She followed Miles long enough to make sure he was shadowing the pair, and then she went up to your apartment.
You weren't home."
"What time was that?" Spade asked.
"When she got to your place? Between half-past nine and ten the first time."
"The first time?"
"Yes.
She drove around for half an hour or so and then tried again.
That would make it, say, ten-thirty.
You were still out, so she drove back downtown and went to a movie to kill time until after midnight, when she thought she'd be more likely to find you in."
Spade frowned.
"She went to a movie at ten-thirty?"
"So she says—the one on Powell Street that stays open till one in the morning.
She didn't want to go home, she said, because she didn't want to be there when Miles came.
That always made him mad, it seems, especially if it was around midnight.
She stayed in the movie till it closed." Wise's words came out slower now and there was a sardonic glint in his eye.
"She says she had decided by then not to go back to your place again. She says she didn't know whether you'd like having her drop in that late.
So she went to Tait's—the one on Ellis Street—had something to eat and then went home—alone."
Wise rocked back in his chair and waited for Spade to speak.
Spade's face was expressionless.
He asked:
"You believe her?"
"Don't you?" Wise replied.
"How do I know?
How do I know it isn't something you fixed up between you to tell me?"
Wise smiled.
"You don't cash many checks for strangers, do your Sammy?"
"Not basketfuls.
Well, what then? Miles wasn't home.
It was at least two o'clock by then—must've been—and he was dead."
"Miles wasn't home," Wise said.
"That seems to have made her mad again—his not being home first to be made mad by her not being home.
So she took the car out of the garage again and went back to your place."
"And I wasn't home.
I was down looking at Miles's corpse.
Jesus, what a swell lot of merry-go-round riding.
Then what?"
"She went home, and her husband still wasn't there, and while she was undressing your messenger came with the news of his death."
Spade didn't speak until he had with great care rolled and lighted another cigarette.
Then he said:
"I think that's an all right spread.
It seems to click with most of the known facts. It ought to hold."
Wise's fingers, running through his hair again, combed more dandruff down on his shoulders.
He studied Spade's face with curious eyes and asked:
"But you don't believe it?"
Spade plucked his cigarette from between his lips.
"I don't believe it or disbelieve it, Sid.
I don't know a damned thing about it."
A wry smile twisted the lawyer's mouth.
He moved his shoulders wearily and said:
"That's right—I'm selling you out.