Duffy nodded. “I said you were just window-dressing,” he said briefly. “I gave you a break. Now go home and look after that wife of yours.”
Sam scratched his head. “She’s probably feeling a little lonesome right now.”
“Get going.”
“Ain’t you coming?”
“I’m calling on this Shann broad.”
Sam leered. “Three being a mob?”
Duffy nodded. “You got it, soldier,” he said. He watched Sam go over to the parking-place, and then went to the subway on Frankfort Street. Olga Shann had rooms in Brooklyn. He’d never heard of the address, so when he’d got over Brooklyn Bridge he left the subway and flagged a taxi.
He got to the address just after eleven o’clock. He hesitated to ask the taxi to wait. Then making up his mind, he paid him off.
The house was a two-storey villa, with identical models either side, stretching right down the street.
He unlatched the gate and walked up the short gravel path. There was a light showing from one of the second-floor windows. He pressed the buzzer with his thumb, and leant against the wall. He hadn’t the vaguest idea what he was going to say.