“What makes you think the money ain’t there?”
“It’s the way I said it. I meant will you get the money from him.”
Duffy grimaced. “I hate handling this bird. He’s brittle.”
She came and stood close to him, looking down at Cattley. “Isn’t he going to get stiff soon?” she said. “Hadn’t you better straighten him out a little before he gets that way?”
Duffy said, “For God’s sake,” but he knelt down and cautiously pulled on Cattley’s legs. One of his shin-bones poked up through his trousers leg. Duffy got up and looked round the hall. He went over to the coat-rack and selected a walking-stick. Then he came back to Cattley and put the ferrel of the stick on the shin-bone and pressed. The leg straightened, and he did the same with the other one.
His face was a little yellow, and sweat glistened on his top lip. Cattley was making him feel a little sick. He hooked the handle of the stick round Cattley’s arm and put his toot against Cattley’s body, then he pulled gently. The arm came out from under Cattley like a limp draught-preventer.
Cattley’s head lay on his right shoulder. The skin round the neck had split a little. Duffy straightened the head too with the stick.
“Want me to cross his hands?” he said, for something to say. All the time he was fixing Cattley, she stood at his elbow and watched. Then she said, “Get the money!”
Duffy looked at her, his eyes narrowed. “Leave the money where it is,” he said shortly, “get me a drink.”
She went into the sitting-room and he followed her. He suddenly found that he was still holding the walking-stick. It had blood-smears on it. He went and put it beside Cattley. Then he walked back into the sitting-room again.