She raised her eyes, alarmed. “But he can’t come here. I can’t let him know where I am. I’m afraid.”
“My place,” Spade suggested.
She hesitated, working her lips together, then asked: “Do you think he’d go there?”
Spade nodded.
“All right,” she exclaimed, jumping up, her eyes large and bright. “Shall we go now?”
She went into the next room. Spade went to the table in the corner and silently pulled the drawer out. The drawer held two packs of playing cards, a pad of scorecards for bridge, a brass screw, a piece of red string, and a gold pencil. He had shut the drawer and was lighting a cigarette when she returned wearing a small dark hat and a grey kidskin coat, carrying his hat and coat.
Their taxicab drew up behind a dark sedan that stood directly in front of Spade’s street door. Iva Archer was alone in the sedan, sitting at the wheel. Spade lifted his hat to her and went indoors with Brigid O’Shaughnessy. In the lobby he halted beside one of the benches and asked: “Do you mind waiting here a moment? I won’t be long.”
“That’s perfectly all right,” Brigid O’Shaughnessy said, sitting down. “You needn’t hurry.”
Spade went out to the sedan. When he had opened the sedan’s door Iva spoke quickly: “I’ve got to talk to you, Sam. Can’t I come in?” Her face was pale and nervous.
“Not now.”
Iva clicked her teeth together and asked sharply: “Who is she?”