until the private detective touched his shoulder. He seemed moderately surprised for a moment, and then said: “Oh, yes, of course you saw the ticket.”
“Uh-huh. I’ve got something I want to show you.” Spade drew Cairo back towards the curb a little away from the other waiting theatregoers. “The kid in the cap down by Marquard’s.”
Cairo murmured, “I’ll see,” and looked at his watch. He looked up Geary Street. He looked at a theatre-sign in front of him on which George Arliss was shown costumed as Shylock, and then his dark eyes crawled sidewise in their sockets until they were looking at the kid in the cap, at his cool pale face with curling lashes hiding lowered eyes.
“Who is he?” Spade asked.
Cairo smiled up at Spade. “I do not know him.”
“He’s been tailing me around town.”
Cairo wet his lower lip with his tongue and asked: “Do you think it was wise, then, to let him see us together?”
“How do I know?” Spade replied. “Anyway, it’s done.”
Cairo removed his hat and smoothed his hair with a gloved hand. He replaced his hat carefully on his head and said with every appearance of candor: “I give you my word I do not know him, Mr. Spade. I give you my word I have nothing to do with him. I have asked nobody’s assistance except yours, on my word of honor.”
“Then he’s one of the others?”
“That may be.”