Chapter 11 Chapter Eleven Fatty
Spade sends Bridget O'Shaughnessy to Effie Palin's.When he got back to the office, the phone was ringing.He answered the phone.
"Hello? Yes, I'm Spade...Yes, I got it, I've been waiting for you to contact me...Who? Mr. Gutman? Oh, yes, of course...Now, the sooner the better... 12C...Okay, about fifteen minutes. Okay."
Spade sat on the corner of his desk by the phone, rolling a cigarette.His mouth was pursed into a complacent V, his eyes narrowed, staring at the fingers rolling the cigarette, as if a storm was brewing in his eyes.
The door opened and Eva Archer entered.Spade said, "Hello, sweetheart," his voice flat and his face harden suddenly.
"Oh, Sam, forgive me! Forgive me!" she choked out.She stopped and stood there holding a black-bordered handkerchief in her small gloved hand, and looked at him in fear with her red, swollen eyes.
He didn't get up from the corner of the table. "Of course. It's all right, just forget about it."
"But, Sam," she said weeping, "I called the cops. I was crazy and jealous, so I called them up and told them they could find out if they went there. Leads to Miles' murder."
"Why do you think so?"
"Oh, I didn't think so, but I was crazy, Sam, and I wanted to hurt you."
"You messed things up," he put his arms around her, pulling her closer, "but it's all right now, stop having that crazy idea."
"I won't," she promised, "never again. But you were not nice to me last night, coldly distant, trying to get rid of me. I've been waiting so long downstairs to remind you Be careful, in the end you-"
"Remind me of what?"
"Watch out for Phil. He found out - found out we were in love, and Miles told him I wanted a divorce, though he never knew why. Now Phil thinks we're - thinks you killed his brother because Miles Ernes didn't want to divorce me and we could only get married if he killed him. He told me he believed that and yesterday he went to the police and told them."
"Nice job," Spade said softly, "and you came to remind me, but because I was busy, you ran off to help this goddamn Phil Archer fan the flames."
"I'm sorry," she sobbed, "I know you won't forgive me. I—I'm sorry. Sorry, sorry."
"You're sorry for me," he went on, "and you're sorry for yourself. Has Dundee or anyone else at the Bureau called you since Phil went to the police?"
"No." She opened her eyes wide and opened her mouth in horror.
"They will," he said, "so it's best not to let them see you here. Did you say who you were when you called?"
"Oh no! I just told them that if they went to your apartment right away, they could find something about the murder and hung up."
"Where did you call from?"
"That drugstore north of your house. Oh, Sam, honey, I—"
He patted her on the shoulder and said kindly: "It's a stupid trick, but it's over and it doesn't matter. You'd better go home at once and think about what to do with the police. They'll come to you. Maybe it's best." Admitting nothing," he frowned and stared into the distance, "maybe you'd better meet Sid Wise first." He retracted his arm around her, pulled out a business card from his coat, and scrawled on the back He wrote three lines and handed it to her.
"You can tell Sid everything," he frowned again, "or most of it. Where were you the night Miles was shot?"
"At home." She replied without thinking.He shook his head and grinned at her.
"I'm home," she insisted.
"You're out," he said, "but if you make up your mind to say so, I'm all right. Go see Sid. Go north on the next corner, pink building, room 827."
Her blue eyes tried to read his sallow eyes.
"Why do you think I'm not home?" she asked cautiously.
"It's nothing, I just know you're not here."
"But I'm home, really." Her lips twisted, her eyes clouded with anger. "Effie Palin told you," she said indignantly, "I saw her staring at My clothes, still poking around. You know she doesn't like me, Sam; you know she'll do anything to mess with me, why should you believe what she tells you?"
"My God, you woman!" said Spade gently, looking at his watch, "you gotta go, honey. I have an appointment right now. Do what you want, but If I were you, I'd either tell Sid the truth or I wouldn't tell him anything. I mean don't tell him what you don't want to tell him, but don't make it up."
"I'm not lying to you, Sam," she protested.
"Damn it if you didn't lie," he said, standing up.She stood on tiptoe and brought her face close to his.
