His left thumb depressed the receiver hook for a long moment, released it. He gave central a number. When he heard Effie Perine’s voice, he brought the phone closer to his mouth. There was elation in his voice.
“You have Penny with you there at your mother’s?” He nodded. “Good. It’s all over, sweetheart. I’ll get out there eventually.”
28
Effie
Tom Polhaus was leaning against a side wall with his arms folded on his chest and an embarrassed look on his face. Dundy was holding a lace window curtain aside to contemplate the looming bulk of Grace Cathedral in the next block. Phels, heavy bodied with a deeply lined grayish face, was sitting in a velour-upholstered davenport chair, hands hanging down between spread thighs, staring at the floor.
Sam Spade was striding up and down the room. His face was red and the veins at the sides of his thick throat were swelling dangerously as he raged at the three Homicide detectives.
“What do you mean you missed him?”
“He wasn’t here, Sam,” said Tom with chagrin in his voice. “His clothes and everything was still here, but he wasn’t.”
“Did you come in like I said? Quick but quiet?”
Dundy said, “How we come in don’t matter. He was tipped.”
“Who was going to tip him, Dundy?”
“Spaulding.”
“Spaulding didn’t tip anyone. Sid Wise is sitting on his chest right now waiting for someone to come take him away.”
A detective with his hat on, known to Spade only as Mack, burst open the splintered front door.
“Lieutenant, the fire escape is right beside the bathroom window of the first-floor rear apartment, and it rattles like crazy, anybody uses it. Before the tenant went out for lunch, he heard us runnin’ up the stairs yellin’ we was the police, then heard someone comin’ down the fire escape, fast. Uh... it was him, Lieutenant. St. James. He took off down the alley afoot.”
“How you went in don’t matter?” demanded Spade bitterly.
“How was we to know it wasn’t you sendin’ us on another of your wild-goose chases, Spade? You should of come to us sooner.”
Spade’s grimace deepened the V’s of his face.
“I hope to God you’ve got men in the bus and train and ferry terminals, got ’em checking hired cars, got ’em—”
“Yeah, yeah, we’ll get to all that. But—”
“Get to all that?”
Dundy’s voice was defensive. “All I’ve got even now is your phone call to Tom. I ain’t talked to Spaulding yet. I ain’t seen nothing like proof of anything. I ain’t seen the two wills. I don’t even know why this St. James was livin’ here.”
Spade took another frustrated turn around the room.
“Eberhard was keeping his mistress in this apartment. With the lease paid up, what safer place for St. James to hole up? With her story and Spaulding’s story you’ll have enough to—”
“How much can we trust some cheap tart who was just in it for the money? Maybe she was even in cahoots with St. James.”
Spade started across the room toward him, white-faced. Big Tom Polhaus got in his way, arms wide. He spoke in a low voice.
“Where’s the girl, Sam?”
The tension went out of Spade. “I’ve got her stashed.”
“Gimme her name so we can check her out,” said Dundy.
“I keep telling you, this St. James is deadly. Go out and find her yourself. I’m not stopping you.”
Spade parked his hire car at the curb in front of a two-story brick building in the 300 block of the Richmond District’s Ninth Avenue. On the small square stoop a glazed Greek pot held a wide-spreading ficus plant. A riot of daisies crowded the living room windowsill planter. He rang the doorbell.
The door was opened by a dark-haired handsome woman in her early forties. Her face broke into a smile when she saw Spade. He bowed slightly to her. “Mrs. Perine.”
“I’m so glad this terrible thing is finally over,” she said. “Effie’s in the front room. I’ll get you a cup of coffee.”
As she went down the hall to the kitchen Spade entered the living room. Effie Perine stood up from a low-slung Coxwell chair in one corner. She echoed what her mother had said.
“I’m so glad it’s all over, Sam. So is Penny.”
Spade stopped in the middle of the bright, cheery room. An Oriental carpet was on the gleaming hardwood floor. Framed photos crowded the foot-square taboret under the front window; its lower shelf was crammed with books. Gold-threaded tassels hung from the armrests of the upholstered Chesterfield.
“It isn’t quite over,” said Spade uneasily. “Not yet. But Penny’s safe enough here.”
“But she isn’t here!”
In two quick strides he had Effie Perine by her upper arms, was almost shaking her. “Not here?”
“After we ate she decided to go get her things from her apartment out in Noe Valley. She said she wanted to close that chapter of her life for good.” Effie Perine rubbed her arms through her sweater. “What — what’s wrong, Sam?”
“St. James is still on the loose. The cops missed him. How long ago did she leave?”
“Two hours. Should I—”
“If she calls from the Donants’ across the hall tell her to stay there with them with the door locked till I get there.”
Spade ran up the five worn steps and through the unlatched front door, took the interior stairs two at a time. Thin glass sharded under his feet: the third-floor hallway light had been broken. He followed his torch: the Donants’ door was locked. Penny’s door drifted open to his touch. He turned off his torch.
Vague light from the street showed him the easy chair and the magazine stand beside it. Undisturbed, as was the kitchen behind its counter. The bedroom’s three-wing screen was closed.
Spade folded back one wing to blackness, went in with no more noise than a cat crossing a carpet. Here was the coppery smell of blood. He lit his torch. Its light found the chest of drawers. The battered wardrobe. The cheap suitcase between the side wall and the narrow single bed.
Penny was on the bed, naked, violated. Her head was strained back into the blood-soaked pillow. Her throat was slit. Her face was distorted. Her lip rouge was smeared grotesquely around her mouth. Spade pulled the blanket up over her, stood beside her, head lowered, breathing hard.
The creak of the apartment door gave him animation once more. He killed the torch, in darkness and silence went past the screen, past the kitchen counter, death in his movements.
But it was Effie Perine who stood in the middle of the front room, hands clenched into fists on drawn-back wrists. She gave a little startled cry when she saw Spade, then started toward him.
“Sam! I got a cab, I had to come, I couldn’t stand not knowing. Where is she? Is she...”
The muscles stood out like marbles along his jaw. His eyes glittered redly in the dim light. He jerked his head toward the bedroom.
“She’s in there.”
She tried to dart past him. He grabbed her by the upper arms, spun her around against the magazine stand.
“She’s dead.” He paused, said again, “She is dead.” Effie Perine gave a little cry, again tried to get past him. He held her effortlessly, as if she were a rag doll. “You don’t want to go in there. You don’t want to see it. He forced her back on the bed. He put his hands on her. Then he slit her throat.”
Spade flung himself away from her, stood in the middle of the room with his back to her, legs wide, head drawn down between thick shoulders, hands clenched at his sides.
“Don’t trust me, Effie. I don’t want anyone to trust me. Not now. Not ever.”