Chapter 17 Chapter Fifteen

Spade and Inspector Porrows were eating salt pork knuckle at Waiter Big John's table in the Hove and Brough's.Borrows forked a piece of shiny light-colored aspic and was about to put it into his mouth when he stopped halfway.He said, "Hey, look, Sam, just forget about that night. He was all wrong, but you know, if you tease him like that, you're going to screw anybody out of your head." Spade looked thoughtfully at the detective and asked, "Is that why you came to me?" Polaos nodded, put a fork of aspic into his mouth, swallowed it, nodded, and added, "Probably because of this."

"Dundee called you?" Pollux made an annoying grimace: "You know he won't ask me, he's as stubborn as you." Spade smiled, shook his head, and said, "He's not stubborn, Tom, he thinks he is." Tom cut the pig's foot with a knife with a sad face. "Why are you always so childish?" he complained to Spade. "What are you complaining about? He didn't hurt you, and you've won. What's the point of holding a grudge against someone? You're only asking for trouble." Spade carefully put the knife and fork together on the plate, resting his hands beside the plate.The smile on his face was faint, without enthusiasm at all. "The police in the city are all working overtime and trying to make me suffer, but I'm not afraid. I don't care."

The flushed Polaus blushed even more.He said, "You're being too conceited in telling me that." Spade picked up his knife and fork and ate.Polaus also ate by himself. After a while, Spade asked, "Did you see that burning ship in the harbour?" "I only see the smoke. Be reasonable, Sam. Dundee knows he's wrong. Why don't you let it go?" "You think I should go to him and tell him I hope my jaw doesn't hurt his fist?" Borrows just cut his pig's feet as hard as he could. Spade said, "Has there been another update from Phil Archer?"

"Bah, hell! Dundee didn't think you killed Miles. But what can he do if he doesn't follow the clues? You would do the same in his place." "Really?" Spade's eyes were malicious. "How could he think that I didn't kill someone? How could you think that I didn't kill someone? Do you really think I didn't kill anyone?" The flushed Pollux, blushing even more than before, said, "Thursby killed Miles." "You think he killed it?" "It's him. It's his Webley, the one that fired the bullet in Miles." "Really?" Spade asked.

"Absolutely," replied the Inspector. "We found a lad - he was a bellboy at Thursby's hotel - who saw the gun in his room just that morning. Pay attention to this gun. Because he has never seen a gun of this style. I have never seen one. Didn't you say that this gun is no longer produced? So it is unlikely that there will be a second gun of this kind in this area That kind of gun—in short—if it wasn't Thursby's, where was his gun? And that's the gun that shot the bullet in Miles's head." He said. He stuffed a piece of bread into his mouth, took it out again, and asked:

"You said you've seen this kind of gun before, where was it?" He said and put the bread into his mouth again. "Before the Great War, in England." "That's right, that's it." Spade nodded and said, "So I killed Thursby alone." Pollux fidgeted in his chair, his face flushed. "My God, how can you keep forgetting this?" he complained earnestly. "It's over. I know it, and you know it. You're whining like you're forgetting that you're a Like a detective. I suppose you've never been accused of anything like we accused you?"

"You mean you want to shoot me, Tom—try it." Polaos scolded him in a low voice, and then only focused on attacking the remaining pig's feet. Spade said: "Well, you and I both know the truth is out. Does Dundee know?" "He knew the truth was out." "How did he wake up?" "Well, Sam, he never really thought you'd—" Polaos stopped short at Spade's smile, and before he could finish his sentence, he found something else to say: "We got Thursby file." "Really? Who is he?" Borrows's shrewd little brown eyes kept scanning Spade's face.Spade exclaimed irritably, "I wish I knew half as much as you two quick-witted ghosts think I know."