"You don't believe me?" she asked in a low voice.
"I do not believe you."
"You don't forgive me for what I did?"
"Of course I forgive you." He lowered his head and kissed her lips, "It's okay, let's go now."
She put her arms around him. "Aren't you going to see Mr. Wise with me?"
"I can't go, it will only get in the way." He patted her arm, pulled her hand away from her body, kissed her left wrist exposed between the glove and cuff, and then put his hand on her Shoulder, let her turn to face the door, push lightly, and let go of her hand.
"Go," he ordered.
The mahogany door of Suite 12C at the Alexandra Hotel opened.It was the young man who had spoken to Spade in the lobby of the Belvedere Hotel who opened the door for Spade. "Hello," Spade said kindly.The young man didn't say anything, just stood aside and held the door. Spade walked in, and a fat man came over to greet him. The fat man had flabby flesh all over his cheeks, lips, chin, and neck, all pink and fleshy.His entire torso is a large, soft ball, and his limbs are inverted cones.As he moved toward Spade, all his flesh heaved and swayed with his steps, like a mass of soap bubbles squeezed on the mouth of a blowpipe.His eyes, squeezed small by the puffy flesh around them, were black and shiny; his large head was covered with a thin layer of black curly hair.He wore a black tuxedo, black waistcoat, black silk wide tie with a pink pearl pinned to it; gray striped worsted wool trousers, and patent leather shoes. His voice was low, with a soft trill. "Ah, Mr. Spade," he said enthusiastically, holding out a hand that looked like a plump pink pentagram. Spade took his hand and said with a smile, "How are you, Mr. Gutman?" The fat man took Spade's hand, turned to stand beside him, and took Spade's elbow with his other hand, leading him across a green carpet to a green velvet chair .On the coffee table next to the chair were a soda bottle, glasses, a bottle of whiskey on a tray, a box of Ritz cigars, two newspapers, and a small canary yellow box. Spade sat in the green chair, and the fat man began pouring whiskey and soda into two glasses.The lad is gone.The doors on three walls of the room were closed, and there were two windows on the fourth wall behind Spade, looking out onto Gilly Street. "We got off to a good start, sir," said the fat man in a trembling voice, turning around with a glass in his hand, handing it to Spade, "I don't trust people who don't drink well. If He is cautious, for fear of drinking too much, that is because he is unreliable." Spade took the glass and bowed, smiling. The fat man held up his glass to the light of the window, watched the bubbles rise in the glass, nodded approvingly, and said, "Come, sir, a toast to honesty and mutual understanding." They finished drinking and put down their glasses.The fat man looked at Spade with shrewd eyes, and asked, "Are you a tight-lipped person?" Spade shook his head: "I like talking." "It's better this way, it's better like this!" cried the fat man. "I can't trust tight-lipped people. They always say what they shouldn't say when they shouldn't. Talking takes practice to master it. He covered the mouth of the glass with his hand. "We'll get along, sir, for sure." He put the cup on the coffee table, picked up the box of Ritz Crown cigars and said to Spade, "A cigar, sir." Spade took a cigar, cut off one end, and lit it.The fat man pulled a green suede chair across from Spade at a reasonable distance, and placed an ashtray holder within reach of both of them.Then he took his glass from the coffee table, took a cigar from the box, and sat down in his chair.The flesh on his body was no longer dangling, it was all loosely spread out.He let out a breath of comfort and said, "Let's talk now, if you will, sir. To tell you the truth, I'm a man who likes nothing more than a chatterbox." "Excellent. Shall we talk about Blackbird?" The fat man laughed loudly, the flesh on his body heaving and falling with the laughter. "Talk?" he asked, and then answered himself, "Let's talk." He was in a good mood, his pink face glowing, "I like you, sir, you have the same style as me, you don't circle around, you hit the nail on the head. 