The Adventures Of Sam Spade - Hammett Dashiell. Страница 10

“O. K.” Dundy turned to Spade again. “We find a threatening letter. Maybe that's what he was telling you about, maybe it was something his brother said to him. Don't let's guess. Let's stick to what we know. We know he—”

The man at the secretaire turned around and said, “Got another one.” His mien was somewhat smug.

The eyes with which the five men at the table looked at him were identically cold, unsympathetic.

He, nowise disturbed by their hostility, read aloud:

Dear Bliss:

I am writing this to tell you for the last time that I want my money back, and I want it back by the first of the month, all of it. If I don't get it I am going to do something about it, and you ought to be able to guess what I mean. And don't think I am kidding. Yours truly,

Daniel Talbot.”

He grinned. “That's another T for you.” He picked up an envelope. “Postmarked San Diego, the twenty-fifth of last month.” He grinned again. “And that's another city for you.”

Spade shook his head. “Point Loma's down that way,” he said.

He went over with Dundy to look at the letter. It was written in blue ink on white stationery of good quality, as was the address on the envelope, in a cramped, angular handwriting that seemed to have nothing in common with that of the penciled letter.

Spade said ironically, “Now we're getting somewhere.”

Dundy made an impatient gesture. “Let's stick to what we know,” he growled.

“Sure,” Spade agreed. “What is it?”

There was no reply.

Spade took tobacco and cigarette papers from his pocket. “Didn't somebody say something about talking to a daughter?” he asked.

“We'll talk to her.” Dundy turned on his heel, then suddenly frowned at the dead man on the floor. He jerked a thumb at the small, dark-faced man. “Through with it?”

“I'm through.”

Dundy addressed Tom curtly: “Get rid of it.” He addressed the gray-faced man: “I want to see both elevator boys when I'm finished with the girl.”

He went to the closed door Tom had pointed out to Spade and knocked on it.

A slightly harsh female voice within asked, “What is it?”

“Lieutenant Dundy. I want to talk to Miss Bliss.”

There was a pause; then the voice said, “Come in.”

Dundy opened the door and Spade followed him into a black, gray, and silver room, where a big-boned and ugly middle-aged woman in black dress and white apron sat beside a bed on which a girl lay.

The girl lay, elbow on pillow, cheek on hand, facing the big-boned, ugly woman. She was apparently about eighteen years old. She wore a gray suit. Her hair was blonde and short, her face firm-featured and remarkably symmetrical. She did not look at the two men coming into the room.

Dundy spoke to the big-boned woman, while Spade was lighting his cigarette: “We want to ask you a couple of questions, too, Mrs. Hooper. You're Bliss's housekeeper, aren't you?”

The woman said, “I am.” Her slightly harsh voice, the level gaze of her deep-set gray eyes, the stillness and size of her hands lying in her lap, all contributed to the impression she gave of resting strength.

“What do you know about this?”

“I don't know anything about it. I was let off this morning to go over to Oakland to my nephew's funeral, and when I got back you and the other gentlemen were here and—and this had happened.”

Dundy nodded, asked, “What do you think about it?”

“I don't know what to think,” she replied simply.

“Didn't you know he expected it to happen?”

Now the girl suddenly stopped watching Mrs. Hooper. She sat up in bed, turning wide, excited eyes on Dundy, and asked, “What do you mean?”

“I mean what I said. He'd been threatened. He called up Mr. Spade”—he indicated Spade with a nod—“and told him so just a few minutes before he was killed.”

“But who—?” she began.

“That's what we're asking you,” Dundy said. “Who had that much against him?”

She stared at him in astonishment. “Nobody would—“

This time Spade interrupted her, speaking with a soft ness that made his words seem less brutal than they were.

“Somebody did.” When she turned her stare on him he asked, “You don't know of any threats?”

She shook her head from side to side with emphasis.

He looked at Mrs. Hooper. “You?”

“No, sir,” she said.

He returned his attention to the girl. “Do you know Daniel Talbot?”

“Why, yes,” she said. “He was here for dinner last night.”

“Who is he?” '

“I don't know, except that he lives in San Diego, and he and Father had some sort of business together. I'd never met him before.”

“What sort of terms were they on?” She frowned a little, said slowly, “Friendly.” Dundy spoke: “What business was your father in?”

“He was a financier.”

“You mean a promoter?”

“Yes, I suppose you could call it that.”

“Where is Talbot staying, or has he gone back to San Diego?”

“I don't know.”

“What does he look like?”

She frowned again, thoughtfully. “He's kind of large, with a red face and white hair and a white mustache.”

“Old?”

“I guess he must be sixty; fifty-five at least.”

Dundy looked at Spade, who put the stub of his cigarette in a tray on the dressing table and took up the questioning. “How long since you've seen your uncle?”

Her face flushed. “You mean Uncle Ted?”

He nodded.

“Not since,” she began, and bit her lip. Then she said, “Of course, you know. Not since he first got out of prison.”

“He came here?”

“Yes.”

“To see your father?”

“Of course.”

“What sort of terms were they on?”

She opened her eyes wide. “Neither of them is very demonstrative,” she said, “but they are brothers, and Father was giving him money to set him up in business again.”

“Then they were on good terms?”

“Yes,” she replied in the tone of one answering an unnecessary question.

“Where does he live?”

“On Post Street,” she said, and gave a number.

“And you haven't seen him since?”

“No. He was shy, you know, about having been in prison—” She finished the sentence with a gesture of one hand.

Spade addressed Mrs. Hooper: “You've seen him since?”

“No, sir.”

He pursed his lips, asked slowly, “Either of you know he was here this afternoon?”

They said, “No,” together.

“Where did-?”

Someone knocked on the door.

Dundy said, “Come in.”

Tom opened the door far enough to stick his head in. “His brother's here,” he said.

The girl leaning forward, called, “Oh, Uncle Ted!”

A big blond man in brown appeared behind Tom. He was sunburned to an extent that made his teeth seem whiter, his clear eyes bluer, than they were.

He asked, “What's the matter, Miriam?”

“Father's dead,” she said, and began to cry.

Dundy nodded at Tom, who stepped out of Theodore Bliss's way and let him come into the room.

A woman came in behind him, slowly, hesitantly. She was a tall woman in her late twenties, blonde, not quite plump. Her features were generous, her face pleasant and intelligent. She wore a 'small brown hat and a mink coat.

Bliss put an arm around his niece, kissed her forehead, sat on the bed beside her. “There, there,” he said awkwardly.

She saw the blonde woman, stared through her tears at her for a moment, then said, “Oh, how do you do, Miss

Barrow.”

The blonde woman said, “I'm awfully sorry to —” Bliss cleared his throat, and said, “She's Mrs. Bliss now.

We were married this afternoon.”

Dundy looked angrily at Spade. Spade, making a cigarette, seemed about to laugh.

Miriam Bliss, after a moment's surprised silence, said, “Oh, I do wish you all the happiness in the world.” She turned to her uncle while his wife was murmuring “Thank you” and said, “And you too, Uncle Ted.”