The Lieutenant put his hands on his knees and leaned forward. His greenish eyes

were fixed on Spade in a peculiarly rigid stare, as if their focus were a matter

of mechanics, to be changed only by pulling a lever or pressing a button.

 

“What kind of gun do you carry?” he asked.

 

“None. I don’t like them much. Of course there are some in the office.”

 

“I’d like to see one of them,” the Lieutenant said. “You don’t happen to have

one here?”

 

“No.”

 

“You sure of that?”

 

“Look around.” Spade smiled and waved his empty glass a little. “Turn the dump

upside-down if you want. I won’t squawk—if you’ve got a search-warrant.”

 

Tom protested: “Oh, hell, Sam!”

 

Spade set his glass on the table and stood up facing the Lieutenant.

 

“What do you want, Dundy?” he asked in a voice hard and cold as his eyes.

 

Lieutenant Dundy’s eyes had moved to maintain their focus on Spade’s.