Part 19 (1/2)

”Maybe.” Spade got into the sedan. ”We'll ride up to number thirty-one. You can use your lights.”

Number 31 was a square grey house across the street from, but a little farther up than, 26. Lights glowed in its downstairs-windows. Spade went up on the porch and rang the bell. A dark-haired girl of fourteen or fifteen opened the door. Spade, bowing and smiling, said: ”I'd like to get the key to number twenty-six.”

”I'll call Papa,” she said and went back into the house calling: ”Papa!”

A plump red-faced man, bald-headed and heavily mustached, appeared, carrying a newspaper.

Spade said: ”I'd like to get the key to twenty-six.”

The plump man looked doubtful. He said: ”The juice is not on. You couldn't see anything.”

Spade patted his pocket. ”I've a flashlight.”

The plump man looked more doubtful. He cleared his throat uneasily and crumpled the newspaper in his hand.

Spade showed him one of his business-cards, put it back in his pocket, and said in a low voice: ”We got a tip that there might be something hidden there.”

The plump man's face and voice were eager. ”Wait a minute,” he said. ”I'll go over with you.”

A moment later he came back carrying a bra.s.s key attached to a black and red tag. Spade beckoned to the chauffeur as they pa.s.sed the car and the chauffeur joined them.

”Anybody been looking at the house lately?” Spade asked.

”Not that I know of,” the plump man replied. ”n.o.body's been to me for the key in a couple of months.”

The plump man marched ahead with the key until they had gone up on the porch. Then he thrust the key into Spade's hand, mumbled, ”Here you are,” and stepped aside.

Spade unlocked the door and pushed it open. There was silence and darkness. Holding the flashlight-dark-in his left hand, Spade entered. The chauffeur came close behind him and then, at a little distance, the plump man followed them. They searched the house from bottom to top, cautiously at first, then, finding nothing, boldly. The house was empty-unmistakably-and there was nothing to indicate that it had been visited in weeks.

Saying, ”Thanks, that's all,” Spade left the sedan in front of the Alexandria. He went into the hotel, to the desk, where a tall young man with a dark grave face said: ”Good evening, Mr. Spade.”

”Good evening.” Spade drew the young man to one end of the desk. ”These Gutmans-up in twelve C-are they in?”

The young man replied, ”No,” darting a quick glance at Spade. Then he looked away, hesitated, looked at Spade again, and murmured: ”A funny thing happened in connection with them this evening, Mr. Spade. Somebody called the Emergency Hospital and told them there was a sick girl up there.”

”And there wasn't?”

”Oh, no, there was n.o.body up there. They went out earlier in the evening.”

Spade said: ”Well, these practical-jokers have to have their fun. Thanks.”

He went to a telephone-booth, called a number, and said: ”h.e.l.lo.... Mrs. Perine? ... Is Effie there? ... Yes, please.... Thanks.

”h.e.l.lo, angel! What's the good word? ... Fine, fine! Hold it. I'll be out in twenty minutes.... Right.”

Half an hour later Spade rang the doorbell of a two-story brick building in Ninth Avenue. Effie Perine opened the door. Her boyish face was tired and smiling. ”h.e.l.lo, boss,” she said. ”Enter.” She said in a low voice: ”If Ma says anything to you, Sam, be nice to her. She's all up in the air.”

Spade grinned rea.s.suringly and patted her shoulder.

She put her hands on his arm. ”Miss O'Shaughnessy?”

”No,” he growled. ”I ran into a plant. Are you sure it was her voice?”

”Yes.”

He made an unpleasant face. ”Well, it was hooey.”

She took him into a bright living-room, sighed, and slumped down on one end of a Chesterfield, smiling cheerfully up at him through her weariness.

He sat beside her and asked: ”Everything went O K? Nothing said about the bundle?”

”Nothing. I told them what you told me to tell them, and they seemed to take it for granted that the phone call had something to do with it, and that you were out running it down.”

”Dundy there?”

”No. Hoff and O'Gar and some others I didn't know. I talked to the Captain too.”

”They took you down to the Hall?”

”Oh, yes, and they asked me loads of questions, but it was all-you know-routine.”

Spade rubbed his palms together. ”Swell,” he said and then frowned, ”though I guess they'll think up plenty to put to me when we meet. That d.a.m.ned Dundy will, anyway, and Bryan.” He moved his shoulders. ”Anybody you know, outside of the police, come around?”

”Yes.” She sat up straight. ”That boy-the one who brought the message from Gutman-was there. He didn't come in, but the police left the corridor-door open while they were there and I saw him standing there.”

”You didn't say anything?”

”Oh, no. You had said not to. So I didn't pay any attention to him and the next time I looked he was gone.”

Spade grinned at her. ”d.a.m.ned lucky for you, sister, that the coppers got there first.”

”Why?”

”He's a bad egg, that lad-poison. Was the dead man Jacobi?”

”Yes.”

He pressed her hands and stood up. ”I'm going to run along. You'd better hit the hay. You're all in.”

She rose. ”Sam, what is-?”

He stopped her words with his hand on her mouth. ”Save it till Monday,” he said. ”I want to sneak out before your mother catches me and gives me h.e.l.l for dragging her lamb through gutters.”

Midnight was a few minutes away when Spade reached his home. He put his key into the street-door's lock. Heels clicked rapidly on the sidewalk behind him. He let go the key and wheeled. Brigid O'Shaughnessy ran up the steps to him. She put her arms around him and hung on him, panting: ”Oh, I thought you'd never come!” Her face was haggard, distraught, shaken by the tremors that shook her from head to foot.