Return of the Thin Man

by Dashiell Hammett

  Nick asks: “If he doesn’t come across, will Church kill him?”

  Horn replies: “That’s hard to say. He’d kill you—like that—” he snaps his fingers, “for profit, and he might do it for fun, but I can’t see him brooding much over revenge.”

  Nick asks: “Could any of the people on the inside here be working with him?”

  Horn says: “I don’t think so. The servants aren’t much good, but I imagine they’re honest.”

  Nick asks: “How about the secretary?”

  Lois, coming into the room behind them, says lightly: “I won’t have you suspecting Freddie of things. He’s a nice boy.”

  Horn, rising to give her his chair, says: “All men who are in love with you are nice,” and explains to Nick, “He’s my rival. He only puts up with the Colonel’s nonsense so he can be around Lois.” He sits on the arm of her chair and puts his arm around her.

  Lois asks Nick: “Do all fiancés have these pet jokes, and does the girl have to keep on laughing at them?”

  Nick says: “Only until she gets him to the altar. Did you and Nora get the Charles offspring tucked in?”

  Lois says: “Oh yes—isn’t he the loveliest baby?”

  Nick says modestly: “We’ll do better when we’ve had more practice,” and rises adding: “I’d better go up and see him. He never closes an eye until I say good night to him.”

  Nick goes up to his bedroom, where Nick Jr. is peacefully sleeping beside Nora, who is reading in bed.

  Nick asks: “What’s he doing in here?”

  Nora says: “You don’t suppose I’m going to have him out of my sight again in this place? And we’re going back to New York tomorrow morning.”

  Nick says: “That’s all right with me. I ought to get hold of some accountants and maybe we should cut the trip short and go back to the Coast.”

  He begins to undress.

  Nora asks: “What are you talking about?”

  Nick says: “Money—your property—our property—that Colonel’s been managing. A day like this begins to make you lose faith in your fellow man. I’d hate to wake up some morning and find that I’d married you for a fortune that MacFay had either stolen or got messed up so that somebody could take it away from us by due process of law.”

  Nora: “I love you, but you’re an awful silly man sometimes.”

  Nick: “I’m not silly, I’m just timid. Some men are afraid of airplanes and some are afraid of thunderstorms—I’m afraid of losing money. I’d better go have a talk with this Church fellow in the morning.”

  Nora: “What for?”

  Nick: “He worked for MacFay back when your father was alive. Maybe he can tell me whether your father was mixed up in this—”

  Nora, interrupting him indignantly: “Of course he wasn’t mixed up in it if it was anything wrong! My father was just as honest as yours!”

  Nick laughs. “Some day you’ll find out what a hot recommendation that is. But, sweetheart, I’m not trying to write dirty words on your old man’s tombstone. I’ve just got to find out where we stand.”

  Nora: “All right, but leave my father out of it. You’re a fine one to talk, anyway. I still remember when you were working for Father as a private detective, every time you took me out you charged it up to him on your expense account, and he never knew it till after we were married.”

  Nick: “Ah, I was a brilliant young man!”

  The next morning Nick takes a walk accompanied by Asta. A countryman they meet on the road tells him how to find the Kennedy house. “You can’t miss it,” he says, “it’s got a terra-cotta roof and sits back from the road to the left on the other side of the hill.”

  Nick and Asta climb the hill and as they start down the other side, pass an expensive coupe parked a little off the road, partly hidden by foliage. Nick starts to go on, then stops and goes cautiously over to examine the parked car. Finding nothing of interest there, he looks around and discovers that twigs have been broken by someone forcing his way through the bushes. He pushes the bushes aside and sees a man lying facedown on a rock on the hillside, looking through field glasses at a house at the foot of the hill. The house has a terra-cotta roof.

  The man is large, tough-looking, middle-aged, wearing very thick rimless spectacles. He takes the field glasses from his eyes and rolls over on one elbow to scowl at Nick, asking in a hoarse voice: “Now what are you sticking your pretty nose in here for, chum?”

