SPADE rode down from Gutman’s floor in an elevator. His lips were dry
and rough in a face otherwise pale and damp. When he took out his
handkerchief to wipe his face he saw his hand trembling. He grinned at
it and said, “Whew!” so loudly that the elevator-operator turned his
head over his shoulder and asked: “Sir?”
Spade walked down Geary Street to the Palace Hotel, where he ate
luncheon. His face had lost its pallor, his lips their dryness, and his
hand its trembling by the time he had sat down. He ate hungrily without
haste, and then went to Sid Wise’s office.
When Spade entered, Wise was biting a fingernail and staring at the
window. He took his hand from his mouth, screwed his chair around to
face Spade, and said: “’Lo. Push a chair up.”
Spade moved a chair to the side of the big paper-laden desk and sat
down. “Mrs. Archer come in?” he asked.
“Yes.” The faintest of lights flickered in Wise’s eyes. “Going to marry
the lady, Sammy?”
Spade sighed irritably through his nose. “Christ, now you start that!”
he grumbled.
A brief tired smile lifted the corners of the lawyer’s mouth. “If you
don’t,” he said, “you’re going to have a job on your hands.”
Spade looked up from the cigarette he was making and spoke sourly: “You
mean you are? Well, that’s what you’re for. What did she tell you?”
“About you?”
“About anything I ought to know.”
Wise ran fingers through his hair, sprinkling dandruff down on his
shoulders. “She told me she had tried to get a divorce from Miles so she
could—”
“I know all that,” Spade interrupted him. “You can skip it. Get to the
part I don’t know.”
“How do I know how much she—?”
“Quit stalling, Sid.” Spade held the flame of his lighter to the end of
his cigarette. “What did she tell you that she wanted kept from me?”
Wise looked reprovingly at Spade. “Now, Sammy,” he began, “that’s not—”
Spade looked heavenward at the ceiling and groaned: “Dear God, he’s my
own lawyer that’s got rich off me and I have to get down on my knees and
beg him to tell me things!” He lowered at Wise. “What in hell do you
think I sent her to you for?”
Wise made a weary grimace. “Just one more client like you,” he
complained, “and I’d be in a sanitarium—or San Quentin.”
“You’d be with most of your clients. Did she tell you where she was the
night he was killed?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Following him.”
Spade sat up straight and blinked. He exclaimed incredulously: “Jesus,
these women!” Then he laughed, relaxed, and asked: “Well, what did she
see?”
Wise shook his head. “Nothing much. When he came home for dinner that
evening he told her he had a date with a girl at the St. Mark, ragging
her, telling her that was her chance to get the divorce she wanted. She
thought at first he was just trying to get under her skin. He knew—”
“I know the family history,” Spade said. “Skip it. Tell me what she
did.”
“I will if you’ll give me a chance. After he had gone out she began to
think that maybe he might have had that date. You know Miles. It would
have been like him to—”
“You can skip Miles’s character too.”
“I oughtn’t to tell you a damned thing,” the lawyer said. “So she got
their car from the garage and drove down to the St. Mark, sitting in the
car across the street. She saw him come out of the hotel and she saw
that he was shadowing a man and a girl—she says she saw the same girl
with you last night—who had come out just ahead of him. She knew then
that he was working, had been kidding her. I suppose she was
disappointed, and mad—she sounded that way when she told me about it.
She followed Miles long enough to make sure he was shadowing the pair,
and then she went up to your apartment. You weren’t home.”
“What time was that?” Spade asked.
“When she got to your place? Between half-past nine and ten the first
time.”
“The first time?”
“Yes. She drove around for half an hour or so and then tried again. That
would make it, say, ten-thirty. You were still out, so she drove back
downtown and went to a movie to kill time until after midnight, when she
thought she’d be more likely to find you in.”
Spade frowned. “She went to a movie at ten-thirty?”
“So she says—the one on Powell Street that stays open till one in the
morning. She didn’t want to go home, she said, because she didn’t want
to be there when Miles came. That always made him mad, it seems,
especially if it was around midnight. She stayed in the movie till it
closed.” Wise’s words came out slower now and there was a sardonic glint
in his eye. “She says she had decided by then not to go back to your
place again. She says she didn’t know whether you’d like having her drop
in that late. So she went to Tait’s—the one on Ellis Street—had
something to eat and then went home—alone.” Wise rocked back in his
chair and waited for Spade to speak.
Spade’s face was expressionless. He asked: “You believe her?”
“Don’t you?” Wise replied.
“How do I know? How do I know it isn’t something you fixed up between
you to tell me?”
Wise smiled. “You don’t cash many checks for strangers, do you, Sammy?”
“Not basketfuls. Well, what then? Miles wasn’t home. It was at least two
o’clock by then—must’ve been—and he was dead.”
“Miles wasn’t home,” Wise said. “That seems to have made her mad
again—his not being home first to be made mad by her not being home. So
she took the car out of the garage again and went back to your place.”
