“She went home, and her husband still wasn’t there, and while she was undressing your messenger came with the news of his death.”
Spade didn’t speak until he had with great care rolled and lighted another cigarette. Then he said: “I think that’s an all right spread. It seems to click with most of the known facts. It ought to hold.”
Wise’s fingers, running through his hair again, combed more dandruff down on his shoulders. He studied Spade’s face with curious eyes and asked: “But you don’t believe it?”
Spade plucked his cigarette from between his lips. “I don’t believe it or disbelieve it, Sid. I don’t know a damned thing about it.”
A wry smile twisted the lawyer’s mouth. He moved his shoulders wearily and said: “That’s right—I’m selling you out. Why don’t you get an honest lawyer—one you can trust?”
“That fellow’s dead.” Spade stood up. He sneered at Wise. “Getting touchy, huh? I haven’t got enough to think about: now I’ve got to remember to be polite to you. What did I do? Forget to genuflect when I came in?”
Sid Wise smiled sheepishly. “You’re a son of a gun, Sammy,” he said.
Effie Perine was standing in the center of Spade’s outer office when he entered. She looked at him with worried brown eyes and asked: “What happened?”
Spade’s face grew stiff. “What happened where?” he demanded.
“Why didn’t she come?”
Spade took two long steps and caught Effie Perine by the shoulders. “She didn’t get there?” he bawled into her frightened face.