Sam Spade

It's in the air.

Worry that out on his time.

Drink up.

She looked as if she were telling the truth.

Though with women, especially blue-eyed women, that doesn't always mean anything.

If she had anything more to tell, she obviously wasn't ready yet to tell it.

I asked her to come up and listen to my Herb Jeffries records.

She said my apartment needed a woman's touch.

I handed her a broom.

She hit me on the head with it and left.

And so did Ben.

Up the times and phoned my client.

He wasn't in.

Then I phoned a guy I know who sometimes knows about things and asked him what sodium denadrine was.

He said it was a sedative and or a truth serum, a mental type drug.

I wondered what Grierson had been using it for during office hours.

I also wondered what else he'd been spending money for.

I phoned another guy who knows about other things, and he called me back with the name of Grierson's bank, Golden Gate Trust.

An hour later, to my surprise, I actually had something to go on.

Because in the past six weeks, checks totaling $50,000 had been deposited to Grierson's account, all drawn on the Citrus Exchange Bank of San Anselmo, and all bearing the signature of one Carl Birdwell, M.D.,