Return of the Thin Man

by Dashiell Hammett

  Polly: “Why? He gave it to me.”

  Abrams: “Maybe. But his bank account’s automatically tied up now till the estate’s settled, and then I got an idea you’re going to have to do a fancy piece of suing—taking a drunk for his roll!”

  Polly: “I’ll take my chances. Just the same, if his dying makes all that trouble, that shows we didn’t have anything to do with killing him, doesn’t it? Why wouldn’t we wait till after we’d cashed it?”

  Abrams: “We, we, we! So Dancer was in on it! How about the Chinaman?”

  Polly: “Nobody was in on it. There was nothing to be in on.”

  Abrams: “Phooey!” He addresses the remaining detective: “Okay, Butch. Take her and her two playmates down to the hall and let the district attorney’s office know you’ve got ’em there. We’ll be along in a little while.” He turns to Nick: “Or do you want to ask her something?”

  Nick: “Yes. Did Robert Landis know Pedro Dominges?”

  Polly shakes her head and says: “Not that I—” She remembers something. “Once when Robert and I were going out together we passed him and he said good evening to both of us by name and we couldn’t figure out how he knew Robert’s, and Robert made some joke about nobody being able to hide anything from a landlord.”

  Nick: “Thanks.”

  Polly and the detective go out.

  Abrams: “That mean anything to you?”

  Nick: “Not too much.”

  Abrams: “Now, Mr. Graham, I’ve got to—” He breaks off to look at Nora and Nick, saying thoughtfully: “I don’t know whether you two ought to be in here while I’m doing this or not.”

  Nick, yawning, says: “I know where we ought to be. Come on, darling.”

  Abrams: “Maybe you ought to stay. Now, Mr. Graham, I got to ask a lot of questions that you’re not going to like, but I got to ask ’em.”

  David: “I understand.”

  Abrams: “First off, you’re in love with Mrs. Landis. Right?” David starts to protest, then simply nods. “She in love with you?”

  David, trying to speak calmly in spite of the painfulness of this inquiry: “You’ll have to ask her.”

  Abrams: “I will. Did she ever say she was?”

  David: “Not—not since she was married.”

  Abrams: “Before?”

  David: “We were once engaged.”

  Abrams: “Until Landis came along?”

  David, in a very low voice: “Yes.”

  Abrams: “Ever ask her to divorce him and marry you?”

  David: “She knew how I felt—it wasn’t necessary to—”

  Abrams: “But did you ever ask her?”

  David: “I may have.”

  Abrams: “And what did she say?”

  David: “She never said she would.”

  Abrams: “But you hoped she would. And you thought with him out of the way she would.”

  David looks Abrams in the eye and says: “I didn’t kill Robert.”

  Abrams: “I said you did? But you did pay him to go away.”

  David: “Yes.”

  Abrams: “Did she know about it?”

  David: “No, not unless he told her.”

  Abrams: “Were you and Landis on good terms?”

  David: “Decidedly not.”

  Abrams: “On very bad terms?”

  David: “Very bad.”

  The lights go out. In complete darkness Abrams’s voice is heard saying: “Stay where you are—everybody!”

  From the distance come the sounds of doors crashing, of glass breaking, of feet running, of men shouting; then close at hand furniture is knocked over, a door is slammed open, feet pound on the floor, two shots are fired, bodies thud and thrash around on the floor. Presently a cigarette lighter snaps on, held in Nick’s hand. Behind him, in the dim light, Nora’s and David’s faces can be seen. The three of them are looking down at their feet. Abrams lies on the floor on his back. On top of him, mechanically chewing gum, his face serene, is Harold. One of his feet is on Abrams’s throat; both his hands are clamped around one of Abrams’s feet, twisting it inward and upward in the old Gotch toehold.

  Nick says gently: “Harold, Harold, get up from there. Lieutenant Abrams isn’t going to like this.”

  Harold, cheerfully: “You’re the boss.” He jumps up.

  As Abrams gets up, a hand to his throat, Nick says: “My chauffeur. Stout fellow, eh?”

  Abrams goes toward Harold saying: “What do you think you—”

  Harold sticks his face into the Lieutenant’s and says: “What am I supposed to do? I’m sitting out there and I see the lights go off. Nick and Mrs. Charles are up here and I know what kind of dump it is. Think I’m going to sit out there like a sissy till they throw the bodies out? How do I know you’re a copper?” Then, more argumentatively, as he goes on: “Suppose I did know it? How can I tell Nick ain’t got hisself in a jam with the police?”

  Nick: “All right—but don’t you boys think you’d better stop wrangling long enough to find out who turned out the lights and did the shooting?” He asks Harold: “Did you run into anybody else on your way up?”

  Harold: “Only the copper, here.”

  The lights go on.

  They are standing in the passageway outside of Dancer’s apartment. As they start toward the front of the building, out of the restaurant comes one of Abrams’s men with Polly, Lum Kee, and Caspar, and behind them another detective, dragging a Chinese waiter.

  Abrams asks in a complaining voice: “Well, now what have you been letting them do?”

  One of the detectives, indicating the waiter, says: “Dancer had this monkey pull the switch and beat it out a window. Butch is hunting for him now.”

  Abrams asks: “And what was that shooting?”

  The other detective says sheepishly: “I guess it was me, I thought there was somebody running at me but I guess it was only me in the mirror.”

  Abrams says wearily: “All right—but this time take them down to the Hall like I told you.”

  David has taken Nick a little aside and is asking: “Should I tell him about Selma and the gun?”

  Nick: “It depends on whether you think she did it.”

  David: “Of course not—do you?”

  Nick: “No. Then the only thing to do is to tell him everything.”

  At this point, Abrams, returning from seeing his men off, says: “I asked you people not to go off whispering in corners all the time.”

  David: “Lieutenant Abrams, I’ve something to tell you. I happened—”

  Abrams interrupts him: “All right—but we’re all going down to the Hall where we can talk in peace. I don’t like the high jinks that come off here.”

  Nora yawns.

  Abrams: “Sorry, Mrs. Charles. I won’t keep you any longer than I have to but we’ve got to do things regular.”

  A cheap hotel room

  Phil is sitting at a table playing solitaire with a gun on the table. He is smoking nervously and there is a pile of cigarette butts on a saucer near him. Presently there is a knock on the door. He picks up the gun and stares at the door with frightened eyes but doesn’t answer. The knock is repeated, louder. After a little pause, Dancer’s voice comes through, saying: “This is Dancer—will you open the door or will I kick it in?”

  Slowly, as if afraid to open the door and afraid not to, Phil gets up and, holding the gun behind him, goes to the door and unlocks it. Dancer pushes the door open violently, knocking Phil back against the wall, then kicks the door shut; and standing close to Phil, says with threatening mildness: “What did I tell you about trying to cut yourself in on somebody else’s game?”

  OUTSIDE THE HALL OF JUSTICE—BROAD DAYLIGHT

  Harold is asleep in Nick’s car.
Nick, Nora, and Abrams come out of the building surrounded by a flock of reporters.

  Abrams is saying to the reporters: “Lay off us. I told you anything you get, you’ll have to get from the D.A.” He then says to Nick and Nora: “I could use a lot of breakfast. How about you folks?”

  Nick looks at his watch and says: “I could use a lot of sleep.”

  Nora is too sleepy to say anything.

  Abrams insists: “Yeh, but you got to eat anyhow, don’t you, and there’s a pretty good place not far from here.”

  Nick asks: “You mean you want to ask some more questions?”

  Abrams: “No, not exactly, but there are a couple of points.”

  Nick: “We’ll drop you wherever you’re going and you can ask them on the way—but if you get wrong answers it’s because I’m talking in my sleep.”

  As they are about to get into Nick’s car, a taxi-cab drives up and Dancer gets out. Abrams goes over and grabs him by the shoulder, asking: “Where have you been?”

  Dancer: “Hiding—where’d you think I’ve been? The lights go out and somebody starts shooting—I haven’t even got a gun—I don’t know whether somebody’s trying to get me or if I’m being framed by you people, or what—so I did the only smart thing I could think of and played the duck and waited for daylight so I can at least see who’s shooting at me.”

