“Yes.”
He made an unpleasant face. “Well, it was hooey.”
She took him into a bright living-room, sighed, and slumped down on one end of a Chesterfield, smiling cheerfully up at him through her weariness.
He sat beside her and asked: “Everything went OK? Nothing said about the bundle?”
“Nothing. I told them what you told me to tell them, and they seemed to take it for granted that the phone call had something to do with it, and that you were out running it down.”
“Dundy there?”
“No. Hoff and O’Gar and some others I didn’t know. I talked to the Captain too.”
“They took you down to the Hall?”
“Oh, yes, and they asked me loads of questions, but it was all—you know—routine.”
Spade rubbed his palms together. “Swell,” he said and then frowned, “though I guess they’ll think up plenty to put to me when we meet. That damned Dundy will, anyway, and Bryan.” He moved his shoulders. “Anybody you know, outside of the police, come around?”
“Yes.” She sat up straight. “That boy—the one who brought the message from Gutman—was there. He didn’t come in, but the police left the corridor door open while they were there and I saw him standing there.”
“You didn’t say anything?”