“Really, sir,” Gutman protested, “it’s not necessary, and certainly not very courteous of you, to threaten us in this manner. You must know that we’ve not the least desire to leave.”
“I’ll know a lot when I’m through.” Spade was patient but resolute. “This trick upsets things. I’ve got to find the answer. It won’t take long.” He touched the girl’s elbow. “Come on.”
In the bathroom Brigid O’Shaughnessy found words. She put her hands up flat on Spade’s chest and her face up chose to his and whispered: “I did not take that bill, Sam.”
“I don’t think you did,” he said, “but I’ve got to know. Take your clothes off.”
“You won’t take my word for it?”
“No. Take your clothes off.”
“I won’t.”
“All right. We’ll go back to the other room and I’ll have them taken off.”
She stepped back with a hand to her mouth. Her eyes were round and horrified. “You would?” she asked through her fingers.
“I will,” he said. “I’ve got to know what happened to that bill and I’m not going to be held up by anybody’s maidenly modesty.”
“Oh, it isn’t that.” She came close to him and put her hands on his chest again. “I’m not ashamed to be naked before you, but–can’t you see?–not like this. Can’t you see that if you make me you’ll–you’ll be killing something?”
He did not raise his voice. “I don’t know anything about that. I’ve got to know whiat happened to the bill. Take them off.”
She looked at his unblinking yellow-grey eyes and her face became pink and then white again. She drew herself up tall and began to undress. He sat on the side of the bathtub watching her and the open door. No sound came from the hiving-room. She removed her clothes swiftly, without fumbling, letting then-i fall down on the floor around her feet. ‘When she was naked si-ic stepped back from her clothing and stood looking at him. In her mien was pride without defiance or embarrassment.
He put his pistols on the toilet-seat and, facing the door, went down on one knee in front of her garments. He picked up each piece and examined it with-i fingers as wehi as eyes. He did not find the thousand-dollar bill. When he had finished he stood up holding her clothes out in his hands to her. “Thanks,” he said. “Now I know.”
She took the clothing from him. She did not say anything. He picked up his pistols. He shut the bathroom door behind him and went into the living-room.
Gutman smiled amiably at him from the rocking chair. “Find it?” he asked.
Cairo, sitting beside the boy on the sofa, looked at Spade with questioning opaque eyes. The boy did not look up. He was leaning forward, head between hands, elbows on knees, staring at the floor between his feet.
Spade told Gutman: “No, I didn’t find it. You palmed it.”
The fat man chuckled. “I palmed it?”
“Yes,” Spade said, jingling the pistols in his hand. “Do you want to say so or do you want to stand for a frisk?”
“Stand for–?”
“You’re going to admit it,” Spade said, “or I’m going to search you. There’s no third way.”
Gutman looked up at Spade’s hard face and laughed outright. “By Gad, sir, I believe you would. I really do. You’re a character, sir, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“You palmed it,” Spade said.
“Yes, sir, that I did.” The fat man took a crumpled bill from his vest-pocket, smoothed it on a wide thigh, took the envelope holding the nine bills from his coat-pocket, and put the smoothed bill in with the others. “I must have my little joke every now and then and I was curious to know what you’d do in a situation of that sort. I must say that you passed the test with flying colors, sir. It never occurred to me that you’d hit on such a simple and direct way of getting at the truth-i.”
Spade sneered at him without bitterness. “That’s the kind of thing I’d expect from somebody the punk’s age.”
Gutman chuckled.
Brigid O’Shaughnessy, dressed again except for coat and hat, came out of the bathroom, took a step towards the living-room, turned around, went to the kitchen, and turned on the light.