“You got any liquor here?” he said.
She pointed to the kitchen. “It's in the pantry,” she said hoarsely.
Duffy found a big earthenware bottle of apple-jack after a hunt round. He found two glasses and came back into the sitting-room. He tilled both glasses and gave her one. “Put it down,” he said. “You need it.”
He drained his glass. The apple-jack went down his throat and then when it reached his stomach it exploded. He had to hold on to the table while his head was spinning, and he caught his breath. Just for a moment, he thought he was going to die, then all of a sudden he felt fine.
He looked at the bottle in amazement. “That's panther's spit okay,” he said.
He filled up his glass again, but this time he was more cautious. He did it in three. He looked at her with a little squint. “Sister,” he said, “you're coming home with me. This spot ain't going to be healthy any more.”
The apple-jack was bringing her round. He could see the faint colour coming back to her face. Again she touched her bruised neck. “I can't do that,” she said.
Duffy went over to her. “Pack a bag and get going,” he said; “you gotta make it fast. That bird might come back again.”
Her eyes widened with fear and she got up quickly. He had to help her to the door, her legs were weak. Then, when he saw she could make it, he left her to go upstairs. He went back and gave himself another drink.
By the time she had come down again, he was half cocked. He waved the bottle at her. “This is the best drop of phlegm-cutter I've run into for some time.”
She stood hesitating on the bottom stair. “Will you get me a taxi?” she said. “I'll go to some hotel.”
Duffy went over and took her bag. “You're coming home with me,” he said. “For the love of Mike, don't argue.”
He went out in the road and looked up and down, but he couldn't see a taxi. “We can walk to the end of the road,” he said; “we'll get a lift there.”
She turned out the lights and slammed the door. They walked down the street together. Duffy felt his feet were pressing into cotton wool. She said nothing until they reached the end of the road, then she said in a small voice, “Thank you.”
Duffy flagged a cab. He helped her in and gave the driver McGuire's address. Then he got in and sat beside her. He still had the apple-jack in one hand and her suit-case in the other.
“Don't you worry about that, sister. I was so scared I didn't think about you.” He uncorked the bottle, and took another long swig. Then he looked at her suspiciously and said, “This stuff won't give me Screaming-meemies, will it?”
She turned her face away from him and began to cry.
Duffy fell asleep.
CHAPTER VIII
WHEN SAM OPENED the door and saw them, his eyes popped.
Duffy came into the room, pushing past Sam. Olga hesitated, then followed Duffy. Sam shut the door and stood there scratching his head. He was in green pyjamas and a yellow bathrobe.
Duffy said, “Don't mind him. He ain't so sissy as he looks.”
Olga gave Sam a scared glance, but said nothing.
Sam said, “Introduce me, you drunken rat.”
“Miss Shann, this is Sam McGuire.”
She still said nothing.
Alice came out of the bedroom, her dressing-gown wrapped tightly round her. Duffy went over to her. “This is Olga Shann,” he said. “She's in a spot of trouble, so I brought her along.”
“Why, of course.” Alice put her hand on Olga's arm. “Bill can sleep on the couch, you can have his room.”
Olga said, “But don't you—?”
Duffy put the apple-jack on the table. “Wait a minute,” he interrupted. “A nice sleep is what you want, but I've got just a little question to ask you before you go.”
She turned to face him.
“Who was that guy that tried to get tough with you?”
“Max Weidmer. He and Cattley used to work together.”
Duffy nodded. “Okay; put her to bed, Alice, and be nice to her.”
As Alice led her from the room, Olga said, “But his face? How did he get so knocked about?”
Sam jerked his head. “She was talking about you.”
“Know where this Weidmer hangs out?”
Sam frowned. “Now what?” he asked.
“Come on.” Duffy's face was set.
Sam went to the telephone and spun the dial. While he 'phoned Duffy went into the bathroom and washed his face and hands. Sam came in a moment later. “He's got a room at the Lexingham Hotel.”
Duffy said, “Thanks,” then he walked into the sitting-room again.
Sam came in looking lost. “What's breaking now?”
Duffy said, “Lend me your rod.”
“Hey! You ain't going to mess around with a heater, for God's sake.”
“Don't talk; I'm getting action. Come on, give me the gun. I want to get going.”
Sam sighed and began taking off his dressing-gown. “Okay,” he said, “but I'm coming with you.”
Duffy touched his arm. “You ain't,” he said. “Things might happen round this burg. You gotta stay and keep an eye on things.”
Sam screwed up his eyes. “What is this?” he demanded.
“Weidmer tried to twist that dame's neck. He thinks she knows too much. I fancy he might try and get at her here. That's why you stay put.”
Sam's eyes grew big. “You want to take my gun?” he said. “What about me?”
“Get going,” Duffy said impatiently, “give me the gun before Alice starts on me. If you drink enough of that panther's breath, you won't need any gun.”
Sam went over to the hall table and came back with a .38 automatic. Duffy took it, looked at the magazine, then stuck it down the waist-band of his trousers. He adjusted the points of his vest to hide the butt.
“I may be late,” he said.
Alice came out just as he stepped into the hall. She just caught a glimpse of him. “Where's that crazy coon going now?” she asked.
Sam put down the apple-jack hastily. “He's going to get another dame,” he said wildly. “He's going to fill the whole goddam house with 'em.”
Alice took his arm. “You come along,” she said. “What you need is a good night's sleep.”
She didn't see the worried look in his eyes, as he followed her into the bedroom.