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

by Dashiell Hammett

  Nick looks surprised. He asks: “Are you sure?”

  Abrams: “Sure, I’m sure. I saw it myself.”

  Nick: “Did you ask her about it?”

  Abrams replies wearily: “Yes, and there’s some kind of hanky-panky there, too, but I can’t figure out just what it is. She started to say she didn’t and then the old lady, Miss Katherine”—he breaks off to add— “that one’s a holy terror—”

  Nick: “Make two copies of that.”

  Abrams: “—she spoke up and said: ‘You did, Selma, you told me so yourself,’ and then Mrs. Landis said yes, she did.”

  Nick asks: “So where does that fit in?”

  Abrams: “So maybe she gave it to him and found out he was passing it on to the girl—how do I know? Every time I tried to pin her down she gets hysterical.”

  Nick asks: “Find out anything else at the bank?”

  Abrams: “No. He had given the Byrnes gal a check for $100 and one for $75 like she told us.” He takes the checks out of a desk drawer saying: “Here, if you want to see them.”

  Nick looks at them and asks: “Have you got the $10,000 check he gave her?”

  Abrams: “Yes.” He gives it to him.

  Nick stands up, tilting back a light-shade, holds one of the small checks with the $10,000 check over it up against the light and tries the big check with the other small one. Abrams stands up to look over his shoulder. Nick fiddles with the checks until the signature of the top one is exactly over the bottom one.

  Abrams exclaims: “A forgery!”

  Nick nods, saying: “Yes, a tracing. Nobody ever writes that much the same twice.”

  Abrams picks up the telephone and says: “Give me Joe,” then says: “Joe, go out and pick up that Polly Byrnes for me.” When he puts down the phone, Nick asks: “You aren’t holding any of them?”

  Abrams shakes his head and says: “No. The guns we got from the Chinaman and Dancer are .38s all right like he was killed with, but the experts say they are not the guns that did it. I’m still not sure this forgery is going to help Mrs. Landis much. I already told you I knew there was some hanky-panky about those checks.”

  Nick asks: “You haven’t found her gun yet?”

  Abrams: “I got a couple of men in diving suits working over the bottom down around where David Graham threw it. But it was night, you know, and we can’t be too sure of the exact spot.”

  Nick: “And you think you are going to convict her if you don’t find the gun?”

  Abrams: “Maybe I do and maybe I don’t. It’s what the district attorney thinks.”

  Nick: “Does he think she killed Pedro Dominges?”

  Abrams: “That’s not funny, Mr. Charles. Her alibi covering that time is just no good at all. She claims a cigarette case had been mailed to her from the Li-Chee and she sent it back saying it wasn’t hers; but she thinks it belongs to some woman who was there with Robert, so that afternoon when she’s kind of nuts over him not being home for a couple of days, she goes down there to see if she can find out about him. Of course that joint don’t open till evening and so she didn’t see anybody that could tell us she was there. She says she went back home again and that just about covers the time that Dominges was being killed. On the level, Mr. Charles, we had nobody else but her that we could hold.”

  Nick: “Found your Selma Young yet?”

  Abrams: “No.”

  Nick: “How about Phil?”

  Abrams: “Sure, maybe, if we can find him.”

  Nick takes out the note that was thrown through the window, gives it to Abrams.

  Abrams reads it carefully, then asks: “And where did this come from?”

  Nick: “Somebody wrapped it around a dornick and heaved it through my window.”

  Abrams asks: “Where’s the rest of it?”

  Nick: “Somewhere in my dog’s intestines.”

  Abrams reads slowly: “—lives at the Mil—”

  Nick pushes the telephone book over to him and says: “Maybe that won’t be so tough. Polly said he lived in a hotel on Turk Street.”

  Abrams: “That’s right,” and opens the telephone book to the hotel classification and runs his finger down the Mi’s, finally coming to the Miltern Hotel, ______ Turk Street.

  Abrams: “That could be it—want to give it a try with me?”

  Nick: “Right!” They get up. As they go toward the door, Nick says: “You noticed that whoever wrote the note misspelled easy words like my name and years, but did all right with ‘alias’ and ‘married’?”