"If only we knew all about it," grumbled Polaos. "Well, we learned that he started out as a thug in St. Louis. He got arrested many times there for various reasons. However, because he was Egan A gang, so no sentences. I don't know how he got out of that safe haven. But they caught Thursby once in New York for robbing a gambling den—his mistress proved it was him. -he was in prison for a year, and then Fallon bailed him out. Two or three years later, he was detained for a short period in Joliet for beating another mistress with a pistol, allegedly What the mistress said pissed him off. But then he got into a hot fight with Dixie Monaghan. Everything he meddled in after that didn't go wrong. Because Dixie was the local tycoon at the time, as powerful as the Greeks of the Chicago casinos. Nick. Thursby was Dixie's bodyguard. Dixie owed some of his brethren several debts. I don't know if he couldn't pay it or wouldn't pay it. Thursby helped him escape the debt and followed him. .That was two or three years ago—when the Newport Seaside Rowing Club closed. I don't know if Dixie had a part in it. Anyway, from then to now, whether it's him or not, Thursby It’s okay, it’s the first time to show up.”

"Dixie showed up too?" Spade asked. Paulus shook his head. "No." His small eyes were sharp, and he was spying secretly. "Never, unless you saw him, or knew someone who saw him." Spade slouched back in his chair and began rolling a cigarette.He said gently: "I haven't seen him, and what you said is all new to me." "I think so too." Polaus snorted. Spade asked, grinning, "Where did you get all this information about Thursby?" "Some are in the archives. The rest - well - we've gathered from various places." "For example, from Kylo?" This time Spade's eyes were secretly peeping.

Polaos put down his coffee cup and shook his head. "He didn't say a word. You gave him the ecstasy soup for us." Spade laughed. "You mean to say that you and Dundee, two senior detectives, have interrogated such a living thing all night and haven't been able to get him to speak?" "What are you talking about—one night?" protested Polaos. "We only interrogated him for two or three hours. Afterwards we saw that we couldn't get anything out of it, so we let him go." Spade smiled again.look at the watch.Seeing John the waiter looking him in the eye, he asked for the bill. "I have an appointment with the D.A. this afternoon," he told Polaos as they waited for change.