“And I wasn’t home. I was down looking at Miles’s corpse. Jesus, what a
swell lot of merry-go-round riding. Then what?”
“She went home, and her husband still wasn’t there, and while she was
undressing your messenger came with the news of his death.”
Spade didn’t speak until he had with great care rolled and lighted
another cigarette. Then he said: “I think that’s an all right spread. It
seems to click with most of the known facts. It ought to hold.”
Wise’s fingers, running through his hair again, combed more dandruff
down on his shoulders. He studied Spade’s face with curious eyes and
asked: “But you don’t believe it?”
Spade plucked his cigarette from between his lips. “I don’t believe it
or disbelieve it, Sid. I don’t know a damned thing about it.”
A wry smile twisted the lawyer’s mouth. He moved his shoulders wearily
and said: “That’s right—I’m selling you out. Why don’t you get an
honest lawyer—one you can trust?”
“That fellow’s dead.” Spade stood up. He sneered at Wise. “Getting
touchy, huh? I haven’t got enough to think about: now I’ve got to
remember to be polite to you. What did I do? Forget to genuflect when I
came in?”
Sid Wise smiled sheepishly. “You’re a son of a gun, Sammy,” he said.
* * * * *
Effie Perine was standing in the center of Spade’s outer office when he
entered. She looked at him with worried brown eyes and asked: “What
happened?”
Spade’s face grew stiff. “What happened where?” he demanded.
“Why didn’t she come?”
Spade took two long steps and caught Effie Perine by the shoulders. “She
didn’t get there?” he bawled into her frightened face.
She shook her head violently from side to side. “I waited and waited and
she didn’t come, and I couldn’t get you on the phone, so I came down.”
Spade jerked his hands away from her shoulders, thrust them far down in
his trousers-pockets, said, “Another merry-go-round,” in a loud enraged
voice, and strode into his private office. He came out again. “Phone
your mother,” he commanded. “See if she’s come yet.”
He walked up and down the office while the girl used the telephone.
“No,” she said when she had finished. “Did—did you send her out in a
taxi?”
His grunt probably meant yes.
“Are you sure she—Somebody must have followed her!”
Spade stopped pacing the floor. He put his hands on his hips and glared
at the girl. He addressed her in a loud savage voice: “Nobody followed
her. Do you think I’m a God-damned schoolboy? I made sure of it before I
put her in the cab, I rode a dozen blocks with her to be more sure, and
I checked her another half-dozen blocks after I got out.”
“Well, but—”
“But she didn’t get there. You’ve told me that. I believe it. Do you
think I think she did get there?”
Effie Perine sniffed. “You certainly act like a God-damned schoolboy,”
she said.
Spade made a harsh noise in his throat and went to the corridor-door.
“I’m going out and find her if I have to dig up sewers,” he said. “Stay
here till I’m back or you hear from me. For Christ’s sake let’s do
something right.”
He went out, walked half the distance to the elevators, and retraced his
steps. Effie Perine was sitting at her desk when he opened the door. He
said: “You ought to know better than to pay any attention to me when I
talk like that.”
“If you think I pay any attention to you you’re crazy,” she replied,
“only”—she crossed her arms and felt her shoulders, and her mouth
twitched uncertainly—“I won’t be able to wear an evening gown for two
weeks, you big brute.”
He grinned humbly, said, “I’m no damned good, darling,” made an
exaggerated bow, and went out again.
* * * * *
Two yellow taxicabs were at the corner-stand to which Spade went. Their
chauffeurs were standing together talking. Spade asked: “Where’s the
red-faced blond driver that was here at noon?”
“Got a load,” one of the chauffeurs said.
“Will he be back here?”
“I guess so.”
The other chauffeur ducked his head to the east. “Here he comes now.”
Spade walked down to the corner and stood by the curb until the
red-faced blond chauffeur had parked his cab and got out. Then Spade
went up to him and said: “I got into your cab with a lady at noontime.
We went out Stockton Street and up Sacramento to Jones, where I got
out.”
“Sure,” the red-faced man said, “I remember that.”
“I told you to take her to a Ninth-Avenue-number. You didn’t take her
there. Where did you take her?”
The chauffeur rubbed his cheek with a grimy hand and looked doubtfully
at Spade. “I don’t know about this.”
“It’s all right,” Spade assured him, giving him one of his cards. “If
you want to play safe, though, we can ride up to your office and get
your superintendent’s O K.”
“I guess it’s all right. I took her to the Ferry Building.”
“By herself?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“Didn’t take her anywhere else first?”
“No. It was like this: after we dropped you I went on out Sacramento,
and when we got to Polk she rapped on the glass and said she wanted to
get a newspaper, so I stopped at the corner and whistled for a kid, and
she got her paper.”
“Which paper?”
“The _Call_. Then I went on out Sacramento some more, and just after
we’d crossed Van Ness she knocked on the glass again and said take her
to the Ferry Building.”
