The Adventures Of Sam Spade - Hammett Dashiell. Страница 12

Dundy said, “Right,” without turning his head and took the penciled threat signed with the T in a star from his pocket. He folded it so only the signature was visible. Then he asked, “Anybody know what this is?”

Miriam Bliss left the bed to join the others in looking at it. From it they looked at one another blankly.

“Anybody know anything about it?” Dundy asked. Mrs. Hooper said, “It's like what was on poor Mr. Bliss's chest, but—“ The others said, “No.”

“Anybody ever seen anything like it before?” They said they had not.

Dundy said, “All right. Wait here. Maybe I'll have something else to ask you after a while.”

Spade said, “Just a minute. Mr. Bliss, how long have you known Mrs. Bliss?”

Bliss looked curiously at Spade. “Since I got out of prison,” he replied somewhat cautiously. “Why?”

“Just since last month,” Spade said as if to himself. “Meet her through your brother?”

“Of course—in his office. Why?”

“And at the Municipal Building this afternoon, were you together all the time?”

“Yes, certainly.” Bliss spoke sharply. “What are you getting at?”

Spade smiled at him, a friendly smile. “I have to ask things,” he said.

Bliss smiled too. “It's all right.” His smile broadened. “As a matter of fact, I'm a liar. We weren't actually together all the time. I went out into the corridor to smoke a cigarette, but I assure you every time I looked through the glass of the door I could see her still sitting in the courtroom where I had left her.”

Spade's smile was as light as Bliss's. Nevertheless, he asked, “And when you weren't looking through the glass you were in sight of the door? She couldn't've left the courtroom without your seeing her?”

Bliss's smile went away. “Of course she couldn't,” he said, “and I wasn't out there more than five minutes.”

Spade said, “Thanks,” and followed Dundy into the living-room, shutting the door behind him. Dundy looked sidewise at Spade. “Anything to it?” Spade shrugged.

Max Bliss's body had been removed. Besides the man at the secretaire and the gray-faced man, two Filipino boys in plum-colored uniforms were in the room. They sat close together on the sofa.

Dundy said, “Mack, I want to find a green necktie. I want this house taken apart, this block taken apart, and the whole neighborhood taken apart till you find it. Get what men you need.”

The man at the secretaire rose, said “Right,” pulled his hat down over his eyes, and went out.

Dundy scowled at the Filipinos. “Which of you saw the man in brown?”

The smaller stood up. “Me, sir.”

Dundy opened the bedroom door and said, “Bliss.”

Bliss came to the door.

The Filipino's face lighted up. “Yes, sir, him.”

Dundy shut the door in Bliss's face. “Sit down.”

The boy sat down hastily.

Dundy stared gloomily at the boys until they began to fidget. Then, “Who else did you bring up to this apartment this afternoon?”

They shook their heads in unison from side to side. “Nobody else, sir,” the smaller one said. A desperately ingratiating smile stretched his mouth wide across his face.

Dundy took a threatening step towards them. “Nuts!” he snarled. “You brought up Miss Bliss.”

The larger boy's head bobbed up and down. “Yes, sir. Yes, sir. I bring them up. I think you mean other people.” He too tried a smile.

Dundy was glaring at him. “Never mind what you think I mean. Tell me what I ask. Now, what do you mean by

'them'?”

The boy's smile died under the glare. He looked at the floor between his feet and said, “Miss Bliss and the gentleman.”

“What gentleman? The gentleman in there?” He jerked his head toward the door he had shut on Bliss.

“No, sir. Another gentleman, not an American gentleman.” He had raised his head again and now brightness came back into his face. “I think he is Armenian.”

“Why?”

“Because he not like us Americans, not talk like us.”

Spade laughed, asked, “Ever seen an Armenian?”

“No, sir. That is why I think—“ He shut his mouth with a click as Dundy made a growling noise in his throat.

“What'd he look like?” Dundy asked.

The boy lifted his shoulders, spread his hands. “He tall, like this gentleman.” He indicated Spade. “Got dark hair, dark mustache. Very”—he frowned earnestly—“very nice clothes. Very nice-looking man. Cane, gloves, spats,| even, and—”

“Young?” Dundy asked.

The head went up and down again. “Young, yes, sir.”

“When did he leave?”

“Five minutes,” the boy replied.

Dundy made a chewing motion with his jaws, then asked, “What time did they come in?”

The boy spread his hands, lifted his shoulders again. “Four o'clock—maybe ten minutes after.”

“Did you bring anybody else up before we got here?”

The Filipinos shook their heads in unison once more.

Dundy spoke out the side of his mouth to Spade: “Get her.”

Spade opened the bedroom door, bowed slightly, said, “Will you come out a moment, Miss Bliss?”

“What is it?” she asked wearily.

“Just for a moment,” he said, holding the door open. Then he suddenly added, “And you'd better come along, too, Mr. Bliss.”

Miriam Bliss came slowly into the living-room followed by her uncle, and Spade shut the door behind them. Miss Bliss's lower lip twitched a little when she saw the elevator boys. She looked apprehensively at Dundy.

He asked, “What's this fiddlededee about the man that came in with you?”

Her lower lip twitched again. “Wh-what?” She tried to put bewilderment on her face. Theodore Bliss hastily crossed the room, stood for a moment before her as if he intended to say something, and then, apparently changing his mind, took up a position behind her, his arms crossed over the back of a chair.

“The man who came in with you,” Dundy said harshly, rapidly. “Who is he? Where is he? Why'd he leave? Why didn't you say anything about him?”

The girl put her hands over her face and began to cry. “He didn't have anything to do with it,” she blubbered through her hands. “He didn't, and it would just make trouble for him.”

“Nice boy,” Dundy said. “So, to keep his name out of the newspapers, he runs off and leaves you alone with your murdered father.”

She took her hands away from her face. “Oh, but he had to,” she cried. “His wife is so jealous, and if she knew he had been with me again she'd certainly divorce him, and he hasn't a cent in the world of his own.”

Dundy looked at Spade. Spade looked at the goggling Filipinos and jerked a thumb at the outer door. “Scram,” he said. They went out quickly.

“And who is this gem?” Dundy asked the girl. “But he didn't have any—”

“Who is he?”

Her shoulders drooped a little and she lowered her eyes. “His name is Boris Smekalov,” she said wearily.

“Spell it.”

She spelled it.

“Where does he live?”

“At the St. Mark Hotel.”

“Does he do anything for a living except marry money?”

Anger came into her face as she raised it, but went away as quickly. “He doesn't do anything,” she said.

Dundy wheeled to address the gray-faced man. “Get him.”

The gray-faced man grunted and went out.

Dundy faced the girl again. “You and this Smekalov in love with each other?”

Her face became scornful. She looked at him with scornful eyes and said nothing.

He said, “Now your father's dead, will you have enough money for him to marry if his wife divorces him?”

She covered her face with her hands.

He said, “Now your father's dead, will—?”

Spade, leaning far over, caught her as she fell. He lifted her easily and carried her into the bedroom. When he came back he shut the door behind him and leaned against it. “Whatever the rest of it was,” he said, “the faint's a phony.“

“Everything's a. phony,” Dundy growled.

Spade grinned mockingly. “There ought to be a law making criminals give themselves up.”