—Se lo dije, sí. Cuando salimos a dar un paseo esa noche, fingí descubrir al señor Archer siguiéndonos y se lo señalé a Floyd.
Ella sollozó.
—Pero créeme, por favor, Sam, que no lo habría hecho si hubiera pensado que Floyd iba a matarlo. Pensé que se asustaría y se iría de la ciudad. Ni por un minuto se me ocurrió que le iba a disparar de esa manera.
Spade smiled wolfishly with his lips, but not at all with his eyes. He said: “If you thought he wouldn’t you were right, angel.”
El rostro en alto de la niña expresaba un asombro absoluto.
Spade said: “Thursby didn’t shoot him.”
La incredulidad se sumó al asombro en el rostro de la muchacha.
Spade said:
“Miles hadn’t many brains, but, Christ! he had too many years’ experience as a detective to be caught like that by the man he was shadowing. Up a blind alley with his gun tucked away on his hip and his overcoat buttoned? Not a chance. He was as dumb as any man ought to be, but he wasn’t quite that dumb. The only two ways out of the alley could be watched from the edge of Bush Street over the tunnel. You’d told us Thursby was a bad actor. He couldn’t have tricked Miles into the alley like that, and he couldn’t have driven him in. He was dumb, but not dumb enough for that.”
He ran his tongue over the inside of his lips and smiled affectionately at the girl. He said: “But he’d’ve gone up there with you, angel, if he was