  Abrams turns to Nick and Nora and says: “Phooey! I won’t be more than a minute. I’m going to turn him over to the boys. I’m afraid to trust myself with him this morning—I’m liable to slap him around too much.” He and Dancer go back into the Hall of Justice.

  Abrams returns almost immediately, gets into the car with Nick and Nora complaining: “What stories these guys think up.” They drive off.

  INTERIOR NICK’S CAR

  Nick, Nora, and Abrams are sitting together. Nora is nodding sleepily, her head keeps bobbing in front of Nick, interfering with his vision. Whenever Nick turns to speak to Abrams, her head falls back, concealing him.

  Abrams: “Sure I believe David Graham—I guess, but how do I know he ought to have believed Mrs. Landis? Well, I’m going to talk to her today if I have to lock up that lame ‘nut’ doctor while I do it. On the level, Mr. Charles, what’s she doing with him around if she isn’t at least a little bit punchy?”

  Nick: “I don’t think she is—just very nervous. You know how idle wives get—look at Mrs. Charles, for instance.”

  Abrams looks at Nora, who by this time is sound asleep, her chin resting on her chest.

  Nick goes on: “And then, living with Robert wasn’t doing her any good.”

  Abrams: “You honestly don’t think she did it?”

  Nick: “No.”

  Abrams: “She had the best reason. Graham had paid him to go away and he was going away, so he didn’t have much reason—Dancer and the Chinaman and the Byrnes gal were taking him all right, but killing him made it tough for them on the check. Besides, why didn’t they grab the bonds and that jewelry of his wife’s that he had on him? And that goes for the Byrnes gal even if she was double-crossing the others.”

  Nick asks: “How about Phil—her brother?”

  Abrams: “There’s no telling exactly until we get hold of him, but he figures to be out for the dough, too—so why don’t he grab the bonds? He don’t sound to me like a lad who would kill somebody just because he was running off with his sister.”

  Nick: “Lots of stickups go wrong—perhaps he had to leave before he could get the stuff.”

  Abrams: “You mean on account of Mrs. Landis running around the corner with a gun in her hand like she said she did? If he saw her, why didn’t she see him, and she didn’t say anything about that, did she?”

  Nick: “Back in the office, you said Landis and Pedro were killed with bullets from the same gun. She doesn’t fit in very well with Pedro’s killing; but Polly lived in his house, which ties his killing up at least a little with her and the others.”

  Abrams: “That’s right enough and I guess there’s not much doubt that he was killed because he was on his way to tell you something. It’s a fair bet that that something he was going to tell you had to do with Robert Landis, but there’s something funny about that house that I want to show you. Maybe, if you’ve got a few minutes—”

  Nick: “You don’t mean the goats in the hallway?”

  Abrams, surprised: “What goats?”

  Nick: “Never mind—but Mr. and Mrs. Charles aren’t going anywhere but home—to sleep. Think you’ll be able to fish Mrs. Landis’s gun up from where David threw it?”

  Abrams: “I guess so. Anyway, the boys are down there working now.” He pauses. “And when we get that, then we’ll know. It will only take a few minutes to go over to that apartment house.”

  Nick: “Call me later. We’ve been on a train for three days and look what kind of a night we’ve had.”

  Abrams: “All right—I could use a little sleep myself but I’ve got to talk to Mrs. Landis and got to stop at the bank and see about that check.”

  Harold pulls over to the curb and Abrams gets out. Nora almost falls out after him as he withdraws his support. Abrams helps Nick put her back on the seat and, placing her head on his shoulder, Nick nods goodbye to Abrams, who waves to him as they drive off.

  NICK AND NORA IN THEIR CAR GOING HOME

  She is sleeping on his shoulder. With his free hand he unties his necktie and takes off his collar. When he twists around a little to unbutton his shirt in back, Nora wakes up and asks:

  Nora: “What are you doing?”

  Nick: “I’m getting as few clothes as possible between me and bed.”