  Abrams: “Yeah, I noticed.”

  EXTERIOR OF MILTERN HOTEL

  A small, shabby, dirty joint with a door between two stores, and stairs leading up to an office on the second floor. Abrams, Nick, and two other detectives get out of a car, which draws up with no sound of sirens. One of the men remains at the outer door. Nick, Abrams, and the other detective start up the stairs. They go up to a small and dark office. Nobody is there. Abrams knocks on the battered counter. After a little while, a man in dirty shirt sleeves appears.

  Abrams: “Is Mr. Phil Byrnes in?”

  The Man says: “We ain’t got no Mr. Byrnes—not even a Mrs. Byrnes.”

  Abrams: “Have you got a Ralph West?”

  The Man: “Yep.”

  Abrams: “Is he in?”

  The Man: “I don’t know—room 212—next floor.”

  Abrams says to the detective with him: “Get on the back stairs.”

  Abrams and Nick walk up the front stairs and down a dark hall until they find 212. Abrams knocks on the door—there is no answer. He knocks again, saying in what he tries to make a youthful voice: “Telegram for Mr. West.” There is still no answer. He looks at Nick. Nick reaches past him and turns the knob, pushing the door open.

  Nick: “After you, my dear lieutenant.”

  Sprawled on his back across the bed, very obviously dead, is Phil, fully dressed as when we last saw him.

  Nick points to something on the floor between them and the bed. It is a pair of spectacles, the frame bent, the glass ground almost to a powder. Abrams nods and comes into the room, stepping over the glasses, and leans over Phil.

  Abrams: “Dead, all right—strangled and he was beaten up some before the strangling set in.” He looks down at one of Phil’s hands, then picks it up and takes half a dozen hairs from it. Turning to show them to Nick, he says: “Somebody’s hair in his hand.”

  Nick looks at the hairs, then at the broken glasses on the floor. He says nothing. It is obvious he is trying to figure something out.

  Abrams goes out saying: “Wait a minute—I’ll have one of the boys phone and then we’ll give the room a good casing.”

  Nick moves around the room looking at things, opening and shutting drawers and looking into a closet, but apparently not finding anything of interest until he sees an automatic on the floor under one corner of the bed. He bends down to look at it but doesn’t touch it.

  While Nick is looking at the gun, Abrams returns to the room.

  Nick: “Here’s another .38 for your experts to match up.”

  Abrams: “Hmm, what do you think?”

  Nick: “I don’t think—I used to be a detective myself.”

  Abrams: “Nobody downstairs seems to know about any visitors, but I guess the kind he had wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of knocking on the counter like we did.”

  He leans over Phil and begins to go through his pockets.

  Abrams straightens up and says: “I guess the heater’s his. He’s wearing an empty shoulder holster.” He holds up a flat key and adds: “And I guess this is the key to the Byrnes gal’s apartment. It’s got her number stamped on it.”

  Nick: “Another good guess would be that Selma Landis didn’t do this.”

  Abrams: “Fair enough, but he wasn’t killed the way the other ones were, either.”

  Policemen enter, some in plain clothes, some in uniform, and Abrams starts to give them instructions about searching the room, looking for fingerprint
s, questioning the occupants of adjoining rooms, etc., etc.

  Nick: “And I think you ought to have your laboratory look at that hair and the cheaters,” indicating the broken glasses.

  Abrams: “Okay.” He looks curiously at Nick.

  Nick: “And the sooner the better.”

  Abrams, again: “Okay.” He addresses one of the men standing and listening to them. “Do it.” He hands him the hair. Then turning back to Nick, says: “Anything particular on your mind?”

  Nick: “Ought to be on yours, with three murders tied together in just about twenty-four hours. Now that we’ve been told he’s her husband and he’s dead, don’t you think we ought to see Polly as soon as possible?”

  Abrams says: “There’s something in that,” and tells one of his men, “Don’t let these lugs dog it while I’m gone.” He and Nick go downstairs. In the office he uses the telephone. When he’s through, he grumbles: “They haven’t picked her up yet.” He scratches his chin, then says: “I’ve got a man waiting up in her apartment. Want to take a run up there? I told you there’s something funny about the place that I’d like you to see.”

