Return of the Thin Man: Two never-before-published novellas featuring Nick & Nora Charles

by Dashiell Hammett

  Nick: “No, really! Well, you amaze me! Could you explain that further?”

  William lets out a sonorous snore.

  Nick: “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that.”

  The General, on the other side, is vying with William in his snorts. Nick turns toward his unconscious figure.

  Nick: “What is it?”

  As William snores again, Nick turns to him with a restraining gesture: “Just a minute.”

  He turns back to the General, who snorts again. Nick speaks to him, as if amazed at his statement: “Really!”

  He turns to Burton, who is also sound asleep across the table: “Are you going to let that pass unchallenged? You must have something to say to that!”

  Burton’s snore tops all of the others, as he turns uneasily in his chair.

  Nick: “That’s the boy. I knew you had it in you.”

  Nora: “Nick! Nick!”

  Nick looks around at her, rising as he hears her.

  Nora: “Come here—come here!”

  Nick turns and addresses the four unconscious figures with great courtesy.

  Nick: “If you gentlemen will forgive me?”

  He starts to turn to go to Nora, and then stops to pick up a stiff bunch of flowers from the center of the table and sticks it on the chest of the General, next to him. He turns and joins Nora.

  Nick: “I don’t know when I’ve had a more stimulating evening!”

  Nick and Nora walk through the hallway. She is holding his arm and seems worried. She says: “Aunt Katherine wants to see you.”

  Nick: “What have I done now?”

  Nora: “Do you know why Robert wasn’t here tonight?”

  Nick: “Because he’s smart.”

  Nora: “I’m not fooling. He’s disappeared.”

  Nick: “That’s swell. Now if we can get rid of—”

  Nora: “Be nice to Selma, Nickie. She’s having such a tough time of it.” Nick stops and turns Nora around to face him, looking at her with suspicion. He says:

  “Now come on, tell the old man—what are you getting him into?”

  Nora, paying no attention to this: “And do try to be polite to Aunt Katherine. It’ll make it easier for Selma.”

  Nick sighs deeply and they go into the library.

  Aunt Katherine comes forward to meet them. She is putting up a great show . . . being very charming to Nick, and speaking as if the whole affair were trifling. Selma is standing in the background, looking out of the window, her hands playing restlessly with the curtain.

  Aunt Katherine: “Oh, Nicholas. I’m sorry to take you away from the boys.”

  Nick, remembering the boys: “That’s all right.”

  Aunt Katherine: “But there’s a little something that you can do for us.”

  Nick: “How long has Robert been gone?”

  Aunt Katherine, as if she couldn’t quite remember, it was so unimportant: “Let me see . . . about three days.”

  Selma turns from the window, and comes toward them, speaking violently: “Something’s happened. I know it has. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. Every time anyone comes to the door . . . every time the phone rings, I know it’s someone to say they’ve found his body.”

  Nora crosses quickly to Selma, and puts her arms comfortingly around her: “Don’t, Selma. Nothing terrible can have happened, or you’d be bound to know.”

  Aunt Katherine, still keeping up her pretense of treating the matter lightly, in spite of Selma’s outburst: “Selma’s exaggerating the whole affair. However, I thought you might like the opportunity to do something for the family. I know that you must have come across situations like this in your previous work as a . . . er . . . er . . .”

  She cannot bring herself to say the word “detective.” Nick realizes, amused, why she hesitates.

  Nora, coming out with it: “As a flatfoot?”

  Aunt Katherine, turning to Nora: “I didn’t mean to be as blunt as all that.”

  Nick, rubbing it in: “Why not? It’s all in the family.”

  Aunt Katherine winces, but goes on bravely: “Of course, I don’t know how to go about such things . . . I don’t know what your methods are. But I thought you might . . . er . . . ‘snoop’ around a little and find out what you can . . . just to put Selma’s mind at ease.”

  Nick: “You haven’t notified the police?”

  Aunt Katherine is about to answer, when Selma interrupts her, with bitter sarcasm: “Oh no!”

  Selma: “Our names might get in the papers. People might find out that I’m married to a drunken wastrel, a thief, a man who’s already cost me a small fortune getting him out of scrapes with women, a man who has never done a decent thing in—”

  Aunt Katherine raps with her cane on the floor and says: “Selma, stop that nonsense!”

