Brigid O’Shaughnessy smiled at him and said: “But I haven’t got the falcon.” Cairo’s face was darkened by a flush of annoyance. He put an ugly hand on either arm of his chair, holding his small-boned body erect and stiff between them. His dark eyes were angry. He did not say anything. The girl made a mock-placatory face at him. “I’ll have it in a week at the most, though,” she said. “Where is it?” Cairo used politeness of mien to express skepticism. “Where Floyd hid it.” “Floyd? Thursby?” She nodded. “And you know where that is?” he asked. “I think I do.” “Then why must we wait a week?”
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