we come and get it.”
Duffy said through his teeth, “Go and —— yourself,” and hung up.
He climbed the stairs once more and went into the bedroom. He picked up the wrap from the floor and covered Olga with it. His hands shook when he touched her flesh. He said, “I’m sorry about this, honey,” just as if she could hear him, and he picked her up and carried her to the bed. Then he touched her hair very gently with his finger-tips, letting them move slowly down her face. “You’ve had all the bad breaks, ain’t you?” He stooped and kissed her full lips, feeling them growing cold against his. Then he stood up, examined his clothes for bloodstains, satisfied himself that there weren’t any, and walked to the door.
“Take it easy, buddy,” a hard voice said.
Duffy raised his eyes. He felt no shock. Standing in the door was a cop, holding a gun in his hand. Just behind him, Duffy could see another flat cap.
Duffy said. “I’m glad you’ve come. They’ve killed my girl friend.”
The first cop said, “Keep your hands still.” The other cop came round and walked slowly towards Duffy, watching him carefully.
Duffy said, “What’s this?”