Duffy waved a hand. “Take it easy,” he said, “you're rushing me. I want to get this straight. You want me to go to your wife's apartment and take pictures of her and someone else and turn these pictures over to you, that right?”
Morgan was getting impatient, Duffy could see that, but he held himself in with an effort. “That's right,” he said.
“What happens if she spots me and sends out the riot call?”
“She won't spot you,” Morgan said shortly. “Let me give you the idea. She is crazy about music and she's rich enough to indulge herself. In her sitting-room she has a small organ loft. This loft's a kind of balcony about ten feet from the floor, looking into the room. It's reached by a special staircase and there is a back entrance to the staircase.”
Duffy reached for the Scotch, but Morgan put his hand on the bottle. “Don't you think...?” he began, but Duffy took his hand away. He just lifted the fat man's hand and flung it back at him. His eyes looked annoyed.
“Listen,” he said tersely, “if you think I'm gettin' drunk, forget it. When I want a drink, I have a drink, see?”
Morgan shrugged. His face was pale and he gently rubbed his wrist. “Quite a grip you have there,” he said.
Duffy grinned. “Sure,” he said. He poured the Scotch into the glass and swallowed it. “Go on,” he said.
Morgan tapped on the table with his thick fingers. “You see, my wife didn't want the musicians tramping through her room. They could come up the back entrance and get fixed without any fuss. All you have to do is to go up the stairs and lie on the floor in the dark and take photos of the room below. You can't be spotted.”
When he put it like that, Duffy thought it certainly seemed easy. At the same time, something told him that this set-up was not quite on the level. For one thing, Morgan didn't give him any confidence. On the other hand, the dough was good, and he was going to need it. He had another go at him.
“Let's look on the dark side,” he said; “suppose she takes it into her head to play the organ and finds me up there, what then?”
Morgan shrugged his fat shoulders. “There's no other way up to the loft, so all you have to do is to slip the bolt. Once you're there, you're safe.” He took out his wallet and pushed five one-hundred-dollar bills over the table. “Besides,” he said with a little oily smile, “you surely expect to earn this money and not just have it given you.”
Duffy reached over and took the bills. He shoved them in his inside pocket. “Okay,” he said, “when do I start?”
Morgan pulled out a gold watch and glanced at it. Duffy noticed that his hand shook a little. “It's just after ten now,” he said, “you've got to get your equipment, and then go to the house. I think we could start now.”
Duffy got to his feet and pushed back the chair with his legs.
Morgan looked at him and said quietly, “I want to impress on you that this is important....”
Duffy raised his hand. “Skip it,” he said, “you don't have to tell me all that again. A thousand bucks a picture is more than important to me.”
Morgan climbed out of his chair. “You can do quite a bit with money like that,” he said.
Duffy said, “You're telling me.”
CHAPTER II
MORGAN HAD BEEN quite right. The whole set-up was easy. Duffy sat on his heels in the organ loft and felt hilariously at home. The small camera hung round his neck by a strap and the lighting of the room gave him no misgivings. He was going to make some money, he told himself. The organ loft was just as Morgan had described. It had an uninterrupted view of the room below and it was partly screened by heavy magenta curtains. Duffy had bolted himself in, and with the help of a pint of Scotch that he had brought with him, his nerves were calm and he could take a professional interest in his work.
He set the camera, using a big stop and a fairly fast shutter. Then he settled himself down to wait. Morgan had driven him to his apartment to collect his equipment and then had driven him to the back entrance to the loft. Morgan seemed to have had the whole thing planned carefully and it ran on oiled wheels. He had arranged to meet Duffy at the Princess bar that night, and Morgan was prepared to wait until he came.
Duffy looked down at the room with appreciation. It was a pretty swell joint, he told himself. The decoration was in magenta and cream. A cream pile carpet on the floor, and the large leather chairs, half cream and half magenta, gave the room a smart modern appearance. Duffy thought he'd like to have a place like this for his own.
He glanced at his wrist-watch. It was getting on for midnight. He wished that he could smoke, but he thought that that would be too risky. He wondered how long he had to wait. Just then the door below opened and a woman walked in hurriedly. She crossed the room and disappeared through another door. She had moved so quickly that Duffy hadn't had a chance to see what she was like. He cautiously spread himself on the floor, so that he was lying full length, his elbows supporting his arms as he swung the camera into position. He found that he could aim the camera through the narrow slots of the balcony, and he knew that he was completely hidden from the room below. He made himself comfortable by taking out a pint bottle of Scotch from his pocket, which was digging into him, then he settled down to wait.
A quarter of an hour dragged past, and he began to get fidgety, but suddenly he heard a faint whir of an electric bell. He stiffened and looked towards the door expectantly. The woman came out and crossed the room. He could see her now, and he thought, “O boy! O boy!” She was tall and slender. The pale green wrap of heavy silk which she had changed into set her figure off sharply. Duffy appreciated his private view. He admired her skin, which was pale and lovely, and he told himself that a dame with eyes as large as hers was a menace to weak men. He felt mighty weak himself towards her. Her scarlet lips promised passion, and he thought the red-gold hair was just the right finish to a mighty swell job. He thought Morgan showed a nice taste in women, but at the same time he wondered how a dame like that could have fallen for Morgan in the first place. It didn't surprise him in the least that she had given Morgan the air.
He watched her go to the door, and when she came back into the room again a man followed her closely. Duffy looked with interest at him. He was short and slight, with dark wavy hair. He seemed nervous and his face was unusually pale. The woman sat on the arm of a chair, quite close to a lamp standard. Duffy noted that the light fell directly on her. He focused his camera and gently pressed the release. The shutter slid with a faint click and Duffy pulled the triggerlike film-changer.
The man below said in a low voice, “You got it?”
When she spoke, her voice came drifting up to Duffy in a soft cadence. She had that rather breathless voice with a very faint huskiness that make most men interested. Duffy was more than interested.
She said, “I have the money.” She spoke with contempt, and the man squirmed under her gaze. “Did you bring the stuff?”
“I want the dough first,” he said; “make it snappy, lady, it ain't too healthy for me being here.”