  Nick says: “Sorry. The door was open.”

  The hoarse-voiced man says: “All right, you made your joke. Now pull your freight.” He takes a police badge in a leather case from his pants pocket, shows it to Nick briefly. “Get going.”

  Nick salutes, says: “Just as you say, Chief,” and backs out through the bushes again, takes a step or two on his way, stops to write down the license number of the automobile, and then continues on to the cottage at the foot of the hill.

  When he knocks on the door, it is opened by a good-looking young Negro (the one he saw in the road the previous night), who smiles, and, speaking with a Spanish accent, says: “Good morning, sir. Mr. Church waiting breakfast for you.” He bends down to scratch Asta’s head.

  Nick says: “You’re going to catch pneumonia lying in damp roads after dark.”

  The Negro laughs and says: “No sir—I dress warm in this country.”

  He ushers Nick into a room where a man and woman put down newspapers and rise to meet him.

  The man is perhaps forty years old, big, hard-faced, sunburned.

  The woman is twenty-seven, quite six feet tall, muscular, and attractive.

  There are a couple of partially packed traveling bags in the room and through a door a trunk can be seen.

  The man says: “I’m Sam Church. Sit down. Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes.” He indicates the woman. “This is Smitty—you can talk in front of her.”

  Nick says: “Thanks, I’ve had breakfast.” He looks at the traveling bags. “Going away?”

  Church says: “Sure. Back to Cuba. We were just waiting to see you. It would be nice if you would give us the gory details first, though. What’ll you drink?” He claps his hands and calls: “Dum-Dum.”

  Nick asks: “What gory details? You don’t mean the dead dog and the burning bathhouse?”

  Church says: “No—afterwards.”

  Nick says: “Nothing happened afterwards.”

  Church says in a surprised tone: “But I dreamed—” He breaks off and looks suspiciously at Nick, asking: “You’re not tricking me, are you?”

  Nick says: “No.”

  Church says: “Will you give me your word that nothing happened afterwards?”

  Nick says: “My word.”

  Church sinks back in his chair, shaking his head in bewilderment. He says to the Negro who has appeared in the doorway: “Give Mr. Charles a drink, and you’d better give me one, too—a big one.”

  Nick looks from Church to the woman.

  She smiles reassuringly at Nick and says: “He’s nuts, and, if you listen to him, he’ll have you nuts, too.”

  Nick asks her: “Do you know what this is all about?”

  Church says: “It’s all simple enough. Some years ago the Colonel and I got in a jam and I took the fall for him on his promise that he’d see I didn’t lose by it. But he ran out on me and when I got out of prison last month I went to see him to give him a chance to make good in a financial way, which is the only way that means anything to me. He said no soap, so I went on down to Cuba, knowing sooner or later I’d figure out some way to collect from him. My first night there I had a dream about him being killed. You can laugh if you want, and Smitty will laugh with you, but I don’t laugh at my dreams. So I came on back, hoping to make the Colonel listen to reason before it was too late. And on the way back I had the d
ream again. I went to see the old boy and told him about the dreams, hoping to shake him loose from a few dollars, but you know how pig-headed he is, so there was nothing else for me to do but hang around on the off-chance that something would happen to loosen him up before I had the third dream, because the third one’s the end on my schedule.” He takes a deep breath. “Well, last night I had the third dream.”

  Nick: “How does he die in those dreams?”

  Church: “Oh, he’s all battered up, throat cut from ear to ear—it’s all very messy—just the kind of death you’d expect the slob to have.”

  Nick: “It would be funny if it happened that way.”

  Church: “It’s funnier that it didn’t, though I’m glad enough to know I don’t have to say goodbye yet to my chances of getting money out of him. Listen, are you sure he was all right this morning?”

  Nick: “He wasn’t up when I left.”

  Church, somewhat excitedly: “Had anybody else seen him?”

  Nick: “Not that I know of.”