  Nick: “All right. Don’t you think now we’ve got something more to talk about to Dancer?”

  Abrams says in a hurt tone: “I think of things sometimes. I told them to pick up him and the Chinaman both.”

  They go downstairs to the street.

  At Aunt Katherine’s, all the Forrests except Selma are assembled. They are very excited and keep moving around so that Asta, who obviously doesn’t like any of them, has a great deal of difficulty keeping out of their way. Nora and Dr. Kammer are also there.

  The General is standing, glaring down at Nora, and asking indignantly: “Do you mean to say that this—ah—husband of yours actually advised David to tell the police about Selma and the pistol?”

  Nora says defiantly: “Yes.”

  The General starts to walk up and down the floor, sending Asta into hiding again, and rumpling his whiskers and growling: “Why, the fellow’s a scoundrel—an out and out scoundrel.”

  Nora: “Nick’s not—he knows what he’s doing.”

  The General snorts and says angrily: “Nonsense—nobody knows what they’re doing. The whole country is full of incompetents and scoundrels nowadays.”

  Aunt Hattie nudges Aunt Lucy and asks: “What is Thomas saying now—he mutters so.”

  Aunt Lucy, who has been sniffling into her handkerchief, sobs: “Poor Selma. This is a terrible thing to happen to me—only a week after my eighty-third birthday.”

  Nora jumps up and says: “Nick’s not incompetent and he’s not a scoundrel. You’re all acting as if you thought Selma really killed Robert.”

  Aunt Katherine and Dr. Kammer exchange significant glances. The General clears his throat and says: “It’s not a case of anybody killing anybody—it’s a case of his being so devilish inconsiderate of the family. Has the fellow no feelings?”

  William, who is considered not too bright by the family, runs his finger inside his too-tight collar and asks: “Does anyone know if the police have considered the theory that Robert might have committed suicide?”

  Aunt Katherine snaps at him: “That will do, William,” while the rest of them glare at him.

  Burton, his tic working overtime, asks: “Well, where is this Nicholas? Why isn’t he here to explain himself?”

  Nora: “Because he’s out trying to clear Selma while you all sit around here and criticize him.”

  The General says: “I’d never have asked him if I’d known what the fellow’d been up to.”

  Nora rises with great dignity and calls Asta. She faces the family and says: “I’m sure he doesn’t care what any of you think. He’s not doing it for you—he’s doing it for Selma. Goodbye.”

  What would otherwise have been a dignified exit is spoiled by her bumping into the antique butler as she goes through the door. After the butler has gotten his breath, he says: “Mr. Graham on the phone for you, Mrs. Charles.”

  She goes to the phone and says: “Hello, David.”

  David, at the other end of wire, asks excitedly: “Where is Nick? I tried your house and the detective bureau but he wasn’t there. Lieutenant Abrams wasn’t in either.”

  Nora: “They’re probably out together. Oh, Lieutenant Abrams said something about wanting Nick to go over to that apartment house with him. Maybe they’re there. What is it, David?”

  David: “Something’s happened—I’ve got to see Nick. What apartment house?”

  Nora: “I’m leaving here now. I’ll meet you and take you there. Where are you?”

  David: “I’m in a drugstore at Mason and Bush Streets.”

  Nora: “Wait for me—I’ll be right over.”

  They hang up and she, after making a face at the direction of the room where she left the family, goes out and gets into her car.

  Abrams and Nick arrive at the building where Polly has an apartment. It is a large, shabby building, set at the foot of Telegraph Hill. Across the street from it the hill rises steep and unpaved, with winding, wooden steps leading up between scattered frame houses. The end of the street, even with the house’s left-hand wall, is closed by a high board fence. From the fence, as from the house wall, the ground falls perpendicularly fifty or sixty feet to a rock-strewn vacant lot covering several blocks. In the street and on the hill above, goats are roaming. As they approach the door a goat runs out and dodges past them and goes to join the others. The front door is open. Abrams and Nick go in. Abrams knocks on a door on the left side of the corridor. The door is opened by a plainclothesman, who says: “Nary hide or hair of her yet.”

