'She thinks I shot Miles,' he said. Only his lips moved.
'So you could marry her?'
Spade made no reply to that. The girl took his hat from his head and put it on the desk. Then she leaned over and took the tobacco-sack and the papers from his inert fingers. 'The police think I shot Thursby,' he said.
'Who is he?' she asked, separating a cigarette-paper from the packet, sifting tobacco into it.
'Who do you think I shot?' he asked. When she ignored that question he said: 'Thursby's the guy Miles was supposed to be tailing for the Wonderly girl.'
Her thin fingers finished shaping the cigarette. She licked it, smoothed it, twisted its ends, and placed it between Spade's lips. He said, 'Thanks, honey,' put an arm around her slim waist, and rested his cheek wearily against her hip, shutting his eyes.
'Are you going to marry Iva?' she asked, looking down at his pale brown hair.
'Don't be silly,' he muttered. The unlighted cigarette bobbed up and down with the movement of his lips.
'She doesn't think it's silly. Why should she—the way you've played around with her?'
He sighed and said: 'I wish to Christ I'd never seen her.'
'Maybe you do now.' A trace of spitefulness came into the girl's voice. 'But there was a time.'
'I never know what to do or say to women except that way,' he grumbled, 'and then I didn't like Miles.'
'That's a lie, Sam,' the girl said. 'You know I think she's a louse, but I'd be a louse too if it would give me a body like hers—'
Spade rubbed his face impatiently against her hip, but said nothing. Effie Perine bit her lip, wrinkled her forehead, and, bending over for a better view of his face, asked: 'Do you suppose she could have killed him?'
Spade sat up straight and took his arm from her waist. He smiled at her. His smile held nothing but amusement. He took out his lighter, snapped on the flame, and applied it to the end of his cigarette. 'You're an angel,' he said tenderly through smoke, 'a nice rattle-brained angel.'
She smiled a bit wryly. 'Oh, am I? Suppose I told you that your Iva hadn't been home many minutes when I arrived to break the news at three o'clock this morning?'
'Are you telling me?' he asked. His eyes had become alert though his mouth continued to smile.
'She kept me waiting at the door while she undressed or finished undressing. I saw her clothes where she had dumped them on a chair. Her hat and coat were underneath. Her singlette, on top, was still warm. She said she had been asleep, but she hadn't. She had wrinkled up the bed, but the wrinkles weren't mashed down.'
Spade took the girl's hand and patted it. 'You're a detective, darling, but'—he shook his head—'she didn't kill him.'
Effie Perine snatched her hand away. 'That louse wants to marry you, Sam,' she said bitterly. He made an impatient gesture with his head and one hand. She frowned at him and demanded: 'Did you see her last night?'
'No.'
'Honestly?'
'Honestly. Don't act like Dundy, sweetheart. It ill becomes you.'
'Has Dundy been after you?'
'Uh-huh. He and Tom Polhaus dropped in for a drink at four o'clock.'
'Do they really think you shot this what's-his-name?'
'Thursby.' He dropped what was left of his cigarette into the brass tray and began to roll another.
'Do they?' she insisted.
'God knows.' His eyes were on the cigarette he was making. 'They did have some such notion. I don't know how far I talked them out of it.'
'Look at me, Sam.' He looked at her and laughed so that for the moment merriment mingled with the anxiety in her face. 'You worry me,' she said, seriousness returning to her face as she talked. 'You always think you know what you're doing, but you're too slick for your own good, and some day you're going to find it out.'
He sighed mockingly and rubbed his cheek against her arm. 'That's what Dundy says, but you keep Iva away from me, sweet, and I'll manage to survive the rest of my troubles.' I-I stood up and put on his hat. 'Have the Spade & Archer taken off the door and Samuel Spade put on. I'll be back in an hour, or phone you.'
Spade went through the St. Mark's long purplish lobby to the desk and asked a red-haired dandy whether Miss Wonderly was in. The redhaired dandy turned away, and then back shaking his head. 'She checked out this morning, Mr. Spade.'
'Thanks.'
Spade walked past the desk to an alcove off the lobby where a plump young-middle-aged man in dark clothes sat at a flat-topped mahogany desk. On the edge of the desk facing the lobby was a triangular prism of mahogany and brass inscribed Mr. Freed.
The plump man got up and came around the desk holding out his hand. 'I was awfully sorry to hear about Archer, Spade,' he said in the tone of one trained to sympathize readily without intrusiveness. 'I've just seen it in the Call. He was in here last night, you know.'
'Thanks, Freed. Were you talking to him?'
'No. He was sitting in the lobby when I came in early in the evening. I didn't stop. I thought he was probably working and I know you fellows like to be left alone when you're busy. Did that have anything to do with his—?'
'I don't think so, but we don't know yet. Anyway, we won't mix the house up in it if it can be helped.'
'Thanks.'
'That's all right. Can you give me some dope on an ex-guest, and then forget that I asked for it?'
'Surely.'
'A Miss Wonderly checked out this morning. I'd like to know the details .'
'Come along,' Freed said, 'and we'll see what we can learn.'
Spade stood still, shaking his head. 'I don't want to show in it.'
Freed nodded and went out of the alcove. In the lobby he halted suddenly and came back to Spade. 'Harriman was the house-detective on duty last night,' he said. 'He's sure to have seen Archer. Shall I caution him not to mentiomi it?'
Spade looked at Freed from the corners of his eyes. 'Better not. That won't make any difference as long as there's no connection shown with this Wonderly. Harriman's all right, but he likes to talk, and I'd as lief not have him think there's anything to be kept quiet.'
Freed nodded again and wemit away. Fifteen minutes later he returned. 'She arrived last Tuesday, registering from New York. She hadn't a trunk, only some bags. There were no phone-calls charged to her room, and she doesn't seem to have received much, if any, mail. The only one any— body remembers having seen her with was a tall dark man of thirty-six or so. She went out at half-past nine this morning, came back an hour later, paid her bill, and had her bags carried out to a car. The boy who carried them says it was a Nash touring car, probably a hired one. She left a forwarding address—the Anibassador, Los Angeles.'
Spade said, 'Thanks a lot, Freed,' and left the St. Mark.
When Spade returned to his office Effie Perine stopped typing a letter to tell him: 'Your friend Dundy was in. He wanted to look at your guns.'
'And?'
'I told him to come back when you were here.'
'Good girl. If he comes back again let him look at them.'
'And Miss Wonderly called up.'
'It's about time. What did she say?'
'She wants to see you.' The girl picked up a slip of paper from her desk amid read the memorandum penciled on it: 'She's at the Coronet, on California Street, apartment one thousand and one. You're to ask for Miss Lcblanc.'
