Spade’s face was blank. His voice held the same blanknesswhen he stepped back from helping the Levantine into his coat and said to Tom: “Tell him to leave the gun.”
Dundy took Cairo’s pistol from his overcoat-pocket and put it on the table. He went out first, with Cairo at his heels. Tom halted in front of Spade, muttering, “I hope to God you know what you’re doing,” got no response, sighed, and followed the others out. Spade went after them as far as the bend in the passageway, where he stood until Tom had closed the corridor-door.
9
BRIGID
Spade returned to the living-room and sat on an end of the sofa, elbows on knees, cheeks in hands, looking at the floor and not at Brigid O’Shaughnessy smiling weakly at him from the armchair. His eyes were sultry. The creases between brows over his nose were deep. His nostrils moved in and out with his breathing.
Brigid O’Shaughnessy, when it became apparent that he was not going to look up at her, stopped smiling and regarded him with growing uneasiness.
Red rage came suddenly into his face and he began to talk in a harsh guttural voice. Holding his maddened face in his hands, glaring at the floor, he cursed Dundy for five minutes without break, cursed him obscenely, blasphemously, repetitiously, in a harsh guttural voice.
Then he took his face out of his hands, looked at the girl, grinned sheepishly, and said: “Childish, huh? I know, but, by God, I do hate being hit without hitting back.” He touched his chin with careful fingers. “Not that it was so much of a sock at that.” He laughed and lounged back on the sofa, crossing his legs. “A cheapenough price to pay for winning.” His brows came together in a fleeting scowl. “Though I’ll remember it.”
The girl, smiling again, left her chair and sat on the sofa beside him. “You’re absolutely the wildest person I’ve ever known,” she said. “Do you always carry on so high-handed?”
“I let him hit me, didn’t I?”
“Oh, yes, but a police official.”
“It wasn’t that,” Spade explained. “It was that in losing his head and slugging me he overplayed his hand. If I’d mixed it with him then he couldn’t’ve backed down. He’d’ve had to go through with it, and we’d’ve had to tell that goofy story at headquarters.” He stared thoughtfully at the girl, and asked: “What did you do to Cairo?”
“Nothing.” Her face became flushed. “I tried to frighten him into keeping still until they had gone and he either got too frightened or stubborn and yelled.”
“And then you smacked him with the gun?”
“I had to. He attacked me.”
“You don’t know what you’re doing.” Spade’s smile did not hide his annoyance. “It’s just what I told you: you’re fumbling along by guess and by God.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, face and voice soft with contrition, “Sam.”
“Sure you are.” He took tobacco and papers from his pockets and began to make a cigarette. “Now you’ve had your talk with Cairo. Now you can talk to me.”
She put a fingertip to her mouth, staring across the room at nothing with widened eyes, and then, with narrower eyes, glanced quickly at Spade. He was engrossed in the making of his cigarette. “Oh, yes,” she began, “of course—” She took the finger away from her mouth and smoothed her blue dress over her knees. She frowned at her knees.
Spade licked his cigarette, sealed it, and asked, “Well?” while he felt for his lighter.
“But I didn’t,” she said, pausing between words as if she were selecting them with great care, “have time to finish talking to him.” She stopped frowning at her knees and looked at Spade with clear candid eyes. “We were interrupted almost before we had begun.”
Spade lighted his cigarette and laughed his mouth empty of smoke. “Want me to phone him and ask him to come back?”
She shook her head, not smiling. Her eyes moved back and forth between her lids as she shook her head,
Dundy took Cairo’s pistol from his overcoat-pocket and put it on the table. He went out first, with Cairo at his heels. Tom halted in front of Spade, muttering, “I hope to God you know what you’re doing,” got no response, sighed, and followed the others out. Spade went after them as far as the bend in the passageway, where he stood until Tom had closed the corridor-door.
9
BRIGID
Spade returned to the living-room and sat on an end of the sofa, elbows on knees, cheeks in hands, looking at the floor and not at Brigid O’Shaughnessy smiling weakly at him from the armchair. His eyes were sultry. The creases between brows over his nose were deep. His nostrils moved in and out with his breathing.
Brigid O’Shaughnessy, when it became apparent that he was not going to look up at her, stopped smiling and regarded him with growing uneasiness.
Red rage came suddenly into his face and he began to talk in a harsh guttural voice. Holding his maddened face in his hands, glaring at the floor, he cursed Dundy for five minutes without break, cursed him obscenely, blasphemously, repetitiously, in a harsh guttural voice.
Then he took his face out of his hands, looked at the girl, grinned sheepishly, and said: “Childish, huh? I know, but, by God, I do hate being hit without hitting back.” He touched his chin with careful fingers. “Not that it was so much of a sock at that.” He laughed and lounged back on the sofa, crossing his legs. “A cheapenough price to pay for winning.” His brows came together in a fleeting scowl. “Though I’ll remember it.”
The girl, smiling again, left her chair and sat on the sofa beside him. “You’re absolutely the wildest person I’ve ever known,” she said. “Do you always carry on so high-handed?”
“I let him hit me, didn’t I?”
“Oh, yes, but a police official.”
“It wasn’t that,” Spade explained. “It was that in losing his head and slugging me he overplayed his hand. If I’d mixed it with him then he couldn’t’ve backed down. He’d’ve had to go through with it, and we’d’ve had to tell that goofy story at headquarters.” He stared thoughtfully at the girl, and asked: “What did you do to Cairo?”
“Nothing.” Her face became flushed. “I tried to frighten him into keeping still until they had gone and he either got too frightened or stubborn and yelled.”
“And then you smacked him with the gun?”
“I had to. He attacked me.”
“You don’t know what you’re doing.” Spade’s smile did not hide his annoyance. “It’s just what I told you: you’re fumbling along by guess and by God.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, face and voice soft with contrition, “Sam.”
“Sure you are.” He took tobacco and papers from his pockets and began to make a cigarette. “Now you’ve had your talk with Cairo. Now you can talk to me.”
She put a fingertip to her mouth, staring across the room at nothing with widened eyes, and then, with narrower eyes, glanced quickly at Spade. He was engrossed in the making of his cigarette. “Oh, yes,” she began, “of course—” She took the finger away from her mouth and smoothed her blue dress over her knees. She frowned at her knees.
Spade licked his cigarette, sealed it, and asked, “Well?” while he felt for his lighter.
“But I didn’t,” she said, pausing between words as if she were selecting them with great care, “have time to finish talking to him.” She stopped frowning at her knees and looked at Spade with clear candid eyes. “We were interrupted almost before we had begun.”
Spade lighted his cigarette and laughed his mouth empty of smoke. “Want me to phone him and ask him to come back?”
She shook her head, not smiling. Her eyes moved back and forth between her lids as she shook her head,
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