The little guy patted him on his arm. “If he ain’t got the camera, what can I do?”
Duffy sat up slowly and passed a hand over his face gently. Near by, on the arm of the couch, was an ashtray. One of those affairs with a leather spring that gripped the arm. It was quite a heavy thing. Duffy put his hand on it, then with one movement, he picked it off the arm of the couch and tossed it through the window. The glass shattered, making a high tinkling sound. Some of the glass fell in the street below.
The little guy said, “Clever, ain’t he?”
Clive ran to the door. “Let’s skip before the cops come up,” he said.
The little guy said, “Sure we’ll go.” Then he looked at Puffy. “We’ll be back, bright boy.”
He followed Clive out of the room.
Joe clouted Duffy on the side of the head. The blow knocked him off the couch on to the floor. “We’ll get together by’n by,” he said, and went to the door hurriedly, then he paused, looking at Duffy lying there. He came back and kicked Duffy very hard in the ribs.
The little guy put his head round the door.
“Come on, Joe,” he said, “we gotta get out of this.”
Joe followed him from the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.