Nick: “He was killed today.”
The drunk: “It don’t surprise me. Stands to reason no tenants weren’t going to put up with those goats forever.” The other thugs exchange glances, then begin to regard Nick with suspicion.
Nora: “Nick, I’m going to phone.”
Nick: “He’s had time enough to get home.” He holds out a handful of change.
Dancer, not far away, sees Nora take the nickel (if necessary, he can have overheard some of the conversation), and he goes quickly to one of the hatcheck girls and says, “Get on the phone and stay there.” She goes to the phone, drops in a coin, and when Nora arrives the girl is in the middle of a long description of a dress (that can be written much more accurately by Miss Goodrich than by Mr. Hammett). Nora waits impatiently.
At Nick’s table, his guests are no longer having a good time; his questioning the drunk looks too much as if he were working on a murder job. Eddie clears his throat, says, “Well, boys, I guess we better be trucking along.”
Willie: “I guess we better.” Only the drunk seems comfortable.
Nick: “What’s the matter? It’s early. Don’t you like the party?”
Eddie: “Sure we like it. It’s swell. But, well, we got to get up early in the morning.”
Nick: “Surely you haven’t become an early riser in your old age, Eddie.”
Eddie squirms: “Well, no, but—” He gets a bright idea: “You see, we’re giving Willie a picnic. He’s nuts about picnics and he’s been locked up a long time, so we thought we’d take him out in the country early tomorrow morning and throw a picnic for him. Ain't that right, Willie?”
Willie: “I’m sure nuts about picnics!”
The drunk has opened his eyes and is staring at the others in surprise. He says, “What’s the matter with you dopes? What can you lift out in the country?” Then more indignantly, “I ain’t gonna ride in the back seat with no cow!"
Eddie laughs, says to Nick, “Ain’t he a card!” and with Willie’s help begins to haul the drunk to his feet.
Dancer, going into his apartment, says to a passing waiter, “Bring me a glass of milk.” In his apartment, he goes to the telephone and calls Polly’s number. Lum Kee is lying on a sofa reading a book. Dancer waits patiently at the phone until the waiter comes in with his milk, then he puts down the phone and says, “That bum! I told her to take him straight to her place.”
Lum Kee, not looking up from his book: “Mr. Landis?”
Dancer: “Uh-huh. I wanted her to get him in shape so he could go home.”
Waiter: “Mr. Landis on phone I hearum say go home pack bag.”
Dancer’s eyes narrow, then he says, “Oh, sure, that’s right. I had forgotten.”
The waiter goes out. Dancer stands idly spinning an ashtray on a table for a moment, then yawns and says, “I think I’ll go out for a couple of minutes and get a little air in one of my lungs.” Lum Kee nods without looking up. Dancer takes his hat and coat from a closet, says, “That last batch of Scotch we got from Monty’s pretty bad.”
Lum Kee: “I tell him.”
Dancer goes out. Lum Kee puts his book down, takes his hat from the closet, and goes out.
The girl at the telephone is now talking about hats, while Nora fidgets with increasing impatience.
In his room, Robert is finishing packing a bag, with occasional glances at the bathroom that connects his room with Selma’s. He does not make much noise but is still too drunk to be completely silent. He has changed his clothes.
Selma turns in bed and makes a faint moaning noise, but does not open her eyes.
In another room a bedside light goes on, and Aunt Katherine sits up in bed, listening. Grim-faced, she unhurriedly gets out of bed and reaches for her slippers.
His bag packed, Robert puts it out in the hall, then turns out the lights and tiptoes through the connecting bathroom into Selma’s room, going to a dressing table, pulling a drawer open, and taking out a jewel case. He has transferred part of its contents to his pocket when Selma suddenly sits up in bed and screams, “Robert!” He turns, pushing the case back into the drawer as she snaps on the light.
Robert, with taunting mildness: “Hello, Selma, how are you?”
She runs toward him, crying: “Oh, where have you been? Oh, why do you do these things?”
He takes her in his arms: “There, there, darling.”
For a moment she relaxes in his arms, then she puts her hands on his chest, pushes herself free, and cries, “No, I won’t this time. I won’t forgive you. I won’t let you make a fool of me again.”
Robert, as if to an unreasonable child: “All right, all right, darling. As a matter of fact, I only stopped in for a minute, anyhow, to change my clothes.”
Selma: “Where are you going?”
Robert: “A trip, a little trip.”
Selma: “You’re not. I won’t have it. I won’t.”
Robert, smiling: “Oh, won’t you?” He takes a step toward the door, then stops to ask, “Want to kiss me good-bye?” She flies at him in insane rage. He catches her wrists, kisses her lightly on the mouth, says, “Thanks, darling,” releases her wrists, and goes out. She stands staring after him with wild eyes, scrubbing her lips with the back of one hand, then runs into his room and pulls a table drawer open.
FLASHES:
Robert, smiling, bag in hand, going out the front door into the foggy street.
Polly, standing in a small store doorway, straining her eyes trying to see through the fog.
Phil, at the entrance of a narrow alley, his collar up, his right hand under his coat near his left armpit.
Dancer, at the wheel of a black coupe, his eyes searching the street.
Lum Kee in a car driven by a Chinese chauffeur.
On a street comer, a policeman is hunkered down on his heels scratching the back of a gaunt alley cat. He hears a pistol shot (not too loud), straightens up, and starts across the street.
Robert lies on his back on the sidewalk, his head and one shoulder propped up a little by the wall he has fallen against — dead. Selma stands looking down at him. Her face is a blank, dazed mask. In her right hand, hanging down at her side, is a pistol. Brakes scream, and a car comes to a jarring halt at the curb. She does not move. David jumps out of the car and runs over to her, exclaiming, “Selma!” She does not move until he turns her to face him, and even then her face does not change. He shakes her, cries, “Selma! What—” He sees the pistol then and takes it from her, stepping back a little. As he does so, her eyes lose their blankness, and she looks at the pistol.
In a monotone she says, “He was going away. I took that from his room, to try to stop him.” She begins to tremble, and her face works convulsively; she is about to go to pieces.
David has put the pistol in his pocket. He glances quickly up and down the foggy street, then takes her by the shoulders and shakes her again, putting his face close to hers, speaking very clearly, as if to one who understood English poorly, “Listen, Selma. You're going back in the house. You never had a pistol. Hear me? You haven’t been out of the house. Understand? You know nothing about this. Understand?” She nods woodenly. With an arm around her, he leads her quickly to the comer, only a few steps away. There he says, “Now hurry! Back in the house. Up to your room. You know nothing about this. Run!” Automatically obeying his command, she runs blindly back toward her front door. David dashes back to his car, jumps in, and drives off with reckless speed.
In the Lichee, the girl at the telephone is now talking about shoes. Besides Nora, half-a-dozen other people are waiting to use the phone. Nora goes up to the girl and says, “Please, it’s awfully important that I—”