“Was she excited or anything?”
“Not so’s I noticed.”
“And when you got to the Ferry Building?”
“She paid me off, and that was all.”
“Anybody waiting for her there?”
“I didn’t see them if they was.”
“Which way did she go?”
“At the Ferry? I don’t know. Maybe upstairs, or towards the stairs.”
“Take the newspaper with her?”
“Yeah, she had it tucked under her arm when she paid me.”
“With the pink sheet outside, or one of the white?”
“Hell, Cap, I don’t remember that.”
Spade thanked the chauffeur, said, “Get yourself a smoke,” and gave him
a silver dollar.
* * * * *
Spade bought a copy of the _Call_ and carried it into an
office-building-vestibule to examine it out of the wind.
His eyes ran swiftly over the front-page-headlines and over those on the
second and third pages. They paused for a moment under SUSPECT ARRESTED
AS COUNTERFEITER on the fourth page, and again on page five under BAY
YOUTH SEEKS DEATH WITH BULLET. Pages six and seven held nothing to
interest him. On eight 3 BOYS ARRESTED AS S. F. BURGLARS AFTER SHOOTING
held his attention for a moment, and after that nothing until he reached
the thirty-fifth page, which held news of the weather, shipping,
produce, finance, divorce, births, marriages, and deaths. He read the
list of dead, passed over pages thirty-six and thirty-seven—financial
news—found nothing to stop his eyes on the thirty-eighth and last page,
sighed, folded the newspaper, put it in his coat-pocket, and rolled a
cigarette.
For five minutes he stood there in the office-building-vestibule smoking
and staring sulkily at nothing. Then he walked up to Stockton Street,
hailed a taxicab, and had himself driven to the Coronet.
He let himself into the building and into Brigid O’Shaughnessy’s
apartment with the key she had given him. The blue gown she had worn the
previous night was hanging across the foot of her bed. Her blue
stockings and slippers were on the bedroom floor. The polychrome box
that had held jewelry in her dressing-table-drawer now stood empty on
the dressing-table-top. Spade frowned at it, ran his tongue across his
lips, strolled through the rooms, looking around but not touching
anything, then left the Coronet and went downtown again.
In the doorway of Spade’s office-building he came face to face with the
boy he had left at Gutman’s. The boy put himself in Spade’s path,
blocking the entrance, and said: “Come on. He wants to see you.”
The boy’s hands were in his overcoat-pockets. His pockets bulged more
than his hands need have made them bulge.
Spade grinned and said mockingly: “I didn’t expect you till
five-twenty-five. I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”
The boy raised his eyes to Spade’s mouth and spoke in the strained voice
of one in physical pain: “Keep on riding me and you’re going to be
picking iron out of your navel.”
Spade chuckled. “The cheaper the crook, the gaudier the patter,” he said
cheerfully. “Well, let’s go.”
They walked up Sutter Street side by side. The boy kept his hands in his
overcoat-pockets. They walked a little more than a block in silence.
Then Spade asked pleasantly: “How long have you been off the goose-berry
lay, son?”
The boy did not show that he had heard the question.
“Did you ever—?” Spade began, and stopped. A soft light began to glow
in his yellowish eyes. He did not address the boy again.
They went into the Alexandria, rode up to the twelfth floor, and walked
down the corridor towards Gutman’s suite. Nobody else was in the
corridor.
Spade lagged a little, so that, when they were within fifteen feet of
Gutman’s door, he was perhaps a foot and a half behind the boy. He
leaned sidewise suddenly and grasped the boy from behind by both arms,
just beneath the boy’s elbows. He forced the boy’s arms forward so that
the boy’s hands, in his overcoat-pockets, lifted the overcoat up before
him. The boy struggled and squirmed, but he was impotent in the big
man’s grip. The boy kicked back, but his feet went between Spade’s
spread legs.
Spade lifted the boy straight up from the floor and brought him down
hard on his feet again. The impact made little noise on the thick
carpet. At the moment of impact Spade’s hands slid down and got a fresh
grip on the boy’s wrists. The boy, teeth set hard together, did not stop
straining against the man’s big hands, but he could not tear himself
loose, could not keep the man’s hands from crawling down over his own
hands. The boy’s teeth ground together audibly, making a noise that
mingled with the noise of Spade’s breathing as Spade crushed the boy’s
hands.
They were tense and motionless for a long moment. Then the boy’s arms
became limp. Spade released the boy and stepped back. In each of Spade’s
hands, when they came out of the boy’s overcoat-pockets, there was a
heavy automatic pistol.
The boy turned and faced Spade. The boy’s face was a ghastly white
blank. He kept his hands in his overcoat-pockets. He looked at Spade’s
chest and did not say anything.
Spade put the pistols in his own pockets and grinned derisively. “Come
on,” he said. “This will put you in solid with your boss.”
They went to Gutman’s door and Spade knocked.
13