  Nora: “That’s cheating.” She begins to loosen her clothes. They arrive at the house. As they go up the front steps, Nora: “Last one in bed is a sissy!” They run into the house pulling off clothes.

  From the living room to meet them come Asta and the reporters that they left at the Hall of Justice, the reporters asking questions: “Do the police suspect Mrs. Landis?” “What connections did Pedro Dominges have with the Landis killing?” etc., etc.

  Nick insists he knows nothing about it and has nothing to say as they go back into the living room, winding up with:

  “I’m going to give you boys one drink apiece and then put you out.”

  One of the reporters asks: “Well, answer another question for us and we won’t print it if you don’t want us to. Is it true that you actually didn’t retire as a detective but are working undercover?”

  Nick, starting to pour drinks: “No, it’s not true, but don’t print it, because I don’t want my wife’s relatives to know I’m living on her money.”

  A stone with a piece of paper wrapped around it crashes through the glass of the window and knocks the bottle out of his hand. Asta joyfully grabs the stone and runs under a sofa with it, and starts to chew the paper off while Nick and the reporters scramble after him. By the time Nick recovers the stone with the paper, the note has been pretty well chewed up. He spreads it out, glances at it, and puts it in his pocket before the reporters, who are crowding around him, can read it.

  Nick: “Silly little woman. I told her to stop writing me.”

  The reporters, failing to get anything else out of Nick, rush out to see if they can find out who threw the stone. Nick smoothes the note out and he and Nora, patching it as well as they can where Asta’s teeth have torn it, read it. It is crudely printed:

  MR. CHARLS PHIL BYRNES ALIAS RALPH WEST

  IS A EX CON AND WAS MARRIED TO POLLY IN

  TOPEKER THREE YERS AGO. HE LIVES AT THE MIL

  The rest of the note has been chewed off by Asta.

  Nick, indifferently: “Well, what are we supposed to do, send them an anniversary present?”

  Nora: “Nick, phone Lieutenant Abrams!”

  Nick: “And have him up
here to keep us awake some more?”

  Nora insists: “Phone him, Nick. Don’t you see, if Phil was her husband . . .”

  Nick grumbles: “I guess you’re right,” and goes out of the room.

  Nora plays with Asta for a minute or two and then goes to the door of the next room, where the phone is. Not seeing Nick, she calls him. There is no answer. After a little hesitancy, she goes up to the bedroom. Nick, in pajamas, is asleep. On her pillow is a sign: SISSY.

  AUNT KATHERINE AT TELEPHONE AT HER HOME

  Dr. Kammer is sitting in a chair nearby. She calls a number and asks: “Mr. Moody. This is Miss Forrest calling.”

  STRING OF SHORT SHOTS

  Printing press running off extras with enormous headlines about “MEMBER OF PROMINENT FAMILY KILLED.”

  Editorial Room of newspaper office—men being assigned to cover this story.

  Then up to Publisher’s Office, where Peter Moody, a very dignified old man with a grave and courteous manner, is picking up the phone, saying: “Yes, Katherine, how are you? I’m awfully sorry to hear about Robert’s death.”

  Aunt Katherine: “Thank you, Peter. It’s terrible and that’s what I called you about. The police, it seems, are trying to make a great deal of mystery out of what must have been—it couldn’t have been anything else—simply an attempted holdup. I hope I can count on you to do your best to give the whole terrible affair no more publicity than is absolutely necessary.”

  Peter Moody: “Of course, of course, Katherine. But you must understand that if the police make it news we must print it.”

  Aunt Katherine: “I understand, but you will handle it as quietly as possible?”

  Moody: “Certainly, I can promise you that. And will you please convey my sympathy to poor Selma.”

  Aunt Katherine: “Thank you, Peter.”

  As Peter Moody puts down the phone, a man comes into the office bringing an early copy of the extra that had been run off with the enormous headlines seen in the previous shot.

  Moody looks at it and nods with approval, saying: “Very good.”

  Aunt Katherine phones her brother, the General, who is having his whiskers trimmed by a valet almost as old as he is. The valet hands him the phone, saying: “Miss Forrest, sir.”