THREE WOMEN

 

WHEN Spade reached his office at ten o’clock the following morning Effie Perine

was at her desk opening the morning’s mail. Her boyish face was pale under its

sunburn. She put down the handful of envelopes and the brass paper-knife she

held and said: “She’s in there.” Her voice was low and warning.

 

“I asked you to keep her away,” Spade complained. He too kept his voice low.

 

Effie Perine’s brown eyes opened wide and her voice was irritable as his: “Yes,

but you didn’t tell me how.” Her eyelids went together a little and her

shoulders drooped. “Don’t be cranky, Sam,” she said wearily. “I had her all

night.”

 

Spade stood beside the girl, put a hand on her head, and smoothed her hair away

from its parting. “Sorry, angel, I haven’t—” He broke off as the inner door

opened. “Hello, Iva,” he said to the woman who had opened it.

 

“Oh, Sam!” she said.

 

She was a blonde woman of a few more years than thirty. Her facial prettiness

was perhaps five years past its best moment. Her body for all its sturdiness was

finely modeled and exquisite. She wore black clothes from hat to shoes. They had

as mourning an impromptu air. Having spoken, she stepped back from the door and

stood waiting for Spade.