He took a newspaper from the basket. His eyes brightened when he saw it was the previous day’s Call. It was folded with the classified-advertising-page outside. He opened it, examined that page, and nothing there stopped his eyes.
He turned the paper over and looked at the page that had been folded inside, the page that held financial and shipping news, the weather, births, marriages, divorces, and deaths. From the lower left-hand corner, a little more than two inches of the bottom of the second column had been torn out.
Immediately above the tear was a small caption Arrived Today followed by:
12:20 A. M.–Capac from Astoria.
5:05 A. M.–Helen P. Drew from Greenwood.
5:06 A. M.–Albarado from Bandon.
The tear passed through the next line, leaving only enough of its letters to make from Sydney inferable.
Spade put the Call down on the desk and looked into the wastebasket again. He found a small piece of wrapping-paper, a piece of string, two hosiery tags, a haberdasher’s sale-ticket for half a dozen pairs of socks, and, in the bottom of the basket, a piece of newspaper rolled into a tiny ball.
He opened the ball carefully, smoothed it out on the desk, and fitted it into the torn part of the Call. The fit at the sides was exact, but between the top of the crumpled fragment and the inferable from Sydney half an inch was missing, sufficient space to have held announcement of six or seven boats’ arrival. He turned the sheet over and saw that the other side of the missing portion could have held only a meaningless corner of a stockbroker’s advertisement.
Luke, leaning over his shoulder, asked: “What’s this all about?”
“Looks like the gent’s interested in a boat.”
“Well, there’s no law against that, or is there?” Luke said while Spade was folding the torn page and the crumpled fragment together and putting them into his coat-pocket. “You all through here now?”
“Yes. Thanks a lot, Luke. Will you give me a ring as soon as he comes in?”
“Sure.”
Spade went to the Business Office of the Call, bought a copy of the previous day’s issue, opened it to the shipping-news-page, and compared it with the page taken from Cairo’s wastebasket. The missing portion had read:
5:17 A. M.–Tahiti from Sydney and Papeete.
6:05 A. M.–Admiral Peoples from Astoria.
8:07 A. M.–Caddopeak from San Pedro.
8:17 A. M.–Silverado from San Pedro.
8:05 A. M.–La Paloma from Hongkong.
9:03 A. M.–Daisy Gray from Seattle.
He read the list slowly and when he had finished he underscored Hongkong with a fingernail, cut the list of arrivals from the paper with his pocket-knife, put the rest of the paper and Cairo’s sheet into the wastebasket, and returned to his office.
He sat down at his desk, looked up a number in the telephone-book, and used the telephone.
“Kearny one four o one, please Where is the Paloma, in from Hongkong yesterday morning, docked?” He repeated the question. “Thanks.”
He held the receiver-hook down with his thumb for a moment, released it, and said: “Davenport two o two o, please. . . . Detective bureau, please. . . . Is Sergeant Polhaus there? . . . Thanks. . . . Hello, Tom, this is Sam Spade. . . . Yes, I tried to get you yesterday afternoon.
Sure, suppose you go to lunch with me. . . . Right.”
He kept the receiver to his ear while his thumb worked the hook again.
“Davenport o one seven o, please Hello, this is Samuel Spade. My secretary got a phone-message yesterday that Mr. Bryan wanted to see me. Will you ask him what time’s the most convenient for him? . . . Yes, Spade, S-p-a-d-e.” A long pause. “Yes. . . . Two-thirty? All right. Thanks.”
He called a fifth number and Said: “Hello, darling, let me talk to Sid? . . . Hello, Sid–Sam. I’ve got a date with the District Attorney at half-past two this afternoon. Will you give me a ring–here or there– around four, just to see that I’m not in trouble? . . . Hell with your Saturday afternoon golf: your job’s to keep me out of jail. . . . Right, Sid. ‘Bye.”