Dashiell Hammett

“ They had to do with pride in a man’s courage and hardihood: courage and hardihood that could make of thefts, of murder, of crimes dimly guessed, wrongs no more reprehensible than a boy’s apple-stealing. They had to do with the existence or non-existence of this gilding courage, without which a rover might be no more than a shoplifter on a geographically larger scale, a sneak-thief who crept into strangers’ lands instead of houses, a furtive, skulking figure with an aptitude for glamorous autobiography. ”

“ Beyond the curtain the two men bargained on across the table.
“. . . every—cent. Men—do—not—profitably—betray—me.”
She glared through the gap between portiere and frame, at fat Doucas with his pistol level on table-top, at red Guy pretending to ignore the pistol. Rage filled her, weaponless, impotent rage. Or was it weaponless? The light-button was beside the door. Doucas and Guy were occupied with one another—
HER hand moved before the motive impulse was full-formed inside her. ”

“ Guy was coming home to fill the house with boisterous laughter, shouted blasphemies, wild tales of lawlessness in strangely named places; with the odors of tobacco and liquor; with odds and ends of rover’s equipment that never could be confined to closet or room, but overflowed to litter the house from roof to cellar. Cartridges would roll underfoot, boots and belts would turn up in unexpected places, cigars, cigar ends, cigar ashes would be everywhere, empty bottles, likely as not, would get to the front porch to scandalize the neighbors. ”

“ The purring gurgle died, leaving a more oppressive silence, the silence of wide emptiness. It was as if walls and men were gone and she stood alone in a black void.
Cold metal came under sliding palm. A finger found the button, fumbled too eagerly atop it, slid off. She clutched at the button with both hands, ground a thumb into it. Light came. She whirled her back to the wall.
Across the room Guy straddled Doucas, holding his head up from the floor with thick hands that hid the Greek’s white collar. Doucas’ tongue was a bluish pendant from a bluish mouth. His eyes stood out, dull. ”

“ Margaret rolled over beneath the covers, putting her back to the sun-painted west wall, and closed her eyes again.
But drowsiness would not come. She was definitely awake to the morning excitement of the next-door chickens, the hum of an automobile going toward the ferry, the unfamiliar fragrance of magnolia in the breeze tickling her cheek with loose hair-ends. She got up, slid feet into soft slippers, shoulders into bath robe, and went downstairs to start toast and coffee before dressing.
A fat man in black was on the point of leaving the kitchen. ”

“ Out of the night questions came to torment her: shadowy questions, tangling, knotting, raveling in too swiftly shifting a profusion for any to be clearly seen, but all having something to do with a pride that in eight years had become a very dear thing. ”

“ It was early in the morning, and I found him in the kitchen, and I know he had been upstairs. Who is he, Guy?”
“A fellow,” her husband said vaguely round the knuckle he bit. He seemed to attach no importance to, not even be interested by, the news that Doucas had come furtively into his house. “Seen him since then?”
“Not to talk to, but I see him every time I pass the hotel.”
Guy took the knuckle from between his teeth, rubbed his chin with a thumb, hunched his thick shoulders, let them fall lax, and reached for Margaret. ”

“ The fat Greek’s left hand had materialized a compact pistol out of nothing
Illustration: Green bank notes slid out, yellow coins rang on the table. “Oh, Guy!” she gasped, “All that?”
“It really doesn’t matter, so long as every one knows what rule is to be followed before the game starts,” she said into a pause that asked words of her, and went on with her secret thinking. ”