XIX

The girl’s eyes questioned Spade. He said in an indifferent tone: “It’s still his.”

She put her hand inside her coat, took out the envelope, and gave it to Spade. Spade tossed it into Gutman’s lap, saying: “Sit on it if you’re afraid of losing it.”

“You misunderstand me,” Gutman replied suavely. “It’s not that at all, but business should be transacted in a businesslike manner.” He opened the flap of the envelope, took out the thousand-dollar bills, counted them, and chuckled so that his belly bounced. “For instance there are only nine bills here now.” He spread them out on his fat knees and thighs. “There were ten when I handed it to you, as you very well know.” His smile was broad and jovial and triumphant.

Spade looked at Brigid O’Shaughnessy and asked: “Well?”

She shook her head sidewise with emphasis. She did not say anything, though her lips moved slightly, as if she had tried to. Her face was frightened.

Spade held his hand out to Gutman and the fat man put the money into it. Spade counted the money⁠—nine thousand-dollar bills⁠—and returned it to Gutman. Then Spade stood up and his face was dull and placid. He picked up the three pistols on the table. He spoke in a matter-of-fact voice. “I want to know about this. We”⁠—he nodded at the girl, but without looking at her⁠—“are going in the bathroom. The door will be open and I’ll be facing it. Unless you want a three-story drop there’s no way out of here except past the bathroom door. Don’t try to make it.”

“Really, sir,” Gutman protested, “it’s not necessary, and certainly not very courteous of you, to threaten us in this manner. You must know that we’ve not the least desire to leave.”