  Selma puts her hands over her face and cries: “I don’t care what anybody knows, I don’t care what gets in the papers, if I can only be happy again once.”

  Nora goes to her to soothe her.

  Aunt Katherine, quietly: “We’ve kept our private affairs out of the public print up until now, and I hope we shall continue to do so.” She smiles at Nick as if conferring a favor on him. “I shall leave it in your hands, Nicholas. I know you’ll welcome a chance to help us, and I needn’t tell you how grateful we’ll be if you see that Robert returns home without any scandal.” She smiles at Nora, says: “If you’ll forgive me, I’ll go back to my guests. When you’ve quieted Selma, I think she’d better go off to bed.” She goes out calmly and majestically.

  Nick, looking after her half-admiringly, half-disgustedly, says: “Katherine the Great!”

  Selma comes over to Nick, holding out her hands, saying: “I don’t know how to thank you, Nick.”

  Nick takes her hands, says: “You mean you don’t know what to thank me for. What is all this fiddle-de-dee?”

  Selma: “Robert hasn’t been home—I haven’t seen or heard from him for three days.”

  Nick: “Where do you think he might be?”

  Selma: “I don’t know. It’s some woman, of course. It gets worse and worse. Only last week some Chinese restaurant—Li-Chee or something—sent me a cigarette case they thought I’d left there and I know it was some woman that was there with him, though he swore it wasn’t.”

  Nick: “Well, you’re at least a cigarette case ahead—or wasn’t it worth keeping?”

  Nora says: “Nick,” reprovingly, while Selma, not knowing he is kidding her, says:

  “I sent it back, of course, with a note saying it wasn’t mine, but I don’t—” She breaks off to look at the butler, who is standing in the doorway. The butler says:

  “A—ah—gentleman from the police to see you, Mrs. Landis.”

  Selma screams, and seems about to faint.

  Selma’s scream brings in Aunt Katherine, followed by the rest of the family. During the ensuing hubbub, while they are bringing her to, asking one another what happened, Lieutenant Abrams comes in. He nods at Nick, says: “I thought maybe you’d be here,” looks at Selma and asks: “Is the lady in trouble Mrs. Selma Landis?”

  Nick says: “Yes.”

  Abrams: “I thought maybe it was.” Then, to Nora, who is now looking at him: “Evening, Mrs. Charles.”

  By this time the others have noticed him. Aunt Katherine looks inquiringly at him. Nick introduces them elaborately.

  “Miss Forrest, may I present Lieutenant Abrams of the Police Department Homicide Detail?”

  Aunt Katherine asks sharply: “Homicide?”

  Selma pushes past her to put her hands on Abrams’s arms, demanding: “What has happened to him?”

  Abrams (as always, in a manner that may come from stupidity or may come from a shrewd pretense of stupidity): “He was killed this afternoon. Didn’t Mr. Charles tell you?”

  Selma stares at him in dumb horror.

  Nora says: “He doesn’t mean Robert, dear. He means Pedro, the gardener we used to have. You remember him.” She helps Selma to a chair, then asks Abr
ams indignantly: “Did you do that on purpose?”

  Aunt Hattie says: “I can’t understand a thing that’s going on.” She points at Abrams: “Is this man a burglar? Why doesn’t someone call the police?”

  Abrams addresses Nick: “You didn’t tell ’em about Pedro being killed?”

  Nick: “This is my wife’s family. They’d think I did it.”

  Abrams: “I see what you mean. My wife’s got relations, too.”

  The butler appears in the doorway and says: “Mr. David Graham to see Mrs. Landis.” Selma starts up from her chair.

  Aunt Katherine says: “I think it better that we be home to no one but members of the family this evening.”

  Selma protests: “I want to see David. Ask him to come in, Henry.”

  The butler remains in the doorway, looking at Aunt Katherine, who says: “Selma, I don’t want to have to—”

  Before she has finished this threat, David comes in hurriedly, going straight to Selma and asking: “What is it? What’s the matter?”

  Aunt Katherine replies coldly: “That is exactly what we’d like to know. Something is said about a gardener being killed and Selma becomes hysterical.”

  David: “A gardener? What’s that got to do with Selma?”

