“My father’s brother. Not through any affection — he hardly knew me. He financed most of my father’s ventures too, during the early years. Then my father’s son from his first marriage took over. Again, I was a family duty for a Chinese Christian.”
They all fell suddenly silent at the same time. Sid Wise patted his files with open palms.
“Then I think we’re through here. No legal entanglements and I’ve got a pile of work to do, so...”
They were all on their feet. Shook hands all around. As they started out, Wise said casually, “Oh, Sam, I need to talk to you for just a minute about the Creighton case.”
Spade came back in, shut the door, sat down again in his favorite chair. He started making another cigarette.
Wise said, “You can fob off a story about a map between the endpapers of a book to those children, but I know different.”
“How’s that?” asked Spade without much interest.
“I happened to run into Tom Polhaus in court yesterday,” said Wise in a careful voice. “He told me how Dundy tossed Treasure Island aside and how he himself went through the book page by page looking for marks or notations. He didn’t find anything.”
“That still doesn’t mean there wasn’t a map hidden in it.”
Wise stared at him keenly for a long moment.
“You’re a very different man from that twenty-seven-year-old kid who shoved a crumpled-up newspaper into my hand in our old office building over Remedial Loans. Harder. Colder.”
“A lot has happened to both of us, Sid. We grew up.”
“Sure, but.” Sid Wise paused. “I don’t know what happened out there on Red Rock the other night, but—”
“I didn’t find any treasure.”
“You found something.” Wise was silent while he trimmed and lit a cigar. “What do you think will happen with the girl?”
“She’ll be fine. She’s got Henny Barber.”
“What will his folks say about him and a Chinese girl?”
“They’ll come around. She’s beautiful and smart — smart as a Greek girl, and that’s plenty smart. She’s of good blood, even if from the wrong side of the bed. She’ll make Henny the kind of wife an important banker needs. Maybe they’ll go to Hong Kong and open a branch bank like he keeps talking about. Or they’ll take the map to Red Rock Island and maybe find a treasure.”
“I guess you’re right.” Studying his cigar, Wise added, “But what if they follow that map and find something buried besides Sun Yat-sen’s money?”
Spade chuckled. “Maybe there were two maps. Maybe there was one hidden in Treasure Island, the one they have now, and maybe there was another map, a fake one, somebody else made.”
Sid Wise’s sharp features became very tight. Then he nodded. He had to clear his throat before speaking.
“Then you don’t think Sabbath Zhu will make any trouble?”
“I think Sabbath Zhu has already moved on.”
When Spade came into the office the next morning, Effie Perine gave him a strange look. But all she said was, “How did the conference go at Sid’s office yesterday?”
“Everyone healthy, wealthy, and wise. Any messages?”
Instead of answering, she said, “And what did you do to my knife? I almost cut myself opening the mail yesterday.”
“Which knife?”
“You know very well which knife.” She ruefully displayed it. “The Greek knife that...” She fumbled her words for a moment, then rallied. “That Penny gave me all those years ago.”
Spade shrugged. “I just sharpened it up a bit. They always say a dull knife is more dangerous than a sharp one.”
She thrust it under his nose.
“What’s this smear on the blade?”
“Rust.”
“It’s a bronze blade. Bronze doesn’t rust.”
“Then it’s paint.”
“You know very well it isn’t.”
He shrugged again, started toward his office, paused.
“What I do know, Effie, is that Penny, if she were still around, wouldn’t mind a little rust on the blade of that knife.”
He went into his office and shut the door.
A half hour later, Spade was smoking behind his desk when Effie Perine came in. He looked up at her.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
She finished shutting the door behind her, leaned against it, and said, “There’s a girl wants to see you. Her name’s Wonderly.”
“A customer?”
“I guess so. You’ll want to see her anyway: she’s a knockout.”
“Shoo her in, darling,” said Spade. “Shoo her in.”
Acknowledgments
Always first in my acknowledgments is Dori, wife, lover, best friend, forever my first and last reader, editor, critic, and collaborator. She inspires me to write and always knows when I am going astray — and always knows how to fix it.
Henry Morrison, canny friend and adviser and my agent for over forty years, came up with countless suggestions for the book. He loved the idea of it, so he prodded and poked and cajoled and even swore to push me through to those two magic words, the end.
Rick Layman is our foremost Hammett scholar and historian. Without his friendship, enthusiasm, and expertise and his Discovering “The Maltese Falcon” and Sam Spade to use as my primary source material, I could not have written Spade & Archer.
Jo Marshall, Dashiell Hammett’s only surviving daughter, in 2006 said “Yes!” to a prequel to The Maltese Falcon. Jo gave me not only her blessings and inspiration but also the idea (and the research) for much of part III of the novel.
Vince Emory let me write the introduction to Hammett’s Lost Stories, then shared his vast knowledge of San Francisco and Hammett with me. A history of the coroner’s office from 1850 to 1960 gave me the idea for part II. Vince and Rita are rare friends.
Theresa McGovern, research librarian at the Fairfax Library, once again filled every goofy research demand I made on her. She even gave up a weekend to find out about secretaries’ salaries in the 1920s. Dori and I treasure her friendship.
Again, the entire staff at the Fairfax Library helped with the project whenever they could. Especially Shereen Ash, who found me the history of the Bohemian Club and put me in touch with the club’s historian. Librarians are wonderful people!
Jo Marshall’s children, Julie Rivett and Evan Marshall, gave me advice and information about their grandfather, Dashiell Hammett. Their enthusiasm and support for the project have been a great inspiration to me.
Sonny Mehta, chairman and editor in chief at Knopf, gave his blessing to the project. And my editors, Diana Coglianese at Knopf and Zachary Wagman at Vintage Books, did a marvelous line edit of the manuscript and had countless suggestions that made Spade & Archer a much better (and shorter!) book.
The late Matt Bruccoli, a friend of many years and our best Hemingway-Fitzgerald scholar, gave me the background for Spade’s service in World War I. Matt was wildly enthusiastic about Spade & Archer. Matt, I so wish you’d had a chance to read it.
Last, but certainly not least, Dori’s and my dear friend Bill Richardson got me unprecedented access to the Bohemian Club and walked me through everything I needed for the scenes I wanted to set there. We owe you and Betsy a great dinner, Bill!