THE THIN MAN by Dashiell Hammett

“But she’s always having some sort of–”

“That’s the body. Don’t let it fool you. Mimi hates men–all of us– bitterly.”

She had stopped crying. She wrinkled her forehead and said: “I don’t understand. Do you hate her?”

“Not as a rule.”

“Now?”

“I don’t think so. She’s being stupid and she’s sure she’s being very clever, and that’s a nuisance, but I don’t think I hate her.”

“I do,” Dorothy said.

“So you told me last week. Something I meant to ask you: did you know or did you ever see the Arthur Nunheim we were talking about in the speakeasy tonight?”

She looked sharply at me. “You’re just try(ng to change the subject.”

“I want to know. Did you?”

“No.”

“He was mentioned in the newspapers,” I reminded her. “He was the one who told the police about Morelli knowing Julia Wolf.”

“I didn’t remember his name,” she said. “I don’t remember ever having heard it until tonight.”

I described him. “Ever see him?”

“No.”

“He may have been known as Albert Norman sometimes. Does that sound familiar?”

“No.”

“Know any of the people we saw at Studsy’s tonight? Or anything about them?”

“No. Honestly, Nick, I’d tell you if I knew anything at all that might help you.”

“No matter who it hurt?”

“Yes,” she said immediately, then, “What do you mean?”

“You know damned well what I mean.”

She put her hands over her face, and her words were barely audible: “I’m afraid, Nick. I–” She jerked her hands down as someone knocked on the door.

“All right,” I called.

Andy opened the door far enough to stick his head in. He tried to keep curiosity from showing in his face while saying: “The Lieutenant wants to see you.”

“Be right out,” I promised.

He opened the door wider. “He’s waiting.” He gave me what was probably meant to be a significant wink, but a corner of his mouth moved more than his eye did and the result was a fairly startling face.

“I’ll be back,” I told Dorothy, and followed him out.

He shut the door behind me and put his mouth close to my ear, “The kid was at the keyhole,” he muttered.

“Gilbert?”

“Yep. He had time to get away from it when he heard me coming, but he was there, right enough.”

“That’s mild for him,” I said. “How’d you all make out with Mrs. J.?”

He puckered his thick lips up in an o and blew breath out noisily. “What a dame!”

25

We went into Mimi’s bedroom. She was sitting in a deep chair by a window looking very pleased with herself. She smiled gayly at me and said: “My soul is spotless now. I’ve confessed everything.”

Guild stood by a table wiping his face with a handkerchief. There were still some drops of sweat on his temples, and his face seemed old and tired. The knife and chain, and the handkerchief they had been wrapped in, were on the table.

“Finished?” I asked.

“I don’t know, and that’s a fact,” he said. He turned his head to address Mimi: “Would you say we were finished?”

Mimi laughed. “I can’t imagine what more there would be.”

“Well,” Guild said slowly, somewhat reluctantly, “in that case I guess I’d like to ta!k to Mr. Charles, if you’ll excuse us for a couple of minutes.” He folded his handkerchief carefully and put it in his pocket.

“You can talk here.” She got up from the chair. “I’ll go out and talk to Mrs. Charles till you’re through.” She tapped my cheek playfully with the tip of a forefinger as she passed me. “Don’t let them say too horrid things about me, Nick.”

Andy opened the door for her, shut it behind her, and made the o and the b!owing noise again.

I lay down on the bed. “Well,” I asked, “what’s what?”

Guild cleared his throat. “She told us about finding this here chain and knife on the floor where the Wolf dame had most likely broke it off fighting with Wynant, and she told us the reasons why she’d hid it till now. Between me and you, that don’t make any too much sense, looking at it reasonably, but maybe that ain’t the way to look at it in this case. To tell you the plain truth, I don’t know what to make of her in a lot of ways, I don’t for a fact.”

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