“Who found him?”
“The man on the beat, Shilling. He was coming down Bush, and just as he got here a machine turning threw headlights up here, and he saw the top off the fence. So he came up to look at it, and found him.”
“What about the machine that was turning around?”
“Not a damned thing about it, Sam. Shilling didn’t pay any attention to it, not knowing anything was wrong then. He says nobody didn’t come out of here while he was coming down from Powell or he’d’ve seen them. The only other way out would be under the billboard on Stockton. Nobody went that way. The fog’s got the ground soggy, and the only marks are where Miles slid down and where this here gun rolled.”
“Didn’t anybody hear the shot?”
“For the love of God, Sam, we only just got here. Somebody must’ve heard it, when we find them.” He turned and put a leg over the fence. “Coming down for a look at him before he’s moved?”
Spade said: “No.”
Tom halted astride the fence and looked back at Spade with surprised small eyes.
Spade said: “You’ve seen him. You’d see everything I could.”
Tom, still looking at Spade, nodded doubtfully and withdrew his leg over the fence.
“His gun was tucked away on his hip,” he said. “It hadn’t been fired. His overcoat was buttoned. There’s a hundred and sixty-some bucks in his clothes. Was he working, Sam?”
Spade, after a moment’s hesitation, nodded.