The Adventures Of Sam Spade

by Dashiell Hammett

  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.”

  Mr. Bliss smiled and sat down at his brother's desk by the window.

  Dundy's voice was disagreeable. “You got nothing to worry about,” he said to Spade. “Even your client's dead and can't complain. But if I don't come across I've got to stand for riding from the captain, the chief, the newspapers, and heaven knows who all.”

  “Stay with it,” Spade said soothingly; “you'll catch a murderer sooner or later yet.” His face became serious except for the lights in his yellow-gray eyes. “I don't want to run this job up any more alleys than we have to, but don't you think we ought to check up on the funeral the housekeeper said she went to? There's something funny about that woman.”

  After looking suspiciously at Spade for a moment, Dundy nodded, and said, “Tom'11 do it.”

  Spade turned about and, shaking his ringer at Tom, said, “It's a ten-to-one bet there wasn't any funeral. Check on it … don't miss a trick.”

  Then he opened the bedroom door and called Mrs. Hooper. “Sergeant Polhaus wants some information from you,” he told her.

  While Tom was writing down names and addresses that the woman gave him, Spade sat on the sofa and made and smoked a cigarette, and Dundy walked the floor slowly, scowling at the rug. With Spade's approval, Theodore Bliss rose and rejoined his wife in the bedroom.

  Presently Tom put his note book in his pocket, said, “Thank you,” to the housekeeper, “Be seeing you,” to Spade and Dundy, and left the apartment.

  The housekeeper stood where he had left her, ugly, strong, serene, patient.

  Spade twisted himself around on the sofa until he was looking into her deep-set, steady eyes. “Don't worry about that,” he said, flirting a hand toward the door Tom had gone through. “Just routine.” He pursed his lips, asked, “What do you honestly think of this thing, Mrs. Hooper?” She replied calmly, in her strong, somewhat harsh voice, “I think it's the judgment of God.” Dundy stopped pacing the floor. Spade said, “What?”

  There was certainty and no excitement in her voice: “The wages of sin is death.”

  Dundy began to advance towards Mrs. Hooper in the manner of one stalking game. Spade waved him back with a hand which the sofa hid from the woman. His face and voice showed interest, but were now as composed as the woman's. “Sin?” he asked.

  She said, “ 'Whosoever shall offend one of these little ones that believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged around his neck, and he were cast into the sea.'” She spoke, not as if quoting, but as if saying something she believed.

  Dundy barked a question at her: “What little one?” She turned her grave gray eyes on him, then looked past him at the bedroom door. “Her,” she said; “Miriam.” Dundy frowned at her, “His daughter?” The woman said, “Yes, his own adopted daughter.” Angry blood mottled Dundy's square face. “What the heck is this?” he demanded. He shook his head as if to free it from some clinging thing. “She's not really his daughter?”

  The woman's serenity was in no way disturbed by his anger. “No. His wife was an invalid most of her life. They didn't have any children.”

  Dundy moved his jaws as if chewing for a moment and when he spoke again his voice was cooler. “What did he do to her?”

  “I don't know,” she said, “but I truly believe that when the truth's found out you'll see that the money her father—I mean her real father—left her has been—“

  Spade interrupted her, taking pains to speak very clearly, moving one hand in small circles with his words. “You mean you don't actually know he's been gypping her? You just suspect it?”

  She put a hand over her heart. “I know it here,” she replied calmly.

  Dundy looked at Spade, Spade at Dundy, and Spade's eyes were shiny with not altogether pleasant merriment. Dundy cleared his throat and addressed the woman again. “And you think this”—he waved a hand at the floor where the dead man had lain—“was the judgment of God, huh?”

  “I do.”

  He kept all but the barest trace of craftiness out of his eyes. “Then whoever did it was just acting as the hand of God?”

  “It's not for me to say,” she replied. Red began to mottle his face again. “That'll be all right now,” he said in a choking voice, but by the time she had reached the bedroom door his eyes became alert again and he called, “Wait a minute.” And when they were facing each other: “Listen, do you happen to be a Rosicrucian?”

  “I wish to be nothing but a Christian.”

  He growled, “All right, all right,” and turned his back on her. She went into the bedroom and shut the door. He wiped his forehead with the palm of his right hand and complained wearily, “Great Scott, what a family.”

  Spade shrugged, “Try investigating your own some time.”

  Dundy's face whitened. His lips, almost colorless, came back tight over his teeth. He balled his fists and lunged towards Spade. “What do you—?” The pleasantly surprised look on Spade's face stopped him. He averted his eyes, wet his lips with the tip of his tongue, looked at Spade again and away, essayed an embarrassed smile, and mumbled, “You mean any family. Uh-huh, I guess so.” He turned hastily towards the corridor door as the doorbell rang.

