The Maltese Falcon

 

by Dashiell Hammett

 

1

 

SPADE & ARCHER

 

SAMUEL SPADE’S jaw was long and bony, his chin a jutting v under the more

flexible v of his mouth. His nostrils curved back to make another, smaller, v.

His yellow-grey eyes were horizontal. The v _motif_ was picked up again by

thickish brows rising outward from twin creases above a hooked nose, and his

pale brown hair grew down—from high flat temples—in a point on his forehead. He

looked rather pleasantly like a blond satan.

 

He said to Effie Perine: “Yes, sweetheart?”

 

She was a lanky sunburned girl whose tan dress of thin woolen stuff clung to her

with an effect of dampness. Her eyes were brown and playful in a shiny boyish

face. She finished shutting the door behind her, leaned against it, and said:

“There’s a girl wants to see you. Her name’s Wonderly.”

 

“A customer?”

 

“I guess so. You’ll want to see her anyway: she’s a knockout.”