"Did he ask you to go?" "yes." Pollux pushed back his chair and stood up.He was tall, potbellied, strong, and unfeeling. "Please don't tell him the things I told you." A lanky young man with protruding ears ushered Spade into the D.A.'s office.Spade walked in with a happy face, and his tone of voice was very relaxed, "Hello, Brian!" District Attorney Brian stood up and stretched his hand across the desk.He was of medium height, fair hair, about forty-five years of age.Aggressive blue eyes and pince-nez with black ribbons.A mouth that can speak well is a little too big, and Fangfang's chin is a little sunken.When he said, "How are you, Spade?" it was loud.Shows that he is in control. They shook hands and sat down separately. On the D.A.'s desk was a row of four little buttons.He pressed one of them and said to the lanky boy who opened the door, "Come in, Mr. Thomas and Healy." Then, turning in his chair, he said cheerfully to Spade, "You've never been very cooperative with the police." Great, okay?" Spade made a dismissive gesture with his right finger. "It's no big deal," he said lightly. "Dundee's too keen." The door opened and two people came in."Hello, Thomas!" Spade said to one of them, a dumpy, tanned man of about thirty.Clothes and hair are a bit scruffy.He reached out a sun-stained hand, patted Spade on the shoulder, asked, "How's business?" and sat down beside him.The second man was younger and paler.He sat not far from the others, with a stenographer's notebook spread out on his lap, and he took a green pencil to write something in the notebook. Spade glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and asked Brian, grinning, "Take what I said and use it against me?" The district attorney smiled. "It's always useful to write it down." He took off his glasses for a look, and put them on the bridge of his nose again.Looking at Spade through his glasses, he asked, "Who killed Thursby?" "I don't know," Spade said. Brian rubbed the black ribbon of his pince-nez and said tactfully, "Maybe you don't know, but you can definitely make a best guess." "Maybe. But I don't want to speculate." The District Attorney raised his eyebrows. Spade repeated again: "I don't want to." His face was serene. "My speculations may or may not be worth much. And old Mrs. Spade has never had such a stupid child as to be a district attorney, an assistant attorney, a stenographer. What guesses are you making?" "If you have nothing to hide, why can't you speculate?" Spade replied mildly: "Everyone has a little private thing they want to keep from the others." "you also have--?" "For example, my surmise is." The district attorney looked down at his desk and up at Spade.He stabilized the glasses on the bridge of his nose. "If you don't want the stenographer here, we can send him down. It's just for convenience that I sent him." "I don't give a damn about him," Spade replied. "I'd rather you take note of what I say, and I'd sign it." "We're not going to ask you to sign anything," Brian reassured him. "I hope you don't think this is a formal interrogation. And please don't think I've believed, let alone believed, the inferences the police seem to have made." "You don't trust them?" "I don't believe it at all." Spade sighed and crossed his legs. "I'm glad to hear that." He fumbled in his pocket for tobacco and rolling papers. "Then how did you deduce it?" Brian leaned forward, his eyes flashing sharply through the lenses. "You tell me for whom Archer followed Thursby, and I'll tell you who killed Thursby." Spade chuckled contemptuously and said, "You're as wrong as Dundee." "Don't get me wrong, Spade," Brian said, tapping his knuckles on the table. "I'm not saying that your client killed Thursby, or ordered someone to kill him. What I mean is that as long as I know who your client, or past client, is, I can immediately Know who killed Thursby." Spade lit the cigarette, took it away, and exhaled a long puff of smoke, saying, as if inexplicably, "I don't quite understand what you mean." "You don't understand? So let me put it another way: Where's Dixie Monaghan?" Spade still had the puzzled look on his face. "It's no use talking like that," he said. "I still don't understand." The district attorney took off his glasses and waved them around to reinforce the tone.He said: "We know that Thursby was Monaghan's bodyguard. When Monaghan saw the wind was bad and planned to leave Chicago early, Thursby slipped with him. We know that when Monaghan left About $200,000 in gambling debts. So far, we don't know who his creditors are." He put on his glasses again and grinned. "But we all know what will happen if creditors find a bad gambler, or that gambler's bodyguard." Spade licked his lips and grinned in an ugly grin.The eyes gleamed under the inverted eyebrows, and the neck exposed from the collar was red and thick.His voice was low and hoarse, full of anger. "Oh, what do you think? Did I kill him for his creditors? Or did I find him and let them kill him with their own hands?" "No, no," declared the prosecutor, "you have misunderstood me." "I hope I'm mistaken." "That's not what he meant," Thomas said. "Then what does he mean?" Brian waved. "I'm just saying that you might get involved without knowing it, and that might—" "I understand." Spade let out a cold air from his nose. "You think I'm not disobedient, but stupid." "Bullshit," insisted Brian, "if a guy comes up to you and tells you they have every reason to think Monaghan is here, please help find Monaghan. The guy might tell you a fake story — make it up all you want — or say that Monaghan ran away with someone in debt, without telling you the details. How do you know what the background is? How can you be sure it’s