Yes. . . .
Who? . . .
Oh, yes!"
Her eyes became large.
"Yes Yes. . .
Hold the line Fler mouth suddenly stretched wide and fearful.
She cried: "Hello!
Hello!
Hello!"
She rattled the prong up and down and cried, "Hello!" twice. Then she sobbed and spun around to face Spade, who was close beside her by now. "It was Miss O'Shaughnessy," she said wildly.
"She wants you.
She's at the Alexandria—in danger.
Her voice was—oh, it was awful, Sarn!—and something happened to her before she could finish.
Co help her, Sam!"
Spade put the falcon down on the desk and scowled gloomily.
"I've got to take care of this fellow first," he said, pointing his thumb at the thin corpse on the floor.
She beat his chest with her fists, crying:
"No, no—you've got to go to her.
Don't you see, Sam?
He had the thing that was hers and he came to you with it.
Don't you see?
He was helping her and they killed him and now she's— Oh, you've gut to go!"
"All right."
Spade pushed her away and bent over his desk, putting the black bird back into its nest of excelsior, bending the paper around it, working rapidly, making a larger and clumsy package.
"As soon as I've gone phone the police.
Tell them how it happened, but don't drag any names in.
You don't know.
I got the phone-call and I told you I had to go out, but I didn't say where."
He cursed the rope for being tangled, yanked it into straightness, and began to bind the package.
"Forget this thing.
Tell it as it happened, but forget he had a bundle."
He chewed his lower lip.
"Unless they pin you down.
If they seem to know about it you'll have to admit it.
But that's not likely.
If they do then I took the bundle away with me, unopened."
He finished tying the knot and straightened up with the parcel under his left arm.
"Get it straight, now.
Everything happened the way it did happen, but without this dingus unless they already know about it.
Don't deny it—just don't mention it.
And I got the phone-call— not you.
And you don't know anything about anybody else having any connection with this fellow.
You don't know anything about him and you can't talk about my business until you see me.
Got it?"
"Yes, Sam.
Who—do you know who he is?"
He grinned wolfishly.
"Uh-uh," he said, "but I'd guess he was Captain Jacobi, master of La Paloma."
He picked up his hat and put it on.
He looked thoughtfully at the dead man and then around the room.