Spade stared at her with bulging eyes. His bony jaw fell down. He took his arms

from her and stepped back out of her arms. He scowled at her and cleared his

throat.

 

She held her arms up as he had left them. Anguish clouded her eyes, partly

closed them under eyebrows pulled up at the inner ends. Her soft damp red lips

trembled.

 

Spade laughed a harsh syllable, “Ha!” and went to the buff-curtained window. He

stood there with his back to her looking through the curtain into the court

until she started towards him. Then he turned quickly and went to his desk. He

sat down, put his elbows on the desk, his chin between his fists, and looked at

her. His yellowish eyes glittered between narrowed lids.

 

“Who,” he asked coldly, “put that bright idea in your head?”

 

“I thought—” She lifted a hand to her mouth and fresh tears came to her eyes.

She came to stand beside the desk, moving with easy sure-footed grace in black

slippers whose smallness and heel-height were extreme. “Be kind to me, Sam,” she

said humbly.

 

He laughed at her, his eyes still glittering. “You killed my husband, Sam, be

kind to me.” He clapped his palms together and said: “Jesus Christ.”