button on his blue coat.
Spade said, “That again!” with mock resignation.
“But you know it’s so,” she insisted.
“No, I don’t know it.” He patted the hand that was twisting the button. “My asking for reasons why I should trust you brought us here. Don’t let’s confuse things. You don’t have to trust me, anyhow, as long as you can persuade me to trust you.”
She studied his face. Her nostrils quivered.
Spade laughed. He patted her hand again and said: “Don’t worry about that now. He’ll be here in a moment. Get your business with him over, and then we’ll see how we’ll stand.”
“And you’ll let me go about it—with him—in my own way?”
“Sure.”
She turned her hand under his so that her fingers pressed his. She said softly: “You’re a godsend.”
Spade said: “Don’t overdo it.”
She looked reproachfully at him, though smiling, and returned to the padded rocker.
Joel Cairo was excited. His dark eyes seemed all irises and his high-pitched thin-voiced words were tumbling out before Spade had the door half-open.
“That boy is out there watching the house, Mr. Spade, that boy you showed me, or to whom you showed me, in front of the theatre. What am I to understand from that, Mr. Spade? I came here in good faith, with no thought of tricks or traps.”