* * * * *

 

The man who had opened the door came in a step, said, “Oh, excuse me!” hastily

took his brown hat from his head, and backed out.

 

“It’s all right, Miles,” Spade told him. “Come in. Miss Wonderly, this is Mr.

Archer, my partner.”

 

Miles Archer came into the office again, shutting the door behind him, ducking

his head and smiling at Miss Wonderly, making a vaguely polite gesture with the

hat in his hand. He was of medium height, solidly built, wide in the shoulders,

thick in the neck, with a jovial heavy-jawed red face and some grey in his

close-trimmed hair. He was apparently as many years past forty as Spade was past

thirty.

 

Spade said: “Miss Wonderly’s sister ran away from New York with a fellow named

Floyd Thursby. They’re here. Miss Wonderly has seen Thursby and has a date with

him tonight. Maybe he’ll bring the sister with him. The chances are he won’t.

Miss Wonderly wants us to find the sister and get her away from him and back

home.” He looked at Miss Wonderly. “Right?”

 

“Yes,” she said indistinctly. The embarrassment that had gradually been driven

away by Spade’s ingratiating smiles and nods and assurances was pinkening her

face again. She looked at the bag in her lap and picked nervously at it with a