  Lieutenant Abrams: “Excuse me, but that’s what we’re trying to find out. This man is killed coming to see Mr. and Mrs. Charles and a little while later Mrs. Landis phones all excited and talking about killing herself and—”

  David, angrily: “And on the strength of that you come here to annoy her?”

  Abrams, patiently: “Not only that. Mrs. Charles said she”—indicating Selma—“knew him, and how are we going to get anywhere if we don’t talk to the people that knew him?”

  Nora says: “I didn’t say she knew him. I said she might remember him.” She turns to David: “It was Pedro who used to work for Papa when we had the place in Ross.”

  David: “Oh, yes. I remember him, a tall man with a long gray mustache. But what—”

  Abrams: “So you knew him, too. Well, what do you know about him?”

  David: “Nothing. I merely saw him when I was a visitor there, and I’ve never seen him since.”

  Abrams: “And you, Mrs. Landis?”

  Selma: “I may have seen him, but I don’t remember him at all.”

  Abrams: “And how about the rest of you?”

  None of the Forrests admits knowing Pedro.

  Abrams: “Mrs. Charles says Mrs. Landis’s husband might know him. Is he here?”

  Selma: “No—he—he’ll be in later, but I don’t think he’ll remember the man any better than I do.”

  Abrams: “Did you ever go by the name of Selma Young?”

  Selma: “Certainly not!”

  Abrams: “Anybody here know Selma Young?”

  Nobody does.

  Abrams: “Now I got to ask you again about that telephone talk of yours with Mrs. Charles.”

  Selma says: “Please, it had nothing to do with this. It was—was a purely personal thing.”

  Abrams: “You mean something to do with your husband?”

  Aunt Katherine says: “Mr.—ah—Abraham, you are being impertinent. Furthermore, my niece is under a doctor’s care, and—”

  Abrams, stolidly: “What doctor?”

  Aunt Katherine: “Dr. Frederic Kammer.”

  Abrams nods: “I know of him.” Preparing to leave, he says resignedly: “I can’t help it if people don’t like me. I got my work to do. Good night.” He goes out.

  David leaves the house with Nick and Nora, parting from them in the foggy street.

  When Nick and Nora leave, he asks Harold, the chauffeur: “Where’s a good place to get the stink of respectability out of our noses?”

  Harold, grinning and chewing his gum, says: “I get it. Well, there’s Tim McCrumb’s and there’s the Li-Chee and there’s the Tin Dipper. None of them three ain’t apt to be cluttered up with schoolteachers.”

  Nick: “Suppose we try the Li-Chee.”

  Harold says: “That’s a good pick,” while Nora looks at Nick from the corners of her eyes. As they get into the car she says: “You are going to find Robert?”

  Nick: “I didn’t lose him.”

  Nora: “It would put you in right with the family.”

  Nick: “And that’s what I’m afraid of.”

  In Dancer’s apartment at the Li-Chee Club, Robert—drunk and looking as if he has been drunk for several days—is lying back in a chair, holding a drink. Polly is sitting on the arm of his chair, running her fingers through his hair. He is saying: “Comes tomorrow and we’ll be out of this town for good—no more wife squawking at me, no more of her family egging her on, no more of this”—waving his glass around the place—“just you and me off someplace together.” He pulls her down into his lap and asks: “Good, baby?”

  She says: “Swell.” Then: “You’re sure this—what’s his name?—Graham—will come through all right?”

  Robert: “Sure. He’s nuts about Selma. He fell all over himself when I put it to him. The only thing is, maybe I was a sucker not to ask him for twice as much for clearing out. Don’t worry about the money; he’ll have it ready in the morning just as he promised.”

  Polly, reassured, asks thoughtfully: “Does she know about it?”

  Robert, scornfully: “Of course not. He couldn’t tell her. She’s batty as a pet cuckoo. She’d blow up and make him call off the whole thing.”

  Polly: “Then suppose she finds out about it afterwards and won’t marry him.”

  Robert: “Listen. This guy’s a sap and he’s in love with her. He wants to marry her all right, but even if he knew there was no chance of that, he’d still pay me to clear out. He thinks I’m bad for her and he lo-o-ves her and wants her to be ha-a-ppy.”

  Polly laughs and kisses him, says: “If you want to hear me sing, you’d better come on out and find a table. I go on in a few minutes.”

