“Then tell me.”
“Nobody ever hired me to do anything about Dixie Monahan.”
Bryan and Thomas exchanged glances. Bryan’s eyes came back to Spade and he said: “But, by your own admission, somebody did hire you to do something about his bodyguard Thursby.”
“Yes, about his ex-bodyguard Thursby.”
“Ex?”
“Yes, ex.”
“You know that Thursby was no longer associated with Monahan? You know that positively?”
Spade stretched out his hand and dropped the stub of his cigarette into an ashtray on the desk. He spoke carelessly: “I don’t know anything positively except that my client wasn’t interested in Monahan, had never been interested in Monahan. I heard that Thursby took Monahan out to the Orient and lost him.”
Again the District Attorney and his assistant exchanged glances.
Thomas, in a tone whose matter-of-factness did not quite hide excitement, said: “That opens another angle. Monahan’s friends could have knocked Thursby off for ditching Monahan.”
“Dead gamblers don’t have any friends,” Spade said.
“It opens up two new lines,” Bryan said. He leaned back and stared at the ceiling for several seconds, then sat upright quickly. His orator’s face was alight. “It narrows down to three things. Number one: Thursby was killed by the gamblers Monahan had welshed on in Chicago. Not