'Shall we talk about blackbirds?' We'll talk. I like it, sir. I like the way business is done. We've got to talk about blackbirds, but answer me a question, sir. .While this question may be a bit redundant, it is for the sake of our understanding from the beginning. Are you here on behalf of Miss O'Shaughnessy?" Spade exhaled a plume of smoke obliquely over the fat man's head.He frowned thoughtfully, looked at the end of the cigar with soot, and replied calmly: "I can't say yes or no. Either way, I'm not sure yet." He looked up at the fat man, his brows widening "It depends on the situation." "What's the situation?" Spade shook his head. "If I knew, I could say yes or no." The fat man took a big sip from the glass, swallowed the wine, and suggested, "Maybe it depends on Joe Cairo?" Spade replied with a vague "maybe" and resumed his drink. The fat man leaned forward until he got stuck in his stomach.There was a hint of flattery in his smile and vibrato. "Then, so to speak, the question is which of them do you represent?" "You can say that." "Is it not this, or that?" "I didn't say that." A light flashed in the fat man's eyes.He lowered his voice and asked in a hoarse voice, "Who else?" Spade pointed to his chest with a cigar. "And me," he said. The fat man fell back on the chair, his whole body relaxed, and let out a long breath of satisfaction. "Excellent, sir," he said cheerfully, "excellent. I like the kind of man who openly intends for himself. Who doesn't intend for himself? I can't trust a man who says 'no'. I can't trust , is the kind of person who says he doesn’t, and he’s telling the truth, because that kind of person is a fool, a fool against human nature.” Spade exhaled, looking focused and polite.He said, "Ha, now let's talk about that black bird." The fat man showed a kind smile. "Come on." He squinted his eyes, the fat on his face was squeezed into a ball, and there were only two black spots in his eyes, shining brightly. "Mr. Spade, do you have an idea of how much this black bird can be exchanged for?" "No." The fat man leaned forward again, one fat pink hand resting on the arm of Spade's chair. "Then, sir, if I tell you--by God, I only have to tell you half the amount, and you'll call me a liar." Spade smiled. "No," he said, "I wouldn't say it even if I thought so. But if you don't want to risk telling me all about it, tell me what it is, and I'll figure out how much money I'll make." Fatty laughed. "You can't figure it out, sir. Nobody can figure it out unless he's seen a lot of things like it, but—" He paused, making his story all the more evocative, "there's no such thing in the world Two pieces." He laughed again, the flesh all over his body squeezed each other.Suddenly, his laughter stopped abruptly, before his fat lips could close, he stared at Spade intently, as if suffering from myopia. "You said you didn't know what it was?" His voice became less hoarse in shock. Spade waved the cigar casually. "Oh, hell," he said softly, "I know what it looks like; you'd kill for it, so I can see its value. But I don't know what it's about." "She didn't tell you?" "Miss O'Shaughnessy?" "Yes. She's a lovely girl, sir." "Aha, no." The fat man's pair of black and bright eyes were hidden in the pink fat.He said in an uncertain tone, "She must have known," and then asked, "Karo didn't tell you?" "Carlo is very careful. He wants to buy this thing, but he doesn't tell me anything I don't know yet." The fat man licked his lips and asked, "How much is he willing to pay for it?" "Ten thousand dollars." The fat man laughed contemptuously: "Ten thousand yuan, US dollars, you heard clearly, it's not pounds. This is the price that the Greek asked you, hum! Then how did you tell him?" "I said if I gave him the blackbird, he'd have to give me ten thousand dollars." "Ah, yes, if! Well said, sir." The fat man frowned, and the flesh on his forehead moved accordingly, "They must know," he said in a low, almost inaudible voice, "What do you think? Do they know where the bird came from, sir? What do you think?" "I can't help you with that," Spade admitted. "There's not much to judge from. Carol didn't say he knew, and he didn't say he didn't know. Miss O'Shaughnessy said she didn't know, but I feel She's lying." "It's not prudent to say that." Fatty said, but he was obviously absent-minded.He scratched his head and kept frowning, his forehead was covered with bright red horizontal lines.He fidgeted and fidgeted in the chair, limited by the size of the chair.He closed his eyes, opened them again, and said to Spade, "Maybe they don't know." The lines of worry faded from his fleshy pink face, replaced by an indescribable joy. expression. "If they don't know," he kept yelling, "if they don't know, I'm the only one in the entire universe who knows!" The corners of Spade's mouth turned up in a slight smile. "I'm glad I'm in the right place." The fat man also smiled, but the smile was a bit ambiguous.Although he was still smiling, the joy was gone from his face, and there was a cautious look in his eyes.His face was like a grinning mask, shielding his inner thoughts from the Spade in front