  Outside the door, Phil has been listening. He turns away from the door not quite quickly enough, as Dancer comes up behind him. Dancer says casually: “Catch a good earful?”

  Phil says: “I wanted to see Polly, but I didn’t want to butt in if she was busy.”

  Dancer links an arm through Phil’s and starts leading him away from the door toward the stairs, saying: “She’s busy. She’ll be busy all evening.”

  Phil hangs back, saying: “I got to see her for a minute.”

  Dancer jerks him along, says, still casually: “Not this evening. You shake her down for too much dough, Phil, even if she is your sister. Lay off her a while.”

  Phil pulls his arm free, says: “That’s no skin off your face. If she wants to help me out a little, that’s her business. Why shouldn’t she? I know things that are going on around here that—”

  Dancer reaches out, grabs him by the necktie, and pulls him close, saying softly: “Smart boy. You know things. When are you going to start shaking me down?”

  Phil says: “When I want to shake you down, I’ll—”

  Dancer stops him this time by slapping his face once, not especially hard. Dancer: “I don’t like you, but I’ve put up with having you around because you’re Polly’s brother, and she’s a nice kid, but don’t think you can ride too far on that ticket.” He puts his open hand over Phil’s face, and pushes him backwards down the stairs, saying: “Now stay away for a couple of days.”

  Phil tumbles backwards into the arms of Nick, who, with Nora, is coming up the stairs. Nick says: “Mmmm! Big confetti they throw here.”

  Dancer exclaims: “Ah, Mr. Charles! I’m sorry!” and starts down the stairs.

  Phil snarls at Nick: “Why don’t you look where you’re going, you big clown?”—twists himself out of Nick’s arms and goes downstairs out of the place.

  Dancer is apologizing again.

  Nick says: “Hello, Dancer. This your place? A neat way you have of getting rid of the customers.”

  Dancer smiles professionally: “Just a kid that hangs around bec
ause his sister works here. I get tired of him sponging on Polly sometimes.”

  Nick: “I felt a gun under his left arm when I caught him.”

  Dancer, contemptuously: “Just breaking it in for a friend, I guess.” He ushers them upstairs.

  Outside the Li-Chee, Phil finds a dark doorway from which the Club can be watched, and plants himself there. Nick’s car is parked near the doorway. Both Harold and a taxi-driver, who is talking to him, see Phil, but neither pays much attention to the boy. Harold is chewing gum and listening with a bored air to the taxi-driver.

  “And I said to him, ‘You ain’t going to give me a ticket, you big flatfoot, and you know it,’ I said. I said, ‘I got a right to turn there, and you know it,’ I said, ‘and I ain’t got all night to be sitting here gassing, so go polish your buttons and leave me be on my way, you fat palooka,’ I said.”

  Harold, wearily: “I know, and then you busted out crying.”

  Upstairs in the Li-Chee, Nick is checking his hat and coat while Nora looks interestedly around the place. Suddenly she grabs Nick’s arm, says: “There’s Robert!”

  Robert and Polly are going into the restaurant.

  Nick says: “The night’s bulging with your family.”

  Nora starts to pull him toward Robert, saying: “Come on.”

  Dancer to Nick: “Is Mr. Landis a friend of yours?”

  Nick, as Nora drags him off: “On the contrary, a relation.”

  Dancer stares thoughtfully after them.

  By the time Nick and Nora reach Robert, he and Polly are sitting at a small table near the orchestra. Nora holds out a hand to Robert, saying: “Hello, Robert,” with a great show of cordiality. He rises drunkenly, mumbling: “Hello, Nora; hello, Nick,” and shaking their hands. Then he introduces Polly: “Miss Byrnes, Mr. and Mrs. Charles.” Nick immediately sits down and begins to talk to Polly, giving Nora a chance to speak aside to Robert.

  Nora, in a low voice to Robert: “You oughtn’t to stay away like this.”

  Robert: “I know, but Selma’s not easy to get along with, and sometimes I simply have to break loose.”

  Nora: “But you should let her know that you’re all right.”

  Robert: “You’re right, of course. But sit down. You can talk in front of Polly. She knows about Selma.”

  Polly, aside to Nick: “Tell Mrs. Charles not to worry about him—I’ll see that he gets home tonight.” She puts her foot under the table and touches Robert’s. He starts to laugh, then covers his mouth with his hand, and asks: