But it's a lot of money to be picked up in as few days and as easily as you're getting it."
"You think it's been so damned easy?" Spade asked, and shrugged.
"Well, maybe, but that's my business."
"It certainly is," the fat man agreed.
He screwed up his eyes, moved his head to indicate the kitchen, and lowered his voice.
"Are you sharing with her?"
Spade said: "That's my business too."
"It certainly is," the fat man agreed once more, "but"—he hesitated—"I'd like to give you a word of advice."
"Co ahead."
"If you don't—I dare say you'll give her some money in any event, but—if you don't give her as much as she thinks she ought to have, my word of advice is—be careful."
Spade's eyes held a mocking light.
He asked: "Bad?"
"Bad," the fat man replied.
Spade grinned and began to roll a cigarette. Cairo, still muttering in the boy's ear, had put his arm around the boy's shoulders again. Suddenly the boy pushed his arm away and turned on the sofa to face the Levantine. The boy's face held disgust and anger. He made a fist of one small hand and struck Cairo's mouth with it. Cairo cried out as a woman might have cried and drew back to the very end of the sofa. He took a silk handkerchief from his pocket and put it to his mouth. It came away daubed with blood. He put it to his mouth once more and looked reproachfully at the boy. The boy snarled, "Keep away from me," and put his face between his hands again. Cairo's handkerchief released the fragrance of chypre in the room. Cairo's cry had brought Brigid O'Shaughnessy to the door. Spade, grinning, jerked a thumb at the sofa and told her: "The course of true love. How's the food coming along?" "It's coming," she said and went back to the kitchen.
Spade lighted his cigarette and addressed Gutman: "Let's talk about money."
"Willingly, sir, with all my heart," the fat man replied, "but I might as well tell you frankly right now that ten thousand is every cent I can raise."
Spade exhaled smoke.
"I ought to have twenty."
"I wish you could.
I'd give it to you gladly if I had it, but ten thousand dollars is every cent I can manage, on my word of honor.
Of course, sir, you understand that is simply the first payment.
Later—"
Spade laughed.
"I know you'll give me millions later," he said, "but let's stick to this first payment now.
Fifteen thousand?"
Gutman smiled and frowned and shook his head.
"Mr. Spade, I've told you frankly and candidly and on my word of honor as a gentleman that ten thousand dollars is all the money I've got—every penny—and all I can raise."
"But you didn't say positively."
Gutman laughed and said:
"Positively."
Spade said gloomily:
"That's not any too good, but if it's the best you can do—give it to me."
Gutman handed him the envelope.
Spade counted the bills and was putting them in his pocket when Brigid O'Shaughnessy came in carrying a tray.
The boy wouid not eat.
Cairo took a cup of coffee.
The girl, Gutman, and Spade ate the scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and marmalade she had prepared, and drank two cups of coffee apiece.
Then they settled down to wait the rest of the night through. — Gutman smoked a cigar and read Celebrated Criminal Cases of America, now and then chuckling over or commenting on the parts of its contents that amused him. Cairo nursed his mouth and sulked on his end of the sofa. The boy sat with his head in his hands until a little after four o'clock. Then he lay down with his feet towards Cairo, turned his face to the window, and went to sleep. Brigid O'Shaughnessy, in the armchair, dozed, listened to the fat man's comments, and carried on wide-spaced desultory conversations with-i Spade.
Spade roiled and smoked cigarettes and moved, without fidgeting or nervousness, around the room. He sat sometimes on an arm of the girl's chair, on the table-corner, on the floor at her feet, on a straight-backed chair.
He was wide-awake, cheerful, and full of vigor.
At half-past five he went into the kitchen and made more coffee.
Half an hour later the boy stirred, awakened, and sat up yawning.
Gutman looked at his watch and questioned Spade:
"Can you get it now?"
"Give me another hour."
Gutman nodded and went back to his book.
At seven o'clock Spade went to the telephone and called Effie Perine's number.
"Hello, Mrs. Perine? . . .
This is Mr. Spade.
Will you let me talk to Effie, please? . . .