He rode up to the fifth floor and pressed the door buzzer of Apartment 504.
Wilma opened the door and started to close it, but Peel got his foot in the opening.
“No-no,” he said, chidingly.
The door was jerked open from inside the apartment and Aleck Chambers stood there; Aleck, wearing dark glasses that didn’t at all conceal two beautiful black eyes.
“For the love of…” began the future pin-up boy.
“Mr. Peel,” exclaimed Wilma, “this is carrying things a bit too far…”
“You gave Otis Beagle a lift last night,” Peel said.
“I’ll say we did!” cried Chambers, whipping off his dark glasses. “How do you think I got this?”
Peel surveyed the injured eyes. “Beagle did that?”
“Aleck,” Wilma warned.
“Spill it,” Peel said ominously, “what happened?”
“We were halfway down Laurel Canyon when a car squeezed me up against the side of the mountain. Two gangsters jumped out, with guns in their hands…”
“What gangsters?” Peel snarled.
“How do I know? They were friends of this fat bird. Or enemies. They started arguing and then they shoved him into their car. He yelled and I tried to help him. And that’s how I got—”
“Hold it! You say Beagle knew these men? Were they up at Charlie’s?”
“I didn’t see them, but their car was right behind us as we turned into Laurel from Mulholland. They kept trying to get ahead of me, but for awhile the road was too twisty. But the minute they got a chance they came up and…”
“They knew Beagle?” Peel persisted.
“One of them said something about having asked him to leave town…”
“Marcy Holt!”
“Who’s he?”
Peel glowered at Chambers. “You reported it to the police…”
“Why should I?”
“They stuck you up, didn’t they?”
“He wanted to tell the police,” Wilma interposed. “I told him not to. His reputation…”
Peel’s lip curled thin. “Did you see their licence number?”
“It was too dark. But the car was a Buick…”
“That will be a great help.” Peel went to the door. Then he turned and looked at Wilma Huston. “This boy friend of yours,” he said, gesturing to Aleck, “why don’t you trade him in for a boy scout?”
Chambers bleated, but Peel walked out in disgust.
He walked all the way to the office, thinking things over. Ethel Tower and Angela had gone into the washroom to powder their noses, once at the Mocambo and again at the Bull Dog and Pussy Cat. They had telephones in ladies’ washrooms…
As Peel unlocked the office door of the Beagle Detective Agency, the phone inside began to ring. Peel scooped it up.
“Yeah?”
“Peel, this is Devol. Charlie just called me. He took that check Beagle gave him over to the bank. It bounced!”
“Naturally,” said Peel. “Beagle wouldn’t give a good check to a crooked gambling joint, would he?”
“But he can’t do that,” Devol protested. “Besides — he used my name when he — when he gave the check.”
“Tell Charlie to sue him.”
“Look,” said Devol, his tone becoming ominous, “you tell Otis that Charlie isn’t the sort you can welch on. He’s got to make that check good…”
“Even if he’s dead?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that some fellows stopped Aleck Chambers’ car last night and took Otis with them.”
“What for?”
“Guess!”
Devol was silent for a moment. Then, “I’m sorry to hear that. Did it have anything to do with… with that case you and he were working on?”
“No,” said Peel, promptly.
“If you hear anything let me know. I’m worried…”
Peel snorted. “You’re worried!”
“Otis was one of my best friends.”
“Was,” said Peel and hung up.
He stared at the phone. Otis had often skidded close to the edge and this could be the time when his luck had deserted him.
A cheap case.
The phone rang. It was Lieutenant Becker. “Peel, Devol just called me. What’s this about Otis?”
“He went for a ride…”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” Becker snapped, hanging up.
As he put back the receiver, Peel’s hand brushed the card file. He opened it and skimmed over the cards, until he came to the ‘J’s.’
He pulled out the card on Wilbur Jolliffe. It read:
Jolliffe, Wilbur N.
Rodeo Drive, B.H.
Office: — Bldg.
Home Phone: Cr. 7-1931, but don’t call exc. in emerg.
B. G. Ethel & Herman Tower.
Underneath, scrawled in pencil in Otis’ handwriting was the notation: About ready.
Peel reached for the telephone and dialed Crestview 7-1931. The maid answered, “Mrs. Jolliffe’s residence.”
“I’m a book collector,” Peel said, “and I’d like to talk to Mrs. Jolliffe about buying some of her late husband’s books.”
“Jes’ a momen’,” was the reply, “an’ I see if Mrs. Jolliffe home.”
Apparently she was, for her voice came on a moment later. “Who is this calling?”
“You don’t know me, Mrs. Jolliffe,” Peel said, “but I’m a rare book collector and I understand Mr. Jolliffe owned a valuable collection of dime novels…”
“You mean those trashy paper-covered books? I didn’t know they were, I mean, how much would you be prepared to pay for them?”
“Well, I don’t really want the entire collection, Mrs. Jolliffe. Just some of the titles. For example, Malaeska… I could offer you a nice price for that one.”
“How much?”
“Fifty dollars.”
“You can have the whole lot for a hun — for two hundred dollars, Mr… what did you say your name was…?”
The office door opened and Lieutenant Becker came in. Crowding on his heels was Sergeant Fedderson.
“Well, goodbye, Mr. Tamarack,” Peel said into the phone and replaced the receiver.
Lieutenant Becker came right to the point. “Now, what’s this about Beagle?”
“Just what Pinky told you.”
“He said Otis was snatched…”
Sergeant Fedderson sniffed. “The boys’ll lose money on the deal.”
“I don’t think it was a snatch,” Peel said. “More like a ride…”
“Who had it in for him? I mean enough to kill him?”
Peel hesitated.
“Come on,” Becker said, harshly. “The time for that crap is past.”
“It’s the Jolliffe case…”
Becker groaned. “Cut it out; there wasn’t anything mysterious about that.”
“How do you know there wasn’t?”
“Because there wasn’t. You and Otis were shaking down the guy and he took the easy way out.”
“If you’re convinced of that, there’s no use talking to you, Becker.”
“Well, let’s have your version. A reasonably truthful one, if that’s possible.”
“It’s quite possible, Becker. Six months ago Wilbur Jolliffe got caught in a badger game. A couple of characters named Ethel and Herman Tower…”
“Never heard of them, but they’ve probably got other names. What’d they look like?”
“Ethel’s about five-eleven—”
“That tall?”
“She’s a lot of dame. The husband was a little fellow, about five-eight and weighing maybe a hundred and a half. I only saw him once. I made the deal with Ethel…”
“How much?”
“A grand.”
“Jolliffe was a sucker. If he’d come to the police it wouldn’t have cost him a cent.”
“But his wife would probably have heard about it.”
“So what?” Becker made an impatient gesture. “What’s the rest of it?”