not a What about an ordinary investigation? In this case, of course, you can't be responsible for this matter, unless—" He lowered his voice, the tone was more touching, and he paused every word very clearly. "You concealed the identity of the murderer, or withheld any clues sufficient to arrest the murderer, and you became an accomplice." The scowl on Spade's face was gone, and his voice was without anger.He asked, "So that's what you meant?" "right." "Okay. You meant no harm, then. But you're wrong." "Look at the facts." Spade shook his head. "I can't show it now, I can only tell you." "Then tell me." "Nobody hired me to do the Dixie Monaghan thing." Brian and Thomas exchanged glances.Brian looked back at Spade and said, "However, by your own account, you were hired to deal with Thursby, his bodyguard." "Yes, dealing with Thursby, his old bodyguard." "Past?" "Yes. In the past." "Do you know that Thursby has broken up with Monaghan? Are you absolutely sure of that?" Spade reached out and dropped the cigarette butt in the ashtray on the table.He said casually: "I'm not sure about anything else, except that my client has nothing to do with Monaghan, not at all. I heard that Thursby accompanied Monaghan to the Far East, and he lost track of him." .” The district attorney and the assistant attorney exchanged another look. Thomas spoke.There was unconcealable excitement in his voice. "It opens up a new line of thinking that Monaghan's friends might kill Thursby for abandoning Monaghan." "A bad gambler has no friends," said Spade. "There are two new leads now," Bryan said.He leaned back in his chair, stared intently at the ceiling for a few seconds, then sat up quickly.He put on the countenance of an eloquentist, complacent. "The matter can be summed up in three points. First, Thursby was killed by those gamblers in Chicago because Monaghan took their bets. They didn't know that Thursby had abandoned Monaghan— Or don't believe that he abandoned Monaghan--they killed Thursby because he was once Monaghan's buddy. Or maybe they thought that if they killed him, they could find Monaghan; or maybe it was because he Refusing to take them to Monaghan. Second, he was killed by Monaghan's friends. Or, third, he betrayed Monaghan to his friends and then fell out with them , so they killed him." "Or number four," said Spade, amused by that, "he died of old age. You two are kidding, aren't you?" Both of them stared at him helplessly, neither of them saying a word.Spade looked at this and that, laughing.Pretending to be sympathetic to them, he said, "You probably keep thinking about big gamblers." Brian smacked the palm of his right with the back of his left hand. "The answer to this riddle is always nothing more than these three possibilities." There was a powerful tone in his voice.At this moment, his right hand was clenched into a fist, and he only stretched out one index finger to make gestures.Pointing at Spade's chest, he stopped suddenly and said, "And you can provide us with information to help us determine which possibility it is." Spade said lazily, "Really?" His face was gloomy, his fingers touched his lower lip for a while, and scratched the back of his neck for a while.Already he wrinkled his forehead impatiently.With a heavy breath in his nostrils, he raised his voice and roared angrily: "You don't need the information I give you, Brian. You don't need it. I will get revenge on you, a gambler, if I say it." The idea was blown." Brian sat up straight.Not loud, but severe. "That's not for you to judge. Anyway, I'm a district attorney as young as I am." Spade grinned, showing his fangs. "I thought it was an informal conversation." Bryan said: "I am a sworn judicial officer, and I am not at all times. Whether it is a formal conversation or an informal conversation, there is no reason for you to refuse to provide me with criminal evidence. Unless"-he said meaningfully Nod—"You have some constitutional grounds." "You mean I might be implicated in this case?" Spade asked.His voice sounded calm, as if amused.But his face was not like that. "I have more grounds than this, and they suit me better. My client is entitled to a considerable amount of secrecy. I may be referred to the grand jury, or even to the coroner's jury. But so far, I have not been heard anywhere. I have no doubt that I do not intend to make any publicity about my client's affairs at the present time. Besides, you and the police have accused me Murder implicated. You have troubled me in the past. It seems to me that the only way to get out of the situation you have imposed on me is to tie up these murderers one by one. But I want to catch them and tie them up. The only chance to bring them before a judge is to avoid you and the police, because neither of you seem to have any idea of ​​the matter." He stood up, turned to the stenographer and said: "Reporter Okay, boy? Or did I talk too fast to remember?" The stenographer looked at him in dismay and replied, "Oh, sir, I've got it all down." "Nice job," Spade said, turning back to Brian. "If you're going to the ministry now and tell them I'm obstructing the judiciary and asking them to revoke my license, go ahead. You've tried it before and you've been made fun of and got nothing. ’” He picked up his hat. Brian began, "But listen to me—" Spade said: "I don't want to have any more informal conversations. I have nothing to say to you; I have nothing to say to the police. I'm sick of being summoned by every whim in the court. If You want to see me, arrest me, subpoena me, and so on, and I'll come with my lawyer." He put on his hat and said, "I'll see you at the trial, maybe," and stalked out.

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