Duffy grinned. “I’ve gotta see this through myself.”
“Sure, sure,” Gilroy nodded his head. “Still, you can’t always beat the rap.”
Getting to his feet, Duffy said, “I’ll file that offer away. I might have to use it.”
He moved to the door, then looked over his shoulder. “It’s on the street now?”
Gilroy nodded. “Yeah, the heat’s on good.”
A hard little smile came to Duffy’s lips. “I ain’t starting anything just yet,” he said. “I’ll be back some time.”
He went over to the garage, got into the Buick and drove over to Annabel’s apartment. He parked up a side street and walked back. At the entrance to the organ loft, he paused At the corner he could see a flat cap, standing under a street light. He turned quickly and walked once more back to the Buick. He got in and sat there, watching the cop. The rain had ceased, but the pavements were still wet and shiny in the street lights. The cop moved on after a bit, and Duffy went back to the entrance. He opened the door with the key he still had with him, and silently went up the stairs.
When he got into the loft, he saw Gleason sitting in the room below, nursing an automatic. Sinking on his knee, so that his head did not appear over the balcony, he watched Gleason for several minutes. Then he said in a hard voice: “Put your rod on the floor, or you’ll get it.”
Gleason started, hastily put the gun at his feet, and looked up.
Duffy stood up and leant over the rail. He kept the Colt steady. “Where’s Annabel?” he asked.