of him, revealing only a pair of watchful eyes.He avoided Spade's gaze, looked at the cup at Spade's elbow, and then his eyes lit up. "My God, sir," he said, "your glass is empty." He got up and went to the end table, picked up the wine bottle and soda bottle, and poured wine into the glass, making a loud clang. Spade sat motionless in his chair.The fat man bowed exaggeratedly, said in a funny tone: "Oh, sir, this medicine will not do you any harm!" and handed him the full glass.Spade got up and stood in front of the fat man, looking down at him with stern and bright eyes.He raised his glass, his voice calm and high-spirited: "Cheers to honesty and mutual understanding." The fat man giggled.They drank the wine, and the fat man sat down, leaning on his stomach with his glass in both hands, looked at Spade with a smile, and said, "Well, sir, it's a surprise to say, but it may be true: none of them Know the origin of this bird, no one in the world knows what it is except me, only I, your humble servant, Casper Gutman." "Great," Spade stood up with his legs spread apart, one hand in his trouser pocket and the other holding a glass. "When you tell me, we'll be the only two people who know." "It's not bad in terms of arithmetic, sir—" the fat man blinked his eyes, "but—" he smiled, "I'm not sure whether I should tell you." "Don't be a fucking fool," Spade said patiently. "You know what it is, and I know where it is, so we can talk." "So, sir, where is it?" Spade ignored the question.The fat man pursed his lips, raised his eyebrows, and tilted his head slightly to the left. "You see," he said mildly, "it's not fair that I tell you what I know and you don't tell me what you know, sir? No, I don't think we can do that in our business." Spade's face grew pale and hard.His voice was low, full of anger, and he spoke quickly: "Think again, hurry up. I told your little bastard, if you want to make this thing happen, you have to talk to me. I can tell you now , either you say what you need to say today, or you don't even think about it. Just wasting my time for you and your dirty secret? God! I know what's in the basement of the treasury What good is that to me? I can live without you. You goddamn bastard! If you hadn't come to mess with me, I'd probably be able to, but you don't think about it now. In San Francisco You don't even think about it. Cooperate or leave, you have to decide today." He turned around and threw the cup on the coffee table as if he was in a daze.The cup hit the wooden tabletop and broke into pieces, the wine inside and crystal broken glass splashed everywhere on the coffee table and the floor.Spade turned a blind eye to this and turned to face the fat man. The fat man didn't care about the fate of the cup, he still pouted, raised his eyebrows, and tilted his head slightly to the left.Whether it was just when Spade lost his temper or now, that pink face maintained a gentle expression. "One more thing, I don't want to—" said Spade, still angry. The door to Spade's left opened, and in came the young man who had led Spade in.He closed the door and stood in front of it, hands spread across his ribs, looking at Spade.The boy's eyes were wide open, and his pupils were big and black.His eyes scanned Spade, from shoulder to knee, then up, and finally fell on the dark red piping of the handkerchief that Spade showed in the breast pocket of his brown suit. "One more thing," Spade repeated, glaring at the lad, "before you make up your mind, tell this little bastard to stay away from me. I'll kill him. I don't like him, he makes me uncomfortable .If he gets in my way, I'll kill him. I won't be fair to him, I won't give him a chance. I'll kill him." The young man pursed his lips, revealing a faint smile, neither raised his eyes nor opened his mouth.The fat man said graciously, "Well, sir, I must say you have a really bad temper." "Temper?" Spade laughed wildly.He went to the chair where he had put his hat, picked it up, and put it on his head.His angry voice echoed across the room. "Think clearly and use your brain. From now until 5:30, you can think about it carefully. After that, you can either cooperate with me or get out forever." He lowered his arms and stared angrily at the fat man with a gentle face. After a while, he glared at the young man again, and left through the door he had entered before.As he opened the door, he turned and said in a gruff voice, "Five-thirty—the deadline." The young man kept staring at Spade's chest, repeating the two words he had said twice in the lobby of the Belvedere Hotel.His voice was not loud, but filled with deep hatred. Spade went out, slamming the door hard.
