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round her waist until she had it undone. The green wrap fell open and he saw she was naked. She stood a little on her toes, her hands clenched at her sides.
     “Take me,” she said, her voice just above a whisper, “take me, take me, take me.”
     Duffy smacked her face. He could see the marks of his fingers on her white skin. Then he smacked her face again. She blinked twice. Her eyes became human again, and she stood looking at him, a surprised and frightened look on her face.
     “Get dressed,” Duffy said thickly. He could only think of Cattley.
     She turned away from him and walked limply into the bedroom, then she shut the door.
     Duffy blotted his face with his handkerchief. He picked up the mackintosh sheet and walked into the hall. All the time he was telling himself what a sweet spot he had got himself into. It was bad enough to have to handle Cattley in the state he was in, but a dame as screwy as Annabel flattened him. He looked at Cattley in disgust. “If you weren't going to stiffen on me, I'd be having fun right now,” he said viciously.
     He spread the sheet flat by Cattley's side, then he picked up the walking-stick and hooked hold of Cattley's armpit. He couldn't quite bring himself to touch him with his hands. With a little maneuvering he rolled him on to the sheet. Then he knelt down and made a neat parcel of the body.
     By the time he had done that he felt so low that he went back into the sitting-room and gave himself another shot of Scotch. His legs were feeling light, and he guessed he was getting pretty high. His head was clear, and he felt just reckless enough to go on with it.
     He poured out a stiff dose in Annabel's glass and went into the bedroom. When he got in the room, he nearly dropped the whisky. She was lying on her side on the bed. She was in her birthday suit, and it was a pretty good birthday suit at that.
     He put the glass on the small table by the bed, and then he backed out of the room. There was only one driving thought in his mind. He had to plant Cattley before his muscles went like a board. Once he got that way, Duffy knew he'd be sunk.
     He went into the kitchen and flicked on the light. The kitchen was large, with white tiles half-way up the walls, and yellow varnished paint on the other half. The floor was covered with large black and white checks. He thought it was a swell kitchen. He hunted about until he found a length of cord, then he went back to Cattley, lying snug in his parcel. He knelt, down and made the parcel secure with the cord. Then he walked back to the sitting-room and dragged the trunk into the hall and wedged Cattley into it.
     Half-way through he had to stop and sit on a chair. There was no resistance in the parcel at all. Cattley was just pulp. He sat there staring at the trunk and at the bulge of the mackintosh, that overlapped the sides of the trunk. Then he got up and wedged the overlapping parts in with the stick. The lid wouldn't quite close, so he stood on it. That made him feel bad, but he got the locks fastened somehow.
     He took out his handkerchief and wiped off his palms and patted his face.
     While he was standing there Annabel came out of the bedroom. She was wearing a black skirt, a white silk blouse, and a black three-quarter coat. She held a pair of magpie gauntlets in her hand. She moved slowly, with just a little sway on. He could see that the whisky was hitting her.
     She peered at him.
     “He's packed up,” he said harshly.
     She said nothing, but he was surprised to see how her eyes hated him. He thought about it for a moment, then agreed that she had reason to be sore.
     “I never was good with a corpse lying around,” he said.
     She ignored that and stood, her head turned away from him, by the table.. “What now?” she said.
     “Can you get your car?”
     “The