sat on the side of the bathtub watching her and the open door. No sound came from the living-room. She removed her clothes swiftly, without fumbling, letting them fall down on the floor around her feet. When she was naked she stepped back from her clothing and stood looking at him. In her mien was pride without defiance or embarrassment.
He put his pistols on the toilet-seat and, facing the door, went down on one knee in front of her garments. He picked up each piece and examined it with fingers as well as eyes. He did not find the thousand-dollar bill. When he had finished he stood up holding her clothes out in his hands to her. “Thanks,” he said. “Now I know.”
She took the clothing from him. She did not say anything. He picked up his pistols. He shut the bathroom door behind him and went into the living-room.
Gutman smiled amiably at him from the rocking chair. “Find it?” he asked.
Cairo, sitting beside the boy on the sofa, looked at Spade with questioning opaque eyes. The boy did not look up. He was leaning forward, head between hands, elbows on knees, staring at the floor between his feet.
Spade told Gutman: “No, I didn’t find it. You palmed it.”
The fat man chuckled. “I palmed it?”
“Yes,” Spade said, jingling the pistols in his hand. “Do you want to say so or do you want to stand for a frisk?”
“Stand for—?”
“You’re going to admit it,” Spade said, “or I’m going to search you. There’s no third way.”