until it seemed plain that he meant to ignore her invitation to sit beside her, and then crossed to the settee.
'You aren't,' he asked as he sat down, 'exactly the sort of person you pretend to be, are you?'
'I'm not sure I know what you mean,' she said in her hushed voice, looking at him with puzzled eyes.
'Schoolgirl manner,' he explained, 'stammering and blushing and all that.'
She blushed and replied hurriedly, not looking at him: 'I told you this afternoon that I've been bad—worse than you could know.'
'That's what I mean,' he said. 'You told me that this afternoon in the same words, same tone. It's a speech you've practiced.'
After a moment in which she seemed confused almost to the point of tears she laughed and said: 'Very well, then, Mr. Spade, I'm not at all the sort of person I pretend to be. I'm eighty years old, incredibly wicked, and an iron-molder by trade. But if it's a pose it's one I've grown into, so you won't expect me to drop it entirely, will you?'
'Oh, it's all right,' he assured her. 'Only it wouldn't be all right if you were actually that innocent. We'd never get anywhere.'
'I won't be innocent,' she promised with a hand on her heart.
'I saw Joel Cairo tonight,' he said in the manner of one making polite conversation.
Gaiety went out of her face. Her eyes, focused on his profile, became frightened, then cautious. He had stretched his legs out and was looking at his crossed feet. His face did not indicate that he was thinking about anything.
There was a long pause before she asked uneasily:
'You—you know him?'
'I saw him tonight.' Spade did not look up and he maintained his light conversational tone. 'He was going to see George Arliss.'
'You mean you talked to him?'
'Only for a minute or two, till the curtain-bell rang.'
She got up from the settee and went to the fireplace to poke the fire. She changed slightly the position of an ornament on the mantelpiece, crossed the rooni to get a box of cigarettes from a table in a corner, straightened a curtain, and returned to her seat. Her face now was smooth and unworried.
Spade grinned sidewise at her and said: 'You're good. You're very good.'
Her face did not change. She asked quietly: 'What did he say?'
'About what?'
She hesitated. 'About me.'
'Nothing.' Spade turned to hold his lighter under the end of her cigarette. His eyes were shiny in a wooden satan's face.
'Well, what did he say?' she asked with half-playful petulance.
'He offered me five thousand dollars for the black bird.'
She started, her teeth tore the end of her cigarette, and her eyes, after a swift alarmed glance at Spade, turned away from him.
'You're not going to go around poking at the fire and straightening up the room again, are you?' he asked lazily.
She laughed a clear merry laugh, dropped the mangled cigarette into a tray, and looked at him with clear merry eyes. 'I won't,' she promised. 'And what did you say?'
'Five thousand dollars is a lot of money.'
She smiled, but when, instead of smiling, he looked gravely at her, her smile became faint, confused, and presently vanished. In its place came a hurt, bewildered look. 'Surely you're not really considering it,' she said.
'Why not? Five thousand dollars is a lot of money.'
'But, Mr. Spade, you promised to help me.' Her hands were on his arm. 'I trusted you. You can't—' She broke off, took her hands from his sleeve and worked them together.
Spade smiled gently into her troubled eyes. 'Don't let's try to figure out how much you've trusted me,' he said. 'I promised to help you—sure—but you didn't say anything about any black birds.'
'But you must've known or—or you wouldn't have mentioned it to me. You do know now. You won't—you can't—treat me like that.' Her eyes were cobalt-blue prayers.
'Five thousand dollars is,' he said for the third time, 'a lot of money.'
She lifted her shoulders and hands and let them fall in a gesture that accepted defeat. 'It is,' she agreed in a small dull voice. 'It is far more than I could ever offer you, if I must bid for your loyalty.'
Spade laughed. His laughter was brief and somewhat bitter. 'That is good,' he said, 'coming from you. What have you given me besides money? Have you given me any of your confidence? any of the truth? any help in helping you? Haven't you tried to buy my loyalty with money and nothing else? Well, if I'm peddling it, why shouldn't I let it go to the highest bidder?'
'I've given you all the money I have.' Tears glistened in her whiteringed eyes. Her voice was hoarse, vibrant. 'I've thrown myself on your mercy, told you that without your help I'm utterly lost. What else is there?' She suddenly moved close to him on the settee and cried angrily: 'Can I buy you with my body?'
Their faces were few inches apart. Spade took her face between his hands and he kissed her mouth roughly and contemptuously. Then he sat back and said: 'I'll think it over.' His face was hard and furious.
She sat still holding her numb face where his hands had left it.
He stood up and said: 'Christ! there's no sense to this.' He took two steps towards the fireplace and stopped, glowering at the burning logs, grinding his teeth together.
She did not move.
He turned to face her. The two vertical lines above his nose were deep clefts between red wales. 'I don't give a damn about your honesty,' he told her, trying to make himself speak calmly. 'I don't care what kind of tricks you're up to, what your secrets are, but I've got to have something to show that you know what you're doing.'
'I do know. Please believe that I do, and that it's all for the best, and—'
'Show me,' he ordered. 'I'm willing to help you. I've done what I could so far. If necessary I'll go ahead blindfolded, but I can't do it without more confidence in you than I've got now. You've got to convince me that you know what it's all about, that you're not simply fiddling around by guess and by God, hoping it'll come out all right somehow in the end.'
'Can't you trust me just a little longer?'
'How much is a little? And what are you waiting for?'
She bit her lip and looked down. 'I must talk to Joel Cairo,' she said almost inaudibly.
'You can see him tonight,' Spade said, looking at his watch. 'His show will be out soon. We can get him on the phone at his hotel.'
She raised her eyes, alarmed. 'But he can't come here. I can't let him know where I am. I'm afraid.'
'My place,' Spade suggested.
She hesitated, working her lips together, then asked: 'Do you think he'd go there?'
Spade nodded.
'All right,' she exclaimed, jumping up, her eyes large and bright. 'Shall we go now?'
She went into the next room. Spade went to the table in the corner and silently pulled the drawer out. The drawer held two packs of playingcards, a pad of score-cards for bridge, a brass screw, a piece of red string, and a gold pencil. He had shut the drawer and was lighting a cigarette when she returned wearing a small dark hat and a grey kidskin coat, carrying his hat and coat.
Their taxicab drew up behind a dark sedan that stood directly in front of Spade's street-door. Iva Archer was alone in the sedan, sitting at the wheel. Spade lifted his hat to her and went indoors with Brigid O'Shaughncssy. In the lobby he halted beside one of the benches and asked: 'Do you mind waiting here a moment? I won't be long.'
'That's perfectly all right,' Brigid O'Shaughnessy said, sitting down. 'You needn't hurry.'
Spade went out to the sedan. When he had opened the sedan's door Iva spoke quickly: 'I've got to talk to you, Sam. Can't I come in?' Her face was pale and nervous.
