'You think it's been so damned easy?' Spade asked, and shrugged. 'Well, maybe, but that's my business.'
'It certainly is,' the fat man agreed. He screwed up his eyes, moved his head to indicate the kitchen, and lowered his voice. 'Are you sharing with her?'
Spade said: 'That's my business too.'
'It certainly is,' the fat man agreed once more, 'but'—he hesitated—'I'd like to give you a word of advice.'
'Co ahead.'
'If you don't—I dare say you'll give her some money in any event, but—if you don't give her as much as she thinks she ought to have, my word of advice is—be careful.'
Spade's eyes held a mocking light. He asked: 'Bad?'
'Bad,' the fat man replied.
Spade grinned and began to roll a cigarette.
Cairo, still muttering in the boy's ear, had put his arm around the boy's shoulders again. Suddenly the boy pushed his arm away and turned on the sofa to face the Levantine. The boy's face held disgust and anger. He made a fist of one small hand and struck Cairo's mouth with it. Cairo cried out as a woman might have cried and drew back to the very end of the sofa. He took a silk handkerchief from his pocket and put it to his mouth. It came away daubed with blood. He put it to his mouth once more and looked reproachfully at the boy. The boy snarled, 'Keep away from me,' and put his face between his hands again. Cairo's handkerchief released the fragrance of chypre in the room.
Cairo's cry had brought Brigid O'Shaughnessy to the door. Spade, grinning, jerked a thumb at the sofa and told her: 'The course of true love. How's the food coming along?'
'It's coming,' she said and went back to the kitchen.
Spade lighted his cigarette and addressed Gutman: 'Let's talk about money.'
'Willingly, sir, with all my heart,' the fat man replied, 'but I might as well tell you frankly right now that ten thousand is every cent I can raise.'
Spade exhaled smoke. 'I ought to have twenty.'
'I wish you could. I'd give it to you gladly if I had it, but ten thousand dollars is every cent I can manage, on my word of honor. Of course, sir, you understand that is simply the first payment. Later—'
Spade laughed. 'I know you'll give me millions later,' he said, 'but let's stick to this first payment now. Fifteen thousand?'
Gutman smiled and frowned and shook his head. 'Mr. Spade, I've told you frankly and candidly and on my word of honor as a gentleman that ten thousand dollars is all the money I've got—every penny—and all I can raise.'
'But you didn't say positively.'
Gutman laughed and said: 'Positively.'
Spade said gloomily: 'That's not any too good, but if it's the best you can do—give it to me.'
Gutman handed him the envelope. Spade counted the bills and was putting them in his pocket when Brigid O'Shaughnessy came in carrying a tray.
The boy wouid not eat. Cairo took a cup of coffee. The girl, Gutman, and Spade ate the scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and marmalade she had prepared, and drank two cups of coffee apiece. Then they settled down to wait the rest of the night through. —
Gutman smoked a cigar and read Celebrated Criminal Cases of America, now and then chuckling over or commenting on the parts of its contents that amused him. Cairo nursed his mouth and sulked on his end of the sofa. The boy sat with his head in his hands until a little after four o'clock. Then he lay down with his feet towards Cairo, turned his face to the window, and went to sleep. Brigid O'Shaughnessy, in the armchair, dozed, listened to the fat man's comments, and carried on wide-spaced desultory conversations with-i Spade.
Spade roiled and smoked cigarettes and moved, without fidgeting or nervousness, around the room. He sat sometimes on an arm of the girl's chair, on the table-corner, on the floor at her feet, on a straight-backed chair. He was wide-awake, cheerful, and full of vigor.
At half-past five he went into the kitchen and made more coffee. Half an hour later the boy stirred, awakened, and sat up yawning. Gutman looked at his watch and questioned Spade: 'Can you get it now?'
'Give me another hour.'
Gutman nodded and went back to his book.
At seven o'clock Spade went to the telephone and called Effie Perine's number. 'Hello, Mrs. Perine? . . . This is Mr. Spade. Will you let me talk to Effie, please? . . . Yes, it is. . . . Thanks.' He whistled two lines of En Cuba, softly. 'Hello, angel. Sorry to get you up. . . . Yes, very. Here's the plot: in our Holland box at the Post Office you'll find an envelope addressed in my scribble. There's a Pickwick Stage parcel-roomcheck in it—for the bundle we got yesterday. Will you get the bundle and bring it to me—p. d. q.? . . . Yes, I'm home. . . . That's the girl—hustle. . . . 'Bye.'
The street-door-bell rang at ten minutes of eight. Spade went to the telephone-box and pressed the button that released the lock. Gutman put down his book and rose smiling. 'You don't mind if I go to the door with you?' he asked.
'O.K.,' Spade told him.
Gutman followed him to the corridor-door. Spade opened it. Presently Effie Perine, carrying the brown- wrapped parcel, came from the elevator. Her boyish face was gay and bright and she came forward quickly, almost trotting. After one glance she did not look at Gutman. She smiled at Spade and gave him the parcel.
He took it saying: 'Thanks a hot, lady. I'm sorry to spoil your day of rest, but this—'
'It's not the first one you've spoiled,' she replied, laughing, and then, when it was apparent that he was not going to invite her in, asked: 'Anything else?'
He shook his head. 'No, thanks.'
She said, 'Bye-bye,' and went back to the elevator.
Spade shut the door and carried the parcel into the living-room. Gutman's face was red and his cheeks quivered. Cairo and Brigid O'Shaughnessy came to the table as Spade put the parcel there. They were excited. The boy rose, pale and tense, but he remained by the sofa, staring under curling lashes at the others.
Spade stepped back from the table saying: 'There you are.'
Gutman's fat fingers made short work of cord and paper and excelsior, and he had the black bird in his hands. 'Ah,' he said huskily, 'now, after seventeen years!' His eyes were moist.
Cairo licked his red lips and worked his hands together. The girl's lower lip was between her teeth. She and Cairo, like Gutman, and like Spade and the boy, were breathing heavily. The air in the room was chilly and stale, and thick with tobacco smoke.
Gutman set the bird down on the table again and fumbled at a pocket. 'It's it,' he said, 'but we'll make sure.' Sweat glistened on his round cheeks. His fingers twitched as he took out a gold pocket-knife and opened it.
Cairo and the girl stood close to him, one on either side. Spade stood back a little where he could watch the boy as well as the group at the table.
Gutman turned the bird upside-down and scraped an edge of its base with his knife. Black enamel came off in tiny curls, exposing blackened metal beneath. Gutman's knife-blade bit into the metal, turning back a thin curved shrnving. The inside of the shaving, and the narrow plane its removal had heft, had the soft grey sheen of lead.
Gutman's breath hissed between his teeth. His face became turgid with hot blood. He twisted the bird around and hacked at its head. There too the edge of his knife bared lead. He let knife and bird bang down on the table while he wheeled to confront Spade. 'It's a fake,' he said hoarsely.
Spade's face had become somber. His nod was slow, but there was no slowness in his hand's going out to catch Brigid O'Shaughnessy's wrist. He pulled her to him and grasped her chin with his other hand, raising her face roughly. 'All right,' he growled into her face. 'You've had your little joke. Now teil us about it.'
She cried: 'No, Sam, no! That is the one I got from Kemidov. I swear—'
Joel Cairo thrust himself between Spade and Gutman and began to emit words in a shrill spluttering
