“The usual?”
“Five cents a point? Mmm, let’s see, you owe me about twelve fifty now.”
“That’s from bridge.”
“Well, you’re always spouting about what a good gin player you are. All right, I’ll give you a chance to get even. Ten cents a point!”
Beagle winced. “Deal.”
Pinky dealt the cards. Beagle drew one and said, “Gin.”
“No!” howled Pinky.
“You dealt them.”
Beagle dealt the next five hands, winning them all. And giving Pinky Devol a triple blitz, which at ten cents a point figured up to two hundred sixty dollars. Pinky’s face was three shades redder.
“Never saw such luck in my life,” he snarled. “And you ask me to get your two-bit shamus out of jail? Fat chance!”
A shudder ran through Beagle. He dealt the cards once more, looked at his hand and blinked. It was a laydown hand, three kings, three sixes, a three-card run and an ace. He could go down with one point and catch Pinky with a fistful.
“Your play,” he said thickly.
Pinky drew a card and discarded a king. A gin. Otis swallowed hard, drew a card from the pack and discarded a king. Pinky drew, discarded a six. Beagle groaned inwardly, drew from the pack and broke his sixes.
After eight or nine more draws, Pinky went down with eight and caught Beagle with forty-two points.
“That’s better,” he said.
At three thirty in the morning, Pinky Devol added up the score. “You lose sixteen hundred and ten. With what you already owe me that’s twenty-eight sixty. Call it twenty-eight fifty.”
“That much?” asked Beagle.
“Maybe you’ll win the next time,” Pinky said cheerfully. “And now, if you don’t mind, write me out a check.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a while, Pinky,” Beagle said. “I’m a little short at the moment.”
“So am I. The stock market took a header last week. If I sell my Consolidated Ball Bearings now, I stand to lose thirty thousand. But it’s bound to go up again in the next month or two. A couple of thousand would help out a bit.”
“I haven’t got it right now.”
“What about a grand?”
Beagle shook his head. “I overreached myself. But I’ve got a big case on the fire now that’ll bring in a fat fee in a few days.”
“How many days?”
“Three or four. That is, if Joe Peel can help me out...”
“The hell with Peel!”
“I can’t say that, Pinky. Unfortunately, Peel’s the only one who can help me break this case. He’s been working on it a great deal and unless he tells me what he knows, the case may run on and on.”
“Well, can’t you go down to wherever he is and pump him?”
“You don’t know Peel. He’s stubborn. If I don’t spring him he’ll sulk.”
Pinky glowered at Otis Beagle. “In other words, if I don’t help you, I don’t get my money?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t put it as crudely as that, Pinky. Only... well, the sooner Peel’s free, the sooner we clean up the case and get the fat fee.”
Pinky strode to his desk and scooped up the phone. He dialed a number. After a long wait he snapped into the phone: “Chief, this is Douglas Devol. Yes, I know it’s late... Friend of mine down at the club runs a little detective agency on the side... That’s right, Otis Beagle. Good man. It seems your Lieutenant Becker made a little mistake. Oh, sure he’s a good man, I’m not denying that, but Beagles disturbed about the thing. That’s the sort of a man Otis is, always thinking of his employees, day and night. That’s why I’m calling you in the middle of the night. Yep, just like a doctor — a policeman’s time is never his own. I sympathize with you, Chief, but if you’ll take care of this little matter, I’d appreciate it a lot... Mmm, let’s see, this fellow’s name is Peel. Becker picked him up... Oh, tomorrow’s all right. He’s probably asleep now, anyway. No, don’t bother about the bail. Beagle’s good for it. Thanks, Chief. Return the favor sometime. Go back to sleep. Night!”
He hung up. “Satisfied?”
Beagle nodded. “See you at the club tomorrow.”
“And don’t forget the check.”
“In a day or two, Pinky. My word...”
12
Sparbuck was in his middle forties, a youthful-looking man with iron-gray hair. The district attorney gave him the hard ones and, to Sparbuck’s credit, he usually came through with a conviction. He had political ambitions himself and he felt that he could make a good district attorney if his superior decided to run for a higher office.
Sparbuck left nothing to chance. He wanted convictions. He said to Peel, “You haven’t a leg to stand on, Peel. Your fingerprints were all over the apartment...”
“As well as Corey’s apartment,” Lieutenant Becker put in smugly.
“...And the maid identified you as the man she saw coming out of the girl’s apartment. The man down in the garage identified you — and if that isn’t enough, there are these two letters signed by you that were in the girl’s purse.”
“I’m not talking,” Peel said doggedly. “Not until Otis Beagle gets here.”
“He’s had three hours to find Pinky,” sneered Lieutenant Becker.
The assistant district attorney looked sharply at the homicide lieutenant. “This, ah, Pinky, that wouldn’t happen to be Mr. Douglas Devol, would it?”
“He’s a pal of Otis Beagle’s.”
Sparbuck looked as if he’d swallowed a live mouse. “Is there, ah, a likelihood of Mr. Devol’s interesting himself in this case?”
“There is if Beagle can twist his arm hard enough.” Becker moved forward, his face showing concern. “This Beagle’s the worst kind of a private eye, Mr. Sparbuck. He’s been accused of blackmail, he’s represented both sides of a case and I’ve even suspected him of making cases at times.”
“This’ll sound sweet in court, when you’re up for slander,” Peel said.
“No one could slander Otis Beagle,” retorted Becker. “Whatever they’d say about him would be only half of the truth.”
“It’s one o’clock in the morning,” Peel said irritably. “Let’s get this over with once and for all. Pinky’s probably at home by now. Let’s call him.”
Alarm came over Sparbuck’s features. “I wouldn’t want to wake him up if he’s sleeping.”
“He won’t mind,” said Peel. “Not if it’s a favor for Otis.” He sneered at Lieutenant Becker. “As you put it, they wallow in the same hog wallow.”
“I didn’t say that about Pinky.” Becker swallowed hard. “Otis, yes, he’d bottle the mud from a hog wallow and sell it for... for a love potion.” His lip curled. “Otis Beagle, mixed up in a Lonely Hearts racket!”
“The phone,” Peel prodded Sparbuck.
Sparbuck did not look happy. He hesitated, then finally picked up the phone. “Get me the residence of Mr. Douglas Devol,” he said to the operator. He waited for long moments, while Peel, Lieutenant Becker and Sergeant Fedderson watched. The tension built up, but finally Sparbuck’s face lit up. “Mr. Devol? Oh... I know this is an unreasonable hour, but would you mind asking him to come to the phone? It’s Sparbuck of the district attorney’s office... I see... He’s engaged...”
Peel cried out, “Ask if Otis Beagle’s been in touch with him?”
Sparbuck grimaced, but he asked the question. Then he waited for the answer, frowning. “I see. Very well...”
He hung up. “Beagle’s there now. He’s playing gin rummy with Devol. The man said Devol doesn’t like to be disturbed when he’s playing cards.”
For a moment Peel’s jaw went slack. Then he exploded. “He’s playing gin rummy, while I’m in jail! The dirty, double-crossing moose. He knows I’m here.” His voice rose to a yell. “He’s thrown me to the wolves. I’ll fix him for this, I’ll get even, so help me!”