Tom Polhaus lowered his head, sniffed the odor of chypre that the mopping handkerchief had released in the air, and turned his head to scowl interrogatively at Spade. Spade winked at him and went on rolling a cigarette.
Dundy asked: “Well, what happened then?”
“Then they attacked me. She struck me first, and then he choked me and took the pistol out of my pocket. I don’t know what they would have done next if you hadn’t arrived at that moment. I dare say they would have murdered me then and there. When he went out to answer the bell he left her here with the pistol to watch over me.”
Brigid O’Shaughnessy jumped out of the armchair crying, “Why don’t you make him tell the truth?” and slapped Cairo on the cheek.
Cairo yelled inarticulately.
Dundy pushed the girl back into the chair with the hand that was not holding the Levantine’s arm and growled: “None of that now.”
Spade, lighting his cigarette, grinned softly through smoke and told Tom: “She’s impulsive.”
“Yeah,” Tom agreed.
Dundy scowled down at the girl and asked: “What do you want us to think the truth is?”
“Not what he said,” she replied. “Not anything he said.” She turned to Spade. “Is it?”
“How do I know?” Spade responded. “I was out in the kitchen mixing an omelette when it all happened, wasn’t I?”