“You’re being nice, aren’t you?”
“Nice, hell! I took the photos, didn’t I? I’ve got to do something to square that.”
She dropped into the arm-chair, and held her hand over her eyes. Duffy looked at her and then fetched another glass from the wagon. He poured in three fingers of Scotch and then filled his own glass. He came over to her. “Can you drink this stuff?” he said.
She took the glass from him. “I don’t want it,” she said.
“You’d better get a little drunk,” he said, “you’ve got a nasty job on your hands.”
She looked at him and he jerked his head at the door. “J guess we’ve got to get rid of Cattley.”
She said, “Can’t you do it?”
He grinned mirthlessly. “You’re in on this, too, sister,” he said. “I’m helping you, but I ain’t taking any rap.”
She drank the whisky neat and he gave her a cigarette.
“In a couple of hours that bird’s going to get as stiff as a board. I guess he won’t be too nice to handle like that. Now, we could pack him in a bag without much fuss.”