  A policeman in uniform and another in plain clothes are bent over a table doing a crossword puzzle together. They rise hastily as Abrams comes in but he pays no attention to them.

  Abrams, as they go in: “This is Polly’s apartment. There’s nothing much here except you’ll notice the rug’s new.”

  Nick looks at the rug and says: “Oh, I saw a new one once in a store window.”

  Abrams, patiently: “All right, but wait—maybe it don’t mean anything, maybe it does.”

  Nick asks: “What do you think it means?”

  Abrams sighs and says: “If I knew, do you think I’d be wasting your time dragging you up here? We’ll go back here, now.” He leads the way out of Polly’s apartment down the hall to an apartment on the same floor in the rear, unlocking it with a key from his pocket, saying as he opens the door: “This is the fellow’s that was killed—that Pedro Dominges.”

  Nick says quickly: “Another new rug—I said it first.”

  Abrams, pointing to the other end of the living room where there is a rug rolled up and lying against the wall: “There’s another one.”

  Nick asks: “What is this rug racket? Are we hunting for an Armenian?”

  Abrams: “Maybe you’re right in kidding me—maybe none of this means anything, but just the same, he brought twelve rugs only a couple of days ago and that’s just how many apartments he’s got in the place.” He walks over to the table and says: “Here’s the bill. And the one apartment that didn’t get a rug was rented only last week to somebody named Anderson. No front name—no Mr. or Miss or Mrs. according to his books here. I want to show you that next.”

  Nick asks: “What have you found out about him?”

  Abrams: “Nothing. This guy Dominges ran this place by himself. We haven’t found anybody who ever saw this Anderson.”

  There is a terrific uproar from the corridor. They go to the door to see Asta, a goat, and Nora (at the other end of Asta’s leash) all tangled up together, while David is trying to untangle them. When the goat has finally been chased out, they all return to Pedro’s apartment.

  As Nick helps Nora brush off her clothes, she says: “Why, that drunken man was right—there are goats in the hall.”

  Nick: “You can always trust my friends, drunk or sober. Is that what you came down here to find out?”

  Nora: “No. David h
as something to show you.”

  David takes from his pocket a sheet of paper, on which in the same crude printing as on Nick’s note is:

  IF YOU WANT TO SAFE THAT DISSY

  DAME OF YOURN YOU BETER MAKE

  DANCER TELL HOW HE FOWND OUT

  LAST NIGHT PHIL BYRNES WAS

  POLLY’S HUSBIND

  A FRIEND

  After they read it, Abrams asks: “How’d it come to you?”

  David: “It was under my door when I woke up today.”

  Nick: “The same half-smart attempt at illiteracy as the one I got.”

  Abrams: “Yeah—but that don’t have to mean that what it says is wrong. Running out yours got us something, so why don’t we run out this?”

  Nick: “We’ll have to wait until you pick up your people. Now how about this Anderson?”

  Abrams: “To tell you the truth, Mr. Charles, I don’t believe there ever was any Anderson, but you can—”

  Nick: “Tut-tut—don’t be so skeptical; you read his fairy tales when you were a child.”

  Abrams, patiently: “Okay, kid me—but what I mean is—I don’t believe this Anderson ever was and I’ll show you why when we get upstairs. As a matter of fact I don’t believe anybody took that apartment.”

  Nora: “I took that.”

  They look at her in surprise. She has gotten up from the chair and has gone over to an enlarged snapshot hanging on the wall.

  Abrams: “You did what, Mrs. Charles?”

  Nora: “I took that picture. They’re the servants we had at Ross.” She points them out: “There’s Pedro, Elle, Ann, etc.”

  Pedro looks much as he did before except that he is six years younger, and his mustache, while not small, is not definitely long nor is it as white as it was when we saw him.

  They all get up to look.

  Nick asks: “You’re sure that place you had wasn’t on Coney Island?” He turns to Abrams and says: “I apologize for the domestic comedy. Let’s go up and look at the apartment that you say wasn’t rented by a fellow whose name wasn’t Anderson.”

  Abrams leads the way up to the next floor, unlocks the door, leading them into the apartment over Polly’s, saying to Nick: “See the rug—” The rug is stained and very worn.