Tom groaned, but said nothing articulate.

 

Spade watched Dundy warily.

 

“That’s just exactly what I said to Tom,” the Lieutenant went on. “I said: ‘Tom,

I’ve got a hunch that Sam Spade’s a man to keep the family-troubles in the

family.’ That’s just what I said to him.”

 

The wariness went out of Spade’s eyes. He made his eyes dull with boredom. He

turned his face around to Tom and asked with great carelessness: “What’s itching

your boy-friend now?”

 

Dundy jumped up and tapped Spade’s chest with the ends of two bent fingers.

 

“Just this,” he said, taking pains to make each word distinct, emphasizing them

with his tapping finger-ends: “Thursby was shot down in front of his hotel just

thirty-five minutes after you left Burritt Street.”

 

Spade spoke, taking equal pains with his words: “Keep your God-damned paws off

me.”

 

Dundy withdrew the tapping fingers, but there was no change in his voice: “Tom

says you were in too much of a hurry to even stop for a look at your partner.”

 

Tom growled apologetically: “Well, damn it, Sam, you did run off like that.”