The Roof Might Fall In; Anything Could

I Don T Mind A Reasonable Amount Of Trouble.

Three Times I Have Been Mistaken For A Prohibition Agent, But Never Had Any Trouble Clearing Myself.

I Haven't Laughed So Much Over Anything Since The Hogs Ate My Kid Brother.

Samuel Spade's Jaw Was Long And Bony, His Chin A Jutting V Under The More Flexible V Of His Mouth. His Nostrils Curved Back To Make Another, Smaller, V. His Yellow-grey Eyes Were Horizontal. The V Motif Was Picked Up Again By Thickish Brows Rising Outward From Twin Creases Above A Hooked Nose, And His Pale Brown Hair Grew Down--from High Flat Temples--in A Point On His Forehead. He Looked Rather Pleasantly Like A Blond Satan.

Who Shot Him? I Asked. The Grey Man Scratched The Back Of His Neck And Said: Somebody With A Gun.