“Bring him round,” the little guy said.
Joe pulled Duffy’s ears. He took them in each hand and tugged as if he were milking a cow. Duffy groaned and tried to get his head away.
“He’s here now,” Joe said.
The little guy stood quite close to Duffy. “Come on,” he said loudly, “spill it. Where’s that goddam camera?”
“Somebody stole it,” Duffy mumbled only half conscious.
The little guy stood back. “Christ!” he said. “Did you hear that? He said someone stole it. This bird must be nuts to hang on so long.”
The telephone bell began to ring again. Clive said suddenly, “Perhaps it’s Mr. Morgan.”
The little guy said, “Quiet,” and looked at Duffy. Duffy lay with his eyes shut, but he had heard all right. His brain wouldn’t think, but he remembered all right. The little guy hesitated, then went over to the ’phone. He unhooked the receiver from its prong.
“Hello?” he said in his tight voice.
He stood listening. Then he said, “You got a wrong number, buddy,” and hung up. He shook his head. “Some guy wanting this bird,” he jerked his thumb at Duffy. “Suppose you try him again, Joe?”