“When did you pay him the money?”
“The day before yesterday.”
“When did you have your little scene with the beautiful Linda — who by the way, wasn’t really Linda Meadows—”
“What?”
“Never mind. I won’t confuse it. When did you meet this beautiful creature?”
“A couple of days before I paid Corey the money.”
“Saturday?”
“That’s right. I... I mean he threatened to sue me for alienation of affections and... uh... he said, if I didn’t pay him, he... he’d shoot me and no court would convict him. The sanctity of the home, he said — or... or something like that.”
“Think carefully now. Where did you go to meet Linda?”
“Why, I went to her apartment. A beautiful place on Sunset Boulevard — the Hillcrest Towers. When I saw the place I almost didn’t go in, but then I thought, what the heck, she was hard up for a man, otherwise she wouldn’t have advertised.”
“You went up to Apartment Seven C?”
“I think that’s what it was. I remember it was on the seventh floor...”
Peel nodded thoughtfully. “How often do you attend the get-togethers at Iowa Lee’s place?”
“I don’t go there any more.” Brown wrinkled his nose. “There’re mostly old dames go there and they just want to dance all the time. My feet hurt me and I don’t care for dancing.”
“But you did go there a few times?”
“Yes. As a matter of fact, I went pretty regularly for a couple of months, but then I got to writing to some of the women who were listed in Heart Throbs — and, well, I need a wife. I didn’t care if she was too good-looking, as long as she... well, as long as she had a little money.” He suddenly sighed. “Ah, she’s a beautiful girl...”
“Iowa Lee?”
“No, I mean Linda Meadows. Iowa...” Brown stopped and his eyes lit up.
“Yeah,” said Peel. “I know what you mean.”
Brown groaned. “If I could only lose a little weight!”
“Did you ever meet Linda Meadows at Iowa Lee’s place?”
“Oh, no! Like I told you, the better type don’t go down to the club. They... they advertise, then they get a chance to sort out the answers. Usually, they ask you to send your picture...”
“Did Linda?”
“Mmm, no. That... that’s why I had such high hopes about her. She was worth fifty thousand and didn’t even want to see what I looked like beforehand.”
“Mr. Brown,” Peel said, “ever hear of the old badger game?”
“I don’t know anything about badgers. Rabbits are my business.”
Peel grimaced. “A badger game is a shakedown racket, Brown. A beautiful girl gets you to her apartment, then at the crucial moment her husband breaks in and... and you pay. Catch on?”
Brown thought about that for a long moment. Then his face showed indignation, indignation mixed with dismay.
“You mean — Linda was in on it? I don’t believe that!”
“You shelled out two fifty.”
“To her husband. And she’d divorced him, but he claimed the divorce wasn’t legal.”
“Mr. Brown,” said Peel. “I want to give you some advice. Stick to rabbits.” He nodded, turned and stepped to the door.
Brown shuffled after him. “You’re going? Wouldn’t you like to see my rabbits? They’re out in back.”
“I saw a rabbit last night,” Peel retorted. “At the movies. He’s got your rabbits beat a mile. Bugs Bunny...”
The automobile salesman was red-faced and perspiring when Peel climbed back into the car. “Really, you said a minute...”
“I know,” said Peel. “But you know how it is when college chums get together.”
“I must get back to the salesroom,” the salesman said irritably. “Do you know that we’ve driven twenty-one miles?”
“And twenty-one back will make it forty-two,” said Peel. “That’s a fair workout.”
The salesman brightened a little. “A fine trial, sir. A beautiful machine, a wonderful power plant—”
“D’you mind?” Peel asked. “I’ve got a little headache. Let’s be quiet on the way back.” Then he added, “I want to listen to the power plant.”
The salesman choked, but subsided into silence. Peel drove the car back to Hollywood, up to the curb in front of the agency.
Then the salesman came to life again. “Well, sir, let’s step in now and make out the papers.”
“Unh-uh,” said Peel. “I’m not going to buy the car.”
“But why, sir?” wailed the salesman. “Isn’t she everything that your heart desires?”
“Nope,” said Peel. “The ashtrays are too small. I smoke a lot and I need a good big ashtray. Sorry, old boy, but that’s the way it is. Thanks for the ride.”
He gave the salesman a half-salute and strode off.
9
The lettering on the ground-glass door read: Thaddeus Smallwood Enterprises, Thaddeus Smallwood, President. Peel pushed open the door and found himself in a nicely furnished reception room. Behind a desk sat Linda Meadows.
Linda Meadows, the client of the Beagle Agency.
She exclaimed in astonishment. “How did you know where to find me?”
Peel said, “I told you what a beagle was — the best hunter in the world.”
“But I didn’t want you to come here.” She shot an apprehensive glance over her shoulder at a door marked Private. “My employer—”
“Mr. Thaddeus Smallwood?”
“Yes.”
Peel hesitated. “As a matter of fact, Linda, I didn’t come here to see you. I came to see Mr. Smallwood.”
“You mustn’t!” Her voice rose in alarm. “You mustn’t talk to him.”
“Relax, baby, relax. I didn’t come here to see Smallwood because of you. The Beagle Agency has other clients. All right, I’ll admit it, I didn’t even know you were here. I’m working on another case and that’s why I want to see Smallwood.”
“But I paid you fifty dollars yesterday. Aren’t you... aren’t you trying to find Susan?”
“Of course I am. But we always work on more than one case at a time.”
She didn’t like it. Her forehead showed worry lines. “But why should Mr. Smallwood want a... a detective?”
“He doesn’t. We’re representing someone else.”
“Who?”
Peel chuckled. “A client.” He looked toward the door marked Private. “Do you suppose I could see Smallwood now?”
She hesitated. “He never sees anyone without an appointment.”
“Pretend I’ve got one.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Well, then just go in and tell him that someone wants to see him on an important personal matter.”
Her even white teeth worried her lower lip. “I...” she began, then shook her head and got up. She entered the private office and closed the door, carefully.
Peel stepped to the door and put his ear to it. It was a good thick door, virtually soundproof. He could hear no more than a murmur of voices. But when the murmur stopped he moved quickly away.
Linda came out. “Mr. Smallwood would like to know the nature of your business.”
“Tell him it concerns Iowa—”
“Iowa! But Susan was from Iowa!”
“It’s a big state. It has ninety-nine counties and Des Moines is the capital.”
Her face twitched in sudden anger, but, controlling it, she reentered Smallwoods office. She came out promptly.
“You may go in.”
Peel entered Smallwood’s office and closed the door behind him.
Smallwood rose from behind a fine mahogany desk. He was fifty, with a shiny pate that was fringed by iron-gray hair. He was running a little to flesh. He wore a huge onyx ring on the little finger of his left hand, with a nice diamond in one corner of the onyx.