Notes:
The mahogany door of Suite 12C at the Alexandra Hotel opened.It was the young man who had spoken to Spade in the lobby of the Belvedere Hotel who opened the door for Spade. "Hello," Spade said kindly.The young man didn't say anything, just stood aside and held the door. Spade walked in, and a fat man came over to greet him. The fat man had flabby flesh all over his cheeks, lips, chin, and neck, all pink and fleshy.His entire torso is a large, soft ball, and his limbs are inverted cones.As he moved toward Spade, all his flesh heaved and swayed with his steps, like a mass of soap bubbles squeezed on the mouth of a blowpipe.His eyes, squeezed small by the puffy flesh around them, were black and shiny; his large head was covered with a thin layer of black curly hair.He wore a black tuxedo, black waistcoat, black silk wide tie with a pink pearl pinned to it; gray striped worsted wool trousers, and patent leather shoes. His voice was low, with a soft trill. "Ah, Mr. Spade," he said enthusiastically, holding out a hand that looked like a plump pink pentagram. Spade took his hand and said with a smile, "How are you, Mr. Gutman?" The fat man took Spade's hand, turned to stand beside him, and took Spade's elbow with his other hand, leading him across a green carpet to a green velvet chair .On the coffee table next to the chair were a soda bottle, glasses, a bottle of whiskey on a tray, a box of Ritz cigars, two newspapers, and a small canary yellow box. Spade sat in the green chair, and the fat man began pouring whiskey and soda into two glasses.The lad is gone.The doors on three walls of the room were closed, and there were two windows on the fourth wall behind Spade, looking out onto Gilly Street. "We got off to a good start, sir," said the fat man in a trembling voice, turning around with a glass in his hand, handing it to Spade, "I don't trust people who don't drink well. If He is cautious, for fear of drinking too much, that is because he is unreliable." Spade took the glass and bowed, smiling. The fat man held up his glass to the light of the window, watched the bubbles rise in the glass, nodded approvingly, and said, "Come, sir, a toast to honesty and mutual understanding." They finished drinking and put down their glasses.The fat man looked at Spade with shrewd eyes, and asked, "Are you a tight-lipped person?" Spade shook his head: "I like talking." "It's better this way, it's better like this!" cried the fat man. "I can't trust tight-lipped people. They always say what they shouldn't say when they shouldn't. Talking takes practice to master it. He covered the mouth of the glass with his hand. "We'll get along, sir, for sure." He put the cup on the coffee table, picked up the box of Ritz Crown cigars and said to Spade, "A cigar, sir." Spade took a cigar, cut off one end, and lit it.The fat man pulled a green suede chair across from Spade at a reasonable distance, and placed an ashtray holder within reach of both of them.Then he took his glass from the coffee table, took a cigar from the box, and sat down in his chair.The flesh on his body was no longer dangling, it was all loosely spread out.He let out a breath of comfort and said, "Let's talk now, if you will, sir. To tell you the truth, I'm a man who likes nothing more than a chatterbox." "Excellent. Shall we talk about Blackbird?" The fat man laughed loudly, the flesh on his body heaving and falling with the laughter. "Talk?" he asked, and then answered himself, "Let's talk." He was in a good mood, his pink face glowing, "I like you, sir, you have the same style as me, you don't circle around, you hit the nail on the head. 'Shall we talk about blackbirds?' We'll talk. I like it, sir. I like the way business is done. We've got to talk about blackbirds, but answer me a question, sir. .While this question may be a bit redundant, it is for the sake of our understanding from the beginning. Are you here on behalf of Miss O'Shaughnessy?" Spade exhaled a plume of smoke obliquely over the fat man's head.He frowned thoughtfully, looked at the end of the cigar with soot, and replied calmly: "I can't say yes or no. Either way, I'm not sure yet." He looked up at the fat man, his brows widening "It depends on the situation." "What's the situation?" Spade shook his head. "If I knew, I could say yes or no." The fat man took a big sip from the glass, swallowed the wine, and suggested, "Maybe it depends on Joe Cairo?" Spade replied with a vague "maybe" and resumed his drink. The fat man leaned