“There’s been enough double-crossing,” Brown said. He turned to Willie and Freddie. “Get in your car and beat it.”
“There’s a matter of a hundred bucks apiece coming to us,” growled Willie. “We want our dough.”
“Pay them,” said Brown.
Temple took out his wallet and counted the money into Willie’s hand. The two thugs put away the money and got into their car. They turned it around and headed for the rutted road through the barley field.
“As soon as they get over the hill, we’ll finish this little business,” said Brown, grinning wickedly at Beagle.
“So you’re Number One!”
“I,” said Brown, “am Seymour Case.” He reached out and, taking Linda Meadows’ arm, pulled her forward. “And this is my wife. We were married after Temple went to jail.” He shook his head. “But the little lady ran out on me, after she got her little fingers on what was left of my bankroll. I had to join eight different Lonely Hearts Clubs and write about two hundred letters before I finally caught up with her.”
He squeezed Linda’s arm. “You should have known when I sent Temple to jail that I didn’t like being a sucker.”
Linda tried to pull herself away from the fat man, but Brown clung to her. “And you were all set to marry a millionaire?”
Beagle cleared his throat. “This is a family matter. You don’t want me here...”
“A character,” guffawed Brown. “Why do you think I brought you out here? Oh, did you think I didn’t know you were following? I saw you park down the street from the window of the Hillcrest Towers. I knew you’d follow us.” He released Linda and jabbed a powerful thumb into Beagle’s midriff.
“Everything would have been nice and quiet if you hadn’t stuck your nose into this business. You got Smallwood’s wind up, you scared the hell out of little Linda and you got Temple on my neck.”
“Oh,” said Beagle, “I’m willing to forget the whole thing.”
“Until you can get to a police station, eh? Nope, big boy, you’re not walking away from this one.”
“Now, wait a minute,” said Beagle. “Don’t forget Joe Peel, who’s been working on this with me. Joe’s the best private eye in the entire United States and he knows all about you. He knows you killed Susan Sawyer and David Corey.”
“Otis!” called the voice of Joe Peel. “Is that you?”
Beagle cried out, “Run, Joe...!”
Joe Peel came trotting out of the shadows. Brown bore down on him swiftly, his automatic thrust out. “Ah, Mr. Peel, join us, will you?”
Peel came into the circle of light, blinking. “What’s this — a lonely hearts meeting?”
Beagle groaned. “Browns the man who killed Susan Sawyer and David Corey.”
“Sure,” said Peel. “I heard. He came in while I was knocked out and Susan recognized him as Linda’s husband. I guess she went for the phone to call Linda and warn her.” He looked at Otis Beagle. “Temple doesn’t carry a gun.”
“But I’ve got one,” sneered Mortimer Brown. “Now, get over here beside your boss and—”
“I like it over here,” said Peel.
Brown took a step toward Peel. Peel cried out, “All right, Otis!”
The forward step that Brown took half turned him away from Otis Beagle. And then Beagle whisked the sword cane out of the sheath and lunged forward. The sharp blade touched Mortimer Brown’s gun arm, went clear through.
Brown screamed. At the same instant Peel lunged for his knees.
He carried the fat man over backwards. The gun flew from his hand and Otis Beagle promptly scooped it up.
Peel rolled away from Brown, got to his feet.
“Mr. Temple,” he said, “you owe us five hundred dollars.”
The phone on Otis Beagle’s desk rang. He scooped it up. “Beagle Detective Agency... Oh, hello, Pinky. How are you, old man? What? What does the man want? I hand him a three-time murderer and he’s still griping... That’s nonsense, Pinky. He can’t prove a thing. They were crooks, the whole lot of them. You can’t believe a word they say. That’s the trouble with Becker; he’s bucking for promotion... Mmm, the money? Why, uh, I was just on my way down to the club to see you.” He hung up.
“You’re going to pay Pinky?” Peel asked.
Beagle grimaced. “Fat chance. I’m going to play him some more gin, that’s what I’m going to do.”
He got his Homburg, put it carefully on his head and then picked up his cane.
“And I,” said Joe Peel, “am going to call Iowa Lee for a date.”
He reached for the phone. Beagle cocked his head to one side. “Don’t waste your time, Joe, You’re not her style.”
“Want to bet?”
“Five dollars, Joe. Five, she turns you down.”
Beagle lost.