“Uh-huh, that’s what I came in about.” Spade frowned and cleared his throat. “I think I’m going to have to tell a coroner to go to hell, Sid. Can I hide behind the sanctity of my clients’ secrets and identities and whatnot, all the same priest or lawyer?”
Sid Wise lifted his shoulders and lowered the ends of his mouth. “Why not? An inquest is not a court-trial. You can try, anyway. You’ve gotten away with more than that before this.”
“I know, but Dundy’s getting snotty, and maybe it is a little bit thick this time. Get your hat, Sid, and we’ll go see the right people. I want to be safe.”
Sid Wise looked at the papers massed on his desk and groaned, but he got up from his chair and went to the closet by the window. “You’re a son of a gun, Sammy,” he said as he took his hat from its hook.
Spade returned to his office at ten minutes past five that evening. Effie Perine was sitting at his desk reading Time . Spade sat on the desk and asked: “Anything stirring?”
“Not here. You look like you’d swallowed the canary.”
He grinned contentedly. “I think we’ve got a future. I always had an idea that if Miles would go off and die somewhere we’d stand a better chance of thriving. Will you take care of sending flowers for me?”
“I did.”
“You’re an invaluable angel. How’s your woman’s intuition today?”
“Why?”
“What do you think of Wonderly?”
“I’m for her,” the girl replied without hesitation.