looked like a schoolboy standing in front of them.
Luke said: “Well, if you don’t want anything, beat it, and don’t come back.”
The boy said, “I won’t forget you guys,” and went out.
They watched him go out. Spade took off his hat and wiped his damp forehead with a handkerchief.
The hotel-detective asked: “What is it?”
“Damned if I know,” Spade replied. “I just happened to spot him. Know anything about Joel Cairo—six-thirty-five?”
“Oh, that one!” The hotel-detective leered.
“How long’s he been here?”
“Four days. This is the fifth.”
“What about him?”
“Search me, Sam. I got nothing against him but his looks.”
“Find out if he came in last night?”
“Try to,” the hotel-detective promised and went away. Spade sat on the divan until he returned. “No,” Luke reported, “he didn’t sleep in his room. What is it?”
“Nothing.”
“Come clean. You know I’ll keep my clam shut, but if there’s anything wrong we ought to know about it so’s we can collect our bill.”
“Nothing like that,” Spade assured him. “As a matter of fact, I’m doing a little work for him. I’d tell you if he was wrong.”