“Good,” Spade said and looked at Gutman and at Brigid O’Shaughnessy. “Sit down.”
The girl sat down gingerly on the end of the sofa by the unconscious boy’s feet. Gutman returned to the padded rocking chair, and Cairo to the armchair. Spade put his handful of pistols on the table and sat on the table-corner beside them. He looked at the watch on his wrist and said: “Two o’clock. I can’t get the falcon till daylight, or maybe eight o’clock. We’ve got plenty of time to arrange everything.”
Gutman cleared his throat. “Where is it?” he asked and then added in haste: “I don’t really care, sir. What I had in mind was that it would be best for all concerned if we did not get out of each other’s sight until our business has been transacted.” He looked at the sofa and at Spade again, sharply. “You have the envelope?”
Spade shook his head, looking at the sofa and then at the girl. He smiled with his eyes and said: “Miss O’Shaughnessy has it.”
“Yes, I have it,” she murmured, putting a hand inside her coat. “I picked it up. …”
“That’s all right,” Spade told her. “Hang on to it.” He addressed Gutman: “We won’t have to lose sight of each other. I can have the falcon brought here.”
“That will be excellent,” Gutman purred. “Then, sir, in exchange for the ten thousand dollars and Wilmer you will give us the falcon and an hour or two of grace—so we won’t be in the city when you surrender him to the authorities.”
“You don’t have to duck,” Spade said. “It’ll be airtight.”
“That may be, sir, but nevertheless we’ll feel safer well out of the city when Wilmer is being questioned by your District Attorney.”