When she saw the pin she whimpered and opened her dressing-gown. She pushed aside the cream-colored pajama-coat under it and showed him her body below her left breast—white flesh crisscrossed with thin red lines, dotted with tiny red dots, where the pin had scratched and punctured it. “To stay awake … walk … till you came. … She said you’d come … were so long.” She swayed.
Spade tightened his arm around her and said: “Walk.”
She fought against his arm, squirming around to face him again. “No … tell you … sleep … save her …”
“Brigid?” he demanded.
“Yes … took her … Bur-Burlingame … twenty-six Ancho … hurry … too late …” Her head fell over on her shoulder.
Spade pushed her head up roughly. “Who took her there? Your father?”
“Yes … Wilmer … Cairo.” She writhed and her eyelids twitched but did not open. “… kill her.” Her head fell over again, and again he pushed it up.
“Who shot Jacobi?”
She did not seem to hear the question. She tried pitifully to hold her head up, to open her eyes. She mumbled: “Go … she …”
He shook her brutally. “Stay awake till the doctor comes.”
Fear opened her eyes and pushed for a moment the cloudiness from her face. “No, no,” she cried thickly, “father … kill me … swear you won’t … he’d know … I did … for her … promise … won’t … sleep … all right … morning …”
He shook her again. “You’re sure you can sleep the stuff off all right?”