  The amusement twitching Spade's face accentuated his likeness to a blond satan.

  An amiable, drawling voice came in through the corridor, door: “I'm Jim Kittredge, Superior Court. I was told to come over here.”

  Dundy's voice: “Yes, come in.”

  Kittredge was a roly-poly ruddy man in too-tight clothes with the shine of age on them. He nodded at Spade and said, “I remember you, Mr. Spade, from the Burke-Harris suit.”

  Spade said, “Sure,” and stood up to shake hands with him.

  Dundy had gone to the bedroom door to call Theodore Bliss and his wife. Kittredge looked at them, smiled at them amiably, said, “How do you do?” and turned to Dundy. “That's them, all right.” He looked around as if for a place to spit, found none, and said, “It was just about ten minutes to four that the gentleman there came in the courtroom and asked me how long His Honor would be, and I told him about ten minutes, and they waited there; and right after court adjourned at four o'clock we married them.”

  Dundy said, “Thanks.” He sent Kittredge away, the Blisses back to the bedroom, scowled with dissatisfaction at Spade, and said, “So what?”

  Spade, sitting down again, replied, “So you couldn't get from here to the Municipal Building in less than fifteen minutes on a bet, so he couldnt've ducked back here while he was waiting for the judge, and he couldn't have hustled over here to do it after the wedding and before Miriam arrived.”

  The dissatisfaction in Dundy's face increased. He opened his mouth, but shut it in silence when the gray-faced man came in with a tall, slender, pale young man who fitted the description the Filipino had given of Miriam Bliss's companion.

  The gray-faced man said, “Lieutenant Dundy, Mr. Spade, Mr. Boris—uh—Smekalov.”

  Dundy nodded curtly.

  Smekalov began to speak immediately. His accent was not heavy enough to trouble his hearers much, though his r's sounded more like w's. “Lieutenant, I must beg of you that you keep this confidential. If it should get out it will ruin me, Lieutenant, ruin me completely and most unjustly. I am most innocent, sir, I assure you, in heart, spirit, and deed, not only innocent, but in no way whatever connected with any part of the whole horrible matter. There is no —”

  “Wait a minute.” Dundy prodded Smekalov's chest with a blunt finger. “Nobody's said anything about you being mixed up in anything —but it'd looked better if you'd stuck around.”

  The young man spread his arms, his palms forward, in an expansive gesture. “But what can I do? I have a wife who—“ He shook his head violently. “It is impossible. I cannot do it.”

  The gray-faced man said to Spade in an
inadequately subdued voice, “Goofy, these Russians.”

  Dundy screwed up his eyes at Smekalov and made his voice judicial. “You've probably,” he said, “put yourself in a pretty tough spot.”

  Smekalov seemed about to cry. “But only put yourself in my place,” he begged, “and you—“

  “Wouldn't want to.” Dundy seemed, in his callous way, sorry for the young man. “Murder's nothing to play with in this country.”

  “Murder! But I tell you, Lieutenant, I happen' to enter into this situation by the merest mischance only. I am not—”

  “You mean you came in here with Miss Bliss by accident?”

  The young man looked as if he would like to say “Yes.” He said, “No,” slowly, then went on with increasing rapidity: “But that was nothing, sir, nothing at all. We had been to lunch. I escorted her home and she said, 'Will you come in for a cocktail?' and I would. That is all, I give you my word.” He held out his hands, palms up. “Could it not have happened so to you?” He moved his hands in Spade's direction. “To you?”

  Spade said, “A lot of things happen to me. Did Bliss know you were running around with his daughter?”

  “He knew we were friends, yes.”

  “Did he know you had a wife?”

  Smekalov said cautiously, “I do not think so.”

  Dundy said, “You know he didn't.”

  Smekalov moistened his lips and did not contradict the lieutenant.

  Dundy asked, “What do you think he'd've done if he found out?”

  “I do not know, sir.”

  Dundy stepped close to the young man and spoke through his teeth in a harsh, deliberate voice: “What did he do when he found out?”

  The young man retreated a step, his face white and frightened.

  The bedroom door opened and Miriam Bliss came into the room. “Why don't you leave him alone?” she asked indignantly. “I told you he had nothing to do with it. I told you he didn't know anything about it.” She was beside Smekalov now and had one of his hands in hers. “You're simply making trouble for him without doing a bit of good. I'm awfully sorry, Boris, I tried to keep them from bothering you.”