  Church jumps up, exclaiming: “That’s it, then!” He puts his hands in his pockets and walks the length of the room, scowling thoughtfully at the floor.

  Smitty smiles at Nick, putting a forefinger up to her temple and making little circular movements with it.

  Nick: “You’ve got a lot of faith in your dreams.”

  Church, absent-mindedly: “Why not?” He sits down again, studying Nick. “Well, that’s the end of him as a possible gold mine. Now we’ve got to think about you.”

  Nick: “Me?”

  Church, still thoughtfully: “He was a hard man to do business with and I’ve got a hunch you’re going to be even harder.”

  Nick: “Then why bother with me? I can introduce you to a lot of rich people.”

  Church, ignoring this suggestion: “On the other hand, you look like a reasonable chap. Do you think we could talk business?”

  Nick: “You’d have to show me why we should first.”

  Church: “Don’t kid me. Your wife’s father was MacFay’s partner back in the days when my foot slipped.”

  Nick: “He was MacFay’s partner in some deals, not in others. Prove to me that he had anything to do with this deal, and I’ll give you a check right now for whatever you think is reasonable pay for your time in the pen.”

  Church sighs. “Yes, that’s always the catch in it—proof. Nobody but me was putting anything on paper, Charles. That’s why nobody but me went over. I expected this. I knew you were going to be tough to deal with. And I can’t honestly tell you I’ve ever dreamed about you”—a pause—“or about your wife”—another pause—“or about your baby”—a longer pause—“yet.”

  Nick, starting his punch before he leaves his chair, jumps up and hits Church in the eye, knocking Church and his chair over backwards. Dum-Dum whips a wooden-handled knife from his waistband (the same one seen sticking from his chest when he lay in the road the previous night) and throws it at Nick. The knife slits Nick’s coat in passing and sticks in a wall.

  Church, on the floor, says sharply: “Stop it, Dum-Dum!”

  Smitty, shaking her head in disapproval, says: “Men are such rowdies,” and raises her skirt to return her pistol to its holster on her thigh.

  Asta, always a great help, charges across the room after the knife, jumps up, pulls it from the wall, takes it to Dum-Dum, and then backs away from him, barking happily, tail wagging, waiting for him to throw it again.

  Church stands up patting his eye. His face is calm.

  Nick: “That’s to remind you not to dream about my family.”

  Church: “Oh, I’ll remember all right.” He addresses Dum-Dum: “Finish packing. We’ll catch the noon train.”

  Nick: “Still heading for Cuba?”

  Church: “Still Cuba. I need time to think you over, and that’s a good place to think. If you get down that way before I come back to see you, look me up. Sometimes I dream about roulette wheels.”

  Nick: “You’re coming back to see me sometime?”

  Church: “Yep. I think as time goes on you’ll see your way clear to do business with me.”

  Nick, indicating Church’s bruised eye: “You mean continue doing business with you.” He calls Asta and goes to the door, where he turns and bows to Smitty, saying: “Thanks for not shooting me.”

  Smitty smiles good-naturedly, says: “It would’ve only made things worse.”

  The coupe and the hoarse-voiced man are no longer on the hilltop.

  At MacFay’s, Nora—with the baby—Lois, Horn, and Freddie are swimming. They come out of the pool as Nick approaches.

  Nora, looking at the rip in Nick’s coat: “What have you been doing now?”

  Nick: “Asta plays too rough.”

  Nora: “It’s not a tear, it’s been cut.”

  Nick: “Uh-huh. A very peculiar thing happened. We were going down the hill to see Church, walking along, minding our own business, not bothering anybody, when who should we meet but three very old women, all bent over like this, walking along—”

  Nora: “Minding their own business, not bothering anybody. Did you see Church?”

  Nick: “Yes, ma’am.”

  Nora, after waiting a moment for him to go on: “Well, don’t be so coy. Speak up. What did he say and what clever replies did you make?”

  Nick: “You’re a tough audience, Mrs. Charles.”

  Horn: “How did you make out with him?”

