Placidity came back to Spade’s face and voice. He said reprovingly: “You know I

can’t tell you that until I’ve talked it over with the client.”

 

“You’ll tell it to me or you’ll tell it in court,” Dundy said hotly. “This is

murder and don’t you forget it.”

 

“Maybe. And here’s something for you to not forget, sweetheart. I’ll tell it or

not as I damned please. It’s a long while since I burst out crying because

policemen didn’t like me.”

 

Tom left the sofa and sat on the foot of the bed. His carelessly shaven

mud-smeared face was tired and lined.

 

“Be reasonable, Sam,” he pleaded. “Give us a chance. How can we turn up anything

on Miles’s killing if you won’t give us what you’ve got?”

 

“You needn’t get a headache over that,” Spade told him. “I’ll bury my dead.”

 

Lieutenant Dundy sat down and put his hands on his knees again. His eyes were

warm green discs.

 

“I thought you would,” he said. He smiled with grim content. “That’s just

exactly why we came to see you. Isn’t it, Tom?”