The Maltese Falcon

by Dashiell Hammett

knew Floyd wouldn’t be easily frightened, but I thought that if he knew somebody was shadowing him either he’d— Oh, I can’t say it, Sam!” She clung to him, sobbing. Spade said: “You thought Floyd would tackle him and one or the other of them would go down. If Thursby was the one then you were rid of him. If Miles was, then you could see that Floyd was caught and you’d be rid of him. That it?” “S-something like that.” “And when you found that Thursby didn’t mean to tackle him you borrowed the gun and did it yourself. Right?” “Yes—though not exactly.” “But exact enough. And you had that plan up your sleeve from the first. You thought Floyd would be nailed for the killing.” “I—I thought they’d hold him at least until after Captain Jacobi had arrived with the falcon and—” “And you didn’t know then that Gutman was here hunting for you. You didn’t suspect that or you wouldn’t have shaken your gunman. You knew Gutman was here as soon as you heard Thursby had been shot. Then you knew you needed another protector, so you came back to me. Right?”