  Nick says: “He had his third dream last night and was packing to head for Cuba on the noon train when I left.”

  Horn laughs.

  Lois turns to look up at the house, saying in a frightened voice: “You mean he dreamed Papa was—”

  Nick finishes the sentence for her—“Dead.”

  Horn puts his arm around Lois: “Come, darling, don’t be foolish.” Then he looks uncertainly at Freddie, who clears his throat nervously.

  Lois looks from one to the other and insists: “Has anybody seen Papa this morning?” None of them had. Without another word, she turns and runs toward the house, with the others following.

  They go to Colonel MacFay’s room. He is huddled on the bed in a grotesque position, with the covers in disarray over him. Horn peers down at MacFay’s face while Nick bends over to feel his pulse.

  MacFay sits up in bed and says angrily: “The first decent sleep I’ve had in weeks and you have to come in like a pack of wet Indians and spoil it! What do you want?”

  Leaving Lois to pacify him, the others sneak out sheepishly.

  Nick and Nora are in their room packing when MacFay comes in and asks: “What is this Lois tells me about your going back to the city today?”

  Nora says: “We have to, Colonel MacFay. We—well, this is no place for the baby the way things are.”

  “The baby?” MacFay glares at Nick Jr.—“He’s big enough to—” then breaks off and begins to whine: “Nobody’s doing anything to the baby. It’s me that’s in danger—it’s me you’re deserting.” He turns to Nick. “Besides, I haven’t had a chance to talk to you. There are things you ought to know about the business—about your investments.”

  Nick, interested: “What things?”

  Horn appears in the doorway and says: “I phoned the village to check up, and they really did leave on the noon train.”

  MacFay says irritably: “What are you talking about?”

  Horn explains: “Church told Charles this morning that he was leaving for Cuba, and he got off all right, with a trunk and a lot of bags, and the Negro and a tall woman.”

  MacFay turns to Nora: “See, my dear, they’ve gone. There’ll be no more trouble.”

  Nora looks undecidedly from MacFay to Nick.

  MacFay pats her on the cheek and says: “There, there, my dear, as a favor to an
old man—an old friend of your father’s.”

  He goes out.

  Nora looks at Nick, asks: “What do we do?”

  Nick, staring after MacFay, says: “It’s a shame the way I’m beginning to distrust that old duffer.”

  Nora: “Stop being so silly. He was Father’s partner. He wouldn’t—”

  Nick: “Maybe it wasn’t so smart leaving him in control of the businesses our money is invested in all these years. He might’ve come to look on our money as practically his own.”

  Nora: “Stop it!”

  Nick: “I don’t care about myself. I can always make a good living as a detective. But what are you and Nicky going to live on? That’s what I worry about at night.”

  Nora kicks him.

  MacFay and Horn go into a room furnished as an office, where Freddie is sitting at a typewriter.

  Freddie jumps up on his feet and says: “Good morning, Colonel MacFay.”

  MacFay walks past Freddie and fishes a discarded piece of carbon paper from the wastebasket. “You could have used this a time or two more.”

  Freddie says: “I’m sorry, I—”

  MacFay cuts him short. “Being sorry doesn’t bring back money that’s wasted.” He sits down at his desk. “Tell Lois I want to see her.”

  Freddie goes out.

  MacFay starts to look at his mail, complaining: “That boy’s not worth the room he takes up. Do you know what I found him doing yesterday? Practicing a kind of tap-dance with the typewriter keys.”

  Horn, standing at the window, says casually: “I think Freddie’s mind is more on Lois than it is on his work.”

  MacFay says: “Lois? Ridiculous! I’ll kick him out so fast it’ll make his head swim.”

  Horn, still casually, says: “I’ve got a young cousin that might suit you if you are going to make a change—a smart boy just out of law school.”

  MacFay looks suspiciously at Horn and whines: “I’ve had enough of people’s relations. None of them are ever any good.” He returns his attention to his mail.

  Horn shrugs and looks out of the window at Lois crossing the lawn with Freddie.