forward until he got stuck in his stomach.There was a hint of flattery in his smile and vibrato. "Then, so to speak, the question is which of them do you represent?" "You can say that." "Is it not this, or that?" "I didn't say that." A light flashed in the fat man's eyes.He lowered his voice and asked in a hoarse voice, "Who else?" Spade pointed to his chest with a cigar. "And me," he said. The fat man fell back on the chair, his whole body relaxed, and let out a long breath of satisfaction. "Excellent, sir," he said cheerfully, "excellent. I like the kind of man who openly intends for himself. Who doesn't intend for himself? I can't trust a man who says 'no'. I can't trust , is the kind of person who says he doesn’t, and he’s telling the truth, because that kind of person is a fool, a fool against human nature.” Spade exhaled, looking focused and polite.He said, "Ha, now let's talk about that black bird." The fat man showed a kind smile. "Come on." He squinted his eyes, the fat on his face was squeezed into a ball, and there were only two black spots in his eyes, shining brightly. "Mr. Spade, do you have an idea of how much this black bird can be exchanged for?" "No." The fat man leaned forward again, one fat pink hand resting on the arm of Spade's chair. "Then, sir, if I tell you--by God, I only have to tell you half the amount, and you'll call me a liar." Spade smiled. "No," he said, "I wouldn't say it even if I thought so. But if you don't want to risk telling me all about it, tell me what it is, and I'll figure out how much money I'll make." Fatty laughed. "You can't figure it out, sir. Nobody can figure it out unless he's seen a lot of things like it, but—" He paused, making his story all the more evocative, "there's no such thing in the world Two pieces." He laughed again, the flesh all over his body squeezed each other.Suddenly, his laughter stopped abruptly, before his fat lips could close, he stared at Spade intently, as if suffering from myopia. "You said you didn't know what it was?" His voice became less hoarse in shock. Spade waved the cigar casually. "Oh, hell," he said softly, "I know what it looks like; you'd kill for it, so I can see its value. But I don't know what it's about." "She didn't tell you?" "Miss O'Shaughnessy?" "Yes. She's a lovely girl, sir." "Aha, no." The fat man's pair of black and bright eyes were hidden in the pink fat.He said in an uncertain tone, "She must have known," and then asked, "Karo didn't tell you?" "Carlo is very careful. He wants to buy this thing, but he doesn't tell me anything I don't know yet." The fat man licked his lips and asked, "How much is he willing to pay for it?" "Ten thousand dollars." The fat man laughed contemptuously: "Ten thousand yuan, US dollars, you heard clearly, it's not pounds. This is the price that the Greek asked you, hum! Then how did you tell him?" "I said if I gave him the blackbird, he'd have to give me ten thousand dollars." "Ah, yes, if! Well said, sir." The fat man frowned, and the flesh on his forehead moved accordingly, "They must know," he said in a low, almost inaudible voice, "What do you think? Do they know where the bird came from, sir? What do you think?" "I can't help you with that," Spade admitted. "There's not much to judge from. Carol didn't say he knew, and he didn't say he didn't know. Miss O'Shaughnessy said she didn't know, but I feel She's lying." "It's not prudent to say that." Fatty said, but he was obviously absent-minded.He scratched his head and kept frowning, his forehead was covered with bright red horizontal lines.He fidgeted and fidgeted in the chair, limited by the size of the chair.He closed his eyes, opened them again, and said to Spade, "Maybe they don't know." The lines of worry faded from his fleshy pink face, replaced by an indescribable joy. expression. "If they don't know," he kept yelling, "if they don't know, I'm the only one in the entire universe who knows!" The corners of Spade's mouth turned up in a slight smile. "I'm glad I'm in the right place." The fat man also smiled, but the smile was a bit ambiguous.Although he was still smiling, the joy was gone from his face, and there was a cautious look in his eyes.His face was like a grinning mask, shielding his inner thoughts from the Spade in front of him, revealing only a pair of watchful eyes.He avoided Spade's gaze, looked at the cup at Spade's elbow, and then his eyes lit up. "My God, sir," he said, "your glass is empty." He got up and went to the end table, picked