The doubt in Cairo’s smile deepened. “It might make a world of difference,” he said, and rearranged his hands in his lap so that, intentionally or not, a blunt forefinger pointed at Spade.
The girl glanced at the pointing finger and made an impatient motion with her head. “Or me,” she said, “or you.”
“Exactly, and shall we add more certainly the boy outside?”
“Yes,” she agreed and laughed. “Yes, unless he’s the one you had in Constantinople.”
Sudden blood mottled Cairo’s face. In a shrill enraged voice he cried: “The one you couldn’t make?”
Brigid O’Shaughnessy jumped up from her chair. Her lower lip was between her teeth. Her eyes were dark and wide in a tense white face. She took two quick steps towards Cairo. He started to rise. Her right hand went out and cracked sharply against his cheek, leaving the imprint of fingers there.
Cairo grunted and slapped her cheek, staggering her sidewise, bringing from her mouth a brief muffled scream.
Spade, wooden of face, was up from the sofa and close to them by then. He caught Cairo by the throat and shook him. Cairo gurgled and put a hand inside his coat. Spade grasped the Levantine’s wrist, wrenched it away from the coat, forced it straight out to the side, and twisted it until the clumsy flaccid fingers opened to let the black pistol fall down on the rug.
Brigid O’Shaughnessy quickly picked up the pistol.
Cairo, speaking with difficulty because of the fingers on his throat, said: “This is the second time you’ve put your hands on me.” His eyes, though the throttling pressure on his throat made them bulge, were cold and menacing.
“Yes,” Spade growled. “And when you’re slapped you’ll take it and like it.” He released Cairo’s wrist and with a thick open hand struck the side of his face three times, savagely.
Cairo tried to spit in Spade’s face, but the dryness of the Levantine’s mouth made it only an angry gesture. Spade slapped the mouth, cutting the lower lip.
The door-bell rang.
Cairo’s eves jerked into focus on the passageway that led to the corridor-door. His eyes had become unangry and wary. The girl had gasped and turned to face the passageway. Her face was frightened. Spade stared gloomily for a moment at the blood trickling from Cairo’s lip, and then stepped back, taking his hand from the Levantine’s throat.
“Who is it?” the girl whispered, coming close to Spade; and Cairo’s eyes jerked back to ask the same question.
Spade gave his answer irritably: “I don’t know.”
The bell rang again, more insistently.
“Well, keep quiet,” Spade said, and went out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
Spade turned on the light in the passageway and opened the door to the corridor. Lieutenant Dundy and Tom Poihaus were there.
“Hello, Sam,” Tom said. “We thought maybe you wouldn’t’ve gone to bed yet.”
Dundy nodded, but said nothing.
Spade said good-naturedly: “Hello. You guys pick swell hours to do your visiting in. What is it this time?”
Dundy spoke then, quietly: “We want to talk to you, Spade.”
“Well?” Spade stood in the doorway, blocking it. “Go ahead and talk.”
Tom Polhaus advanced saying: “We don’t have to do it standing here, do we?”
Spade stood in the doorway and said: “You can’t come in.” His tone was very slightly apologetic.
Tom’s thick-featured face, even in height with Spade’s, took on an expression of friendly scorn, though there was a bright gleam in his smnall shrewd eyes. “What the hell, Sam?” he protested and put a big hand playfully on Spade’s chest.
Spade leaned against the pushing hand, grinned wolfishly, and asked: “Going to strong-arm me, Toni?”
Tom grumbled, “Aw, for God’s sake,” and took his hand away.
Dundy clicked his teeth together and said through them: “Let us in.”
Spade’s lip twitched over his eyetooth. He said: “You’re not coming in. What do you want to do about it? Try to get in? Or do your talking here? Or go to hell?”
Tom groaned.
Dundy, still speaking through his teeth, said: “It’d pay you to play along with us a little, Spade. You’ve got away with this and you’ve got away with that, but you can’t keep it up forever.”