The Maltese Falcon Read Online Free PDF

bitterly.
    He made an impatient gesture with his head and one hand.
    She frowned at him and demanded: “Did you see her last night?”
    “No.”
    “Honestly?”
    “Honestly. Don’t act like Dundy, sweetheart. It ill becomes you.”
    “Has Dundy been after you?”
    “Uh-huh. He and Tom Polhaus dropped in for a drink at four o’clock.”
    “Do they really think you shot this what’s-his-name?”
    “Thursby.” He dropped what was left of his cigarette into the brass tray and began to roll another.
    “Do they?” she insisted.
    “God knows.” His eyes were on the cigarette he was making. “They did have some such notion. I don’t know how far I talked them out of it.”
    “Look at me, Sam.”
    He looked at her and laughed so that for the moment merriment mingled with the anxiety in her face.
    “You worry me,” she said, seriousness returning to her face as she talked. “You always think you know what you’re doing, but you’re too slick for your own good, and some day you’re going to find it out.”
    He sighed mockingly and rubbed his cheek against her arm. “That’s what Dundy says, but you keep Iva away from me, sweet, and I’ll manage to survive the rest of my troubles.” He stood up and put on his hat. “Have the
Spade & Archer
taken off the door and
Samuel Spade
put on. I’ll be back in an hour, or phone you.”
    Spade went through the St. Mark’s long purplish lobby to the desk and asked a red-haired dandy whether Miss Wonderly was in. The red-haired dandy turned away, and then back shaking his head. “She checked out this morning, Mr. Spade.”
    “Thanks.”
    Spade walked past the desk to an alcove off the lobby where a plump young-middle-aged man in dark clothes sat at a flat-topped mahogany desk. On the edge of the desk facing the lobby was a triangular prism of mahogany and brass inscribed
Mr. Freed.
    The plump man got up and came around the desk holding out his hand.
    “I was awfully sorry to hear about Archer, Spade,” he said in the tone of one trained to sympathize readily without intrusiveness. “I’ve just seen it in the
Call.
He was in here last night, you know.”
    “Thanks, Freed. Were you talking to him?”
    “No. He was sitting in the lobby when I came in early in the evening. I didn’t stop. I thought he was probably working and I know you fellows like to be left alone when you’re busy. Did that have anything to do with his—?”
    “I don’t think so, but we don’t know yet. Anyway, we won’t mix the house up in it if it can be helped.”
    “Thanks.”
    “That’s all right. Can you give me some dope on an ex-guest, and then forget that I asked for it?”
    “Surely.”
    “A Miss Wonderly checked out this morning. I’d like to know the details.”
    “Come along,” Freed said, “and we’ll see what we can learn.”
    Spade stood still, shaking his head. “I don’t want to show in it.”
    Freed nodded and went out of the alcove. In the lobby he halted suddenly and came back to Spade.
    “Harriman was the house-detective on duty last night,” he said. “He’s sure to have seen Archer. Shall I caution him not to mention it?”
    Spade looked at Freed from the corners of his eyes. “Better not. That won’t make any difference as long as there’s no connection shown with this Wonderly. Harriman’s all right, but he likes to talk, and I’d as lief not have him think there’s anything to be kept quiet.”
    Freed nodded again and went away. Fifteen minutes later he returned.
    “She arrived last Tuesday, registering from New York. She hadn’t a trunk, only some bags. There were no phone-calls charged to her room, and she doesn’t seem to have received much, if any, mail. The only one anybody remembers having seen her with was a tall dark man of thirty-six or so. She went out at half-past nine this morning, came back an hour later, paid her bill, and had her bags carried out to a car. The boy who carried them says it was a Nash touring car, probably a