Dark ringlets thinly covered his broad scalp.
He wore a black cutaway coat, black vest, black satin Ascot tie holding a pinkish pearl, striped grey worsted trousers, and patent-leather shoes.
His voice was a throaty purr.
"Ah, Mr. Spade," he said with enthusiasm and held out a hand like a fat pink star.
Spade took the hand and smiled and said:
"How do you do, Mr. Gutman?"
Holding Spade's hand, the fat man turned beside him, put his other hand to Spade's elbow, and guided him across a green rug to a green plush chair beside a table that held a siphon, some glasses, and a bottle of Johnnie Walker whiskey on a tray, a box of cigars—Coronas del Ritz—two newspapers, and a small and plain yellow soapstone box.
Spade sat in the green chair.
The fat man began to fill two glasses from bottle and siphon.
The boy had disappeared.
Doors set in three of the room's walls were shut.
The fourth wall, behind Spade, was pierced by two windows hooking out over Geary Street.
"We begin well, sir," the fat man purred, turning with a proffered glass in his hand.
"I distrust a niami that says when.
If he's got to be careful not to drink too niuch it's because he's not to be trusted when he does."
Spade took the glass and, smiling, made the beginning of a bow over it.
The fat man raised his glass and held it against a window's light.
He nodded approvingly at the bubbles running up in it. He said:
"Well, sir, here's to plain speaking and clear understanding."
They drank and lowered their glasses.
The fat man hooked shrewdly at Spade and asked:
"You're a closemouthed nian?"
Spade shook his head.
"I like to talk."
"Better and better!" the fat man exclaimed.
"I distrust a closemouthed man.
He generally picks the wrong time to talk and says the wrong things.
Talking's somnething you can't do judiciously unless you keep in practice."
He beanied over his glass.
"We'll get along, sir, that we will."
He set his glass on the table and held the box of Coronas del Ritz out to Spade.
"A cigar, sir."
Spade took a cigar, trimmed the end of it, and lighted it.
Meanwhile the fat man pulled another green plush chair around to face Spade's within convenient distance and placed a smoking-stand within reach of both chairs.
Then he took his glass from the table, took a cigar from the box, and lowered himself into his chair.
His bulbs stopped jouncing and settled into flabby rest.
He sighed comfortably and said:
"Now, sir, we'll talk if you like.
And I'll tell you right out that I'm a man who likes talking to a nian that likes to talk."
"Swell.
Will we talk about the black bird?"
The fat man laughed and his bulbs rode up and down on his laughter.
"Will we?" he asked and,
"We will," he replied.
His pink face was shiny with delight.
"You're the man for me, sir, a man cut along my own lines.
No beating about the bush, but right to the point.
'Will we talk about the black bird?' We will.
I hike that, sir.
I hike that w'ay of doing business.