"Sure.
You're together now', but I've got the falcon."
Joel Cairo spoke. Ugly hands grasping the arms of his chair, he leaned forsvard and said primly in his high-pitched thin voice:
"I shouldn't think it would he necessary to remind you, Mr. Spade, that though you may have the falcon yet we certainly have you."
Spade grinned.
"I'm trying to not let that worry me," he said.
He sat up straight, put the envelope aside—on the sofa—and addressed Gutman: "We'll come back to the money later.
There's another thing that's got to be taken care of first.
We've got to have a fall-guy."
The fat n-ian frowned without comprehension, but before he could speak Spade was explaining:
"The police has-c got to have a victim—somebody they can stick for those three murders.
We—"
Cairo, speaking in a brittle excited voice, interrupted Spade.
"Two—only two—murders, Mr. Spade.
Thursbv undoubtedly killed your partner."
"All right, two," Spade growled.
"What difference does that make? The point is we've got to feed the police son-ic—"
Now Gutman broke in, smiling confidently, talking with good-natured assurance:
"Well, sir, from what we've seen and heard of you I don't think we'll have to bother ourselves about that.
We can leave the handling of the police to you, all right.
You won't need any of our inexpert help."
"If that's what you think," Spade said, "you haven't seen or heard enough."
"Nosy come, Mr. Spade.
You can't expect us to believe at this late date that you are the least bit afraid of the police, or that you are not quite able to handle—"
Spade snorted with throat and nose.
He bent forward, resting forearms on knees again, and interrupted Gutman irritably:
"I'm not a damned bit afraid qf them and I know how to handle them.
That's what I'm trying to tell you.
The way to handle them is to toss them a victin, somebody they can hang the works on."
"Well, sir, I grant you that's one way of doing it, but—"
"'But' hell!" Spade said.
"It's the only way."
His eyes were hot and earnest under a reddening forehead.
The bruise on his temple was livercolored.
"I know what I'm talking about.
I've been through it all before and expect to go through it again.
At one time or another I've had to tell everybody from the Supreme Court down to go to hell, and I've got away with it.
I got away with it because I never let myself forget that a day of reckoning was coming.
I never forget that when the day of reckoning comes I want to be all set to march into headquarters pushing a victim in front of me, saying:
'Here, you chumps, is your criminal.'
As long as I can do that I can put my thumb to my nose and wriggle my fingers at all the laws in the book.
The first time I can't do it my name's Mud.
There hasn't been a first time yet.
This isn't going to be it.
That's flat."
Gutman's eyes flickered and their sleekness became dubious, but he held his other features in their bulbous pink smiling complacent cast and there was nothing of uneasiness in his voice. He said:
"That's a system that's got a lot to recommend it, sir—by Gad, it has!
And if it was anyway practical this time I'd be the first to say:
'Stick to it by all means, sir.'
But this just happens to be a case where it's not possible.