The Maltese Falcon

by Dashiell Hammett

“What kind of gun do you carry?” he asked. “None. I don’t like them much. Of course there are some in the office.” “I’d like to see one of them,” the Lieutenant said. “You don’t happen to have one here?” “No.”

“Maybe. And here’s something for you to not forget, sweetheart. I’ll tell it or not as I damned please. It’s a long while since I burst out crying because policemen didn’t like me.”

He took tobacco and cigarette-papers from his vest-pockets, but did not roll a cigarette. He sat holding the papers in one hand, the tobacco in the other, and looked with brooding eyes at his dead partner’s desk.

“I mean that you paid us more than if you’d been telling the truth,” he explained blandly, “and enough more to make it all right.”

Effie Perine sat up straight and said: “Sam, if that girl’s in trouble and you let her down, or take advantage of it to bleed her, I’ll never forgive you, never have any respect for you, as long as I live.”

“I can understand your being afraid of Cairo,” Spade said. “He’s out of your reach.” “And you aren’t?”

Cairo hesitated, said dubiously: “You have always, I must say, a smooth explanation ready.” Spade scowled. “What do you want me to do? Learn to stutter?

I’ve got nothing to tell you or the police and I’m God-damned tired of being called things by every crackpot on the city payroll.

“Well, sir, there are other means of persuasion besides killing and threatening to kill.”

“I don’t care who loves who I’m not going to play the sap for you. I won’t walk in Thursby’s and Christ knows who else’s footsteps. You killed Miles and you’re going over for it. I could have helped you by letting the others go and standing off the police the best way I could. It’s too late for that now. I can’t help you now. And I wouldn’t if I could.”

Now on the other side we’ve got what? All we’ve got is the fact that maybe you love me and maybe I love you.”