The Maltese Falcon

by Dashiell Hammett

and I did and then we found that

‘What makes it worth all that money?’ he demanded. ‘You must have some idea, at

down Geary Street to the Palace Hotel, where he ate luncheon. His face had lost its pallor, his lips their dryness, and his

had happened: she had given the bird to Jacobi to bring here for her. Jacobi did not