“I’m sorry I…”she began.
“I’m going home,” Duffy said firmly. He had had a bellyful. “Tomorrow, perhaps. Tonight, no.”
He opened the door and lurched on to the street. He stood there, holding the door in his hand. “I’ve got to get those pictures back,” he said. “I’ll see you then.”
He slammed the door hard. He had a swift vision of her great eyes, wide with hate, her white teeth gleaming in the dark, then the Cadillac shot away from him.
He looked up and down the street for a taxi.
“I guess that honey hates my guts,” he said sadly, as a yellow taxi slid up to him.
CHAPTER IV
DUFFY’S PLACE WAS a three-room affair on the top storey of an old-fashioned apartment house.
The taxi-driver drew up at the kerb, just under the street light. Duffy got out of the cab, letting the door swing on its hinges.
“This it?” the taxi-driver asked.