6:05 A.
M.—Admiral Peoples from Astoria.
8:07 A.
M.—Caddopeak from San Pedro.
8:17 A.
M.—Silverado from San Pedro.
8:05 A.
M.—La Paloma from Hongkong. 9:03 A.
M.—Daisy Gray from Seattle.
He read the list slowly and when he had finished he underscored Hongkong with a fingernail, cut the list of arrivals from the paper with his pocket-knife, put the rest of the paper and Cairo's sheet into the wastebasket, and returned to his office.
He sat down at his desk, looked up a number in the telephone-book, and used the telephone.
"Kearny one four o one, please Where is the Paloma, in from Hongkong yesterday morning, docked?" He repeated the question.
"Thanks."
He held the receiver-hook down with his thumb for a moment, released it, and said:
"Davenport two o two o, please. . . .
Detective bureau, please. . . .
Is Sergeant Polhaus there? . . .
Thanks. . . .
Hello, Tom, this is Sam Spade. . . .
Yes, I tried to get you yesterday afternoon.
Sure, suppose you go to lunch with me. . . .
Right."
He kept the receiver to his ear while his thumb worked the hook again.
"Davenport o one seven o, please Hello, this is Samuel Spade.
My secretary got a phone-message yesterday that Mr. Bryan wanted to see me.
Will you ask him what time's the most convenient for him? . . .
Yes, Spade, S-p-a-d-e."
A long pause.
"Yes. . . .
Two-thirty?
All right.
Thanks."
He called a fifth number and Said:
"Hello, darling, let me talk to Sid? . . .
Hello, Sid—Sam.
I've got a date with the District Attorney at half-past two this afternoon.
Will you give me a ring—here or there— around four, just to see that I'm not in trouble? . . .
Hell with your Saturday afternoon golf: your job's to keep me out of jail. . . .
Right, Sid.
'Bye."
He pushed the telephone away, yawned, stretched, felt his bruised temple, looked at his watch, and rolled and lighted a cigarette. He smoked sleepily until Effie Perine came in.
Effie Perine came in smiling, bright-eyed and rosy-faced.
"Ted says it could be," she reported, "and he hopes it is.
He says he's not a specialist in that field, but the names and dates are all right, and at least none of your authorities or their works are out-and-out fakes.
He's all excited over it."
"That's swell, as long as he doesn't get too enthusiastic to see through it if it's phoney."
"Oh, he wouldn't—not Ted!
He's too good at his stuff for that."
"Uh-huh, the whole damned Perine family's wonderful," Spade said, "including you and the smudge of soot on your nose."
"He's not a Perine, he's a Christy." She bent her head to look at her nose in her vanity-case-mirror.