up the wine bottle and soda bottle, and poured wine into the glass, making a loud clang. Spade sat motionless in his chair.The fat man bowed exaggeratedly, said in a funny tone: "Oh, sir, this medicine will not do you any harm!" and handed him the full glass.Spade got up and stood in front of the fat man, looking down at him with stern and bright eyes.He raised his glass, his voice calm and high-spirited: "Cheers to honesty and mutual understanding." The fat man giggled.They drank the wine, and the fat man sat down, leaning on his stomach with his glass in both hands, looked at Spade with a smile, and said, "Well, sir, it's a surprise to say, but it may be true: none of them Know the origin of this bird, no one in the world knows what it is except me, only I, your humble servant, Casper Gutman." "Great," Spade stood up with his legs spread apart, one hand in his trouser pocket and the other holding a glass. "When you tell me, we'll be the only two people who know." "It's not bad in terms of arithmetic, sir—" the fat man blinked his eyes, "but—" he smiled, "I'm not sure whether I should tell you." "Don't be a fucking fool," Spade said patiently. "You know what it is, and I know where it is, so we can talk." "So, sir, where is it?" Spade ignored the question.The fat man pursed his lips, raised his eyebrows, and tilted his head slightly to the left. "You see," he said mildly, "it's not fair that I tell you what I know and you don't tell me what you know, sir? No, I don't think we can do that in our business." Spade's face grew pale and hard.His voice was low, full of anger, and he spoke quickly: "Think again, hurry up. I told your little bastard, if you want to make this thing happen, you have to talk to me. I can tell you now , either you say what you need to say today, or you don't even think about it. Just wasting my time for you and your dirty secret? God! I know what's in the basement of the treasury What good is that to me? I can live without you. You goddamn bastard! If you hadn't come to mess with me, I'd probably be able to, but you don't think about it now. In San Francisco You don't even think about it. Cooperate or leave, you have to decide today." He turned around and threw the cup on the coffee table as if he was in a daze.The cup hit the wooden tabletop and broke into pieces, the wine inside and crystal broken glass splashed everywhere on the coffee table and the floor.Spade turned a blind eye to this and turned to face the fat man. The fat man didn't care about the fate of the cup, he still pouted, raised his eyebrows, and tilted his head slightly to the left.Whether it was just when Spade lost his temper or now, that pink face maintained a gentle expression. "One more thing, I don't want to—" said Spade, still angry. The door to Spade's left opened, and in came the young man who had led Spade in.He closed the door and stood in front of it, hands spread across his ribs, looking at Spade.The boy's eyes were wide open, and his pupils were big and black.His eyes scanned Spade, from shoulder to knee, then up, and finally fell on the dark red piping of the handkerchief that Spade showed in the breast pocket of his brown suit. "One more thing," Spade repeated, glaring at the lad, "before you make up your mind, tell this little bastard to stay away from me. I'll kill him. I don't like him, he makes me uncomfortable .If he gets in my way, I'll kill him. I won't be fair to him, I won't give him a chance. I'll kill him." The young man pursed his lips, revealing a faint smile, neither raised his eyes nor opened his mouth.The fat man said graciously, "Well, sir, I must say you have a really bad temper." "Temper?" Spade laughed wildly.He went to the chair where he had put his hat, picked it up, and put it on his head.His angry voice echoed across the room. "Think clearly and use your brain. From now until 5:30, you can think about it carefully. After that, you can either cooperate with me or get out forever." He lowered his arms and stared angrily at the fat man with a gentle face. After a while, he glared at the young man again, and left through the door he had entered before.As he opened the door, he turned and said in a gruff voice, "Five-thirty—the deadline." The young man kept staring at Spade's chest, repeating the two words he had said twice in the lobby of the Belvedere Hotel.His voice was not loud, but filled with deep hatred. Spade went out, slamming the door hard.
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