“Good night,” he said. “You’re worrying about nothing.”
When he hung up, he sat on the edge of the bed thinking. A little shiver ran through him suddenly, and he got up impatiently. “Hell,” he said. “I guess my feet are damp.”
CHAPTER XVII
DUFFY WOKE WITH A start. Across the room, the sun leaked round the side of the blind, throwing ragged lines of light on the walls.
The telephone was ringing, grinding shrilly.
He said, “Goddam it,” and turned over in the bed. Pulling the blanket over his ears, he tried to ignore the jarring noise, but the bell went on ringing, insistently.
He turned over again and climbed stiffly out of the bed. Scooping up the telephone, he shouted, “What the hell is it?”
Sam was yelling at the other end. He was so excited that Duffy couldn’t understand a word. He said, “I can’t hear you. What is it?”
Sam choked, then came over quieter. “For God’s sake, Bill,” he said. “Hell’s broken loose this end. English’s double-crossing you. He’s slapped every rap he can lay hold of on you.”
Duffy stiffened. “Tell me,” he said.