Frenk Gruber - Beagle Scented Murder

Otis Beagle rocked back and forth in his swivel chair, oblivious of the frightful squeak the chair made with every rock. His fat fingers made a pup tent across his well-fed stomach and he was frowning in intense concentration.

On the other side of the double desk Joe Peel looked up furtively from his last weeks Racing Form. He didnt like that concentration on the part of Beagle.

The rocking and the squeaking stopped. Joe Peel groaned. This was it.

Otis Beagle blew on the huge stone in his ring. The ring was just like Beagle big, flashy and phoney.

Joe! said Otis Beagle. Do you remember the Jolliffe case?

No, replied Peel, promptly.

Beagle scowled. It was only four-five months ago.

My memory doesnt function on an empty stomach, Peel snapped. Its lunch time and I havent even had breakfast.

You got to watch out for that, Joe, said Beagle. You keep going without breakfast and after a while you get so

The reason I havent had breakfast, Peel said, is because you havent paid me my salary for two weeks.

Otis Beagle scowled. I owe you two weeks wages?

Eighty bucks, pal! And Saturday itll be a hundred and twenty. If I dont get it, Ill

Youll what?

Ill get a secondhand furniture man in here and youll run your detective agency next week sitting on the floor.

Beagle looked coldly at Joe Peel. Some day your sense of humor will get the best of you, Joe.

You think Im joking? Guess again. You owe two months office rent; you owe me my wages, but have you missed a meal yourself? Have you missed dropping in every day at that plush club of yours?

If its any satisfaction to you, Beagle said, the club posted me yesterday. And I have exactly four dollars to my name...

Four dollars! cried Peel. Give!

Its all the money I have in the world.

Give, Peel persisted. Give, before I forget that you outweigh me seventy pounds.

Beagle glowered at Peel a moment then drew a flat wallet from his breast pocket and skinned out two dollar bills as neatly as a card shark.

Why didnt you say you were hungry?

Couldnt you hear my stomach growl?

Beagle grunted and picked up a bunch of three by four file cards. Joe, were up against it. Clients havent been coming to the office so, well have to go after them.

Peel winced. How?

Beagle separated one of the filing cards from the others. He tapped it on the desk. You remember this Wilbur Jolliffe? He was mixed up in a badger game...

And we shook him down for a grand.

Beagle cleared his throat noisily. We settled with the blackmailers.

We slipped them a hundred and scared hell out of them. The other nine hundred we kept and then we soaked Wilbur for a five hundred dollar fee.

A cheap settlement. The blackmailers would have taken Wilbur for four times that much. Beagle looked thoughtfully at the card. Jolliffes a gay dog.

Sixty, if hes fifty. And he likes them about twenty or younger if he can get them. Peel wrinkled his nose in disgust. A fanny pincher.

Right. It says on this card that Jolliffe lives on Rodeo Drive. He owns the house and he has a wife...

And how! A snowplow in front and a caboose in the rear.

Beagle nodded. All this happened five months ago. By now Jolliffe is over his scare. In fact, Id venture to say he is, ah, pinching fannies again.

His kind doesnt stop until the man pats them in the face with a spade... But I dont get the angle, Otis.

Hurrumph! I was thinking we did a good job for Jolliffe once. Why cant we do another for him?

But we dont even know if hes in trouble.

A man like Jolliffes bound to be in trouble. Why should we wait until hes in so deep that its almost impossible to get him out of it?

There might be something in what you say.

Beagle placed the tips of his fingers together and scowled at them. I think Ill drop around and see him tomorrow.

Peel shrugged. It cant do any harm.

In the meantime you might soften him up.

Eh?

Jolliffe may not realize that hes in trouble. But hes got a guilty conscience.

So have I and you and about fifty million other people in this country.

Beagle scowled. Youre being purposely dense. You know very well what Im getting at. Youve got to scare Jolliffe so hell be in a proper frame of mind when I talk to him tomorrow.

Peel held up a hand, palm toward Beagle. Now, wait a minute, Otis. Weve stretched the rope pretty tight, but youre putting too much pressure on it this time. Itll break.

Well, said Beagle, you have two dollars and I have two dollars. What are we going to do when theyre gone?

Joe Peel inhaled and exhaled heavily. San Quentin, here we come!

Beagle shuddered. Dont say that, Joe. Not even in fun.

All right, I wont say it. But Ill be thinking it. Give me the card.

Beagle handed him the file card and Peel reached for the phone. He looked at the card, then dialed a number.

A smooth voice said in Peels ear, Jolliffe and Company.

Let me talk to Wilbur, Peel said.

Whos calling?

This is a personal call, sister.

Im sorry, sir, but I have no brothers... and Ill have to have your name, before I can put your call through.

Look, said Peel, just tell Wilbur that Nat is on the phone.

Nat who?

Just tell him Nat and hell talk to me so quick you wont even be able to listen in.

There was a pause at the other end of the line and then the girl said, Just a moment, please.

Thirty seconds went by, then a connection was made and a cracked voice said, Yes?

Yes, Peel replied.

This is Wilbur Jolliffe, said the owner of that name. Who... who is this?

Nat.

N-nat, who?

Peel laughed harshly. How many Nats do you know? Nats to you. He hung up and met Otis Beagles accusing glance.

Crude. Very crude.

Then why didnt you call him yourself?

Because he might remember my voice.

He might remember mine too.

Not as readily. You only talked to him once or twice. Besides, your voice isnt a distinctive one.

Peel scowled at Beagle and got up. He went to an ancient wooden filing cabinet and pulled out a drawer. Beagle watched him with interest. His eyes widened when Peel took out a false beard.

Who do you think youll fool with that Dick Tracy outfit?

Nobody, said Peel. Thats the point. He put the beard into his coat pocket and got his hat. In case I get caught and you dont I smoke Camels, he said and left the office.

He took the stairs to the first floor and left the building. Outside he looked toward Hollywood Boulevard, a half block away, then walked to it and turned eastward.

After a few minutes he consulted the card on Wilbur Jolliffe and after another block entered a twelve-story office building. He rode in the elevator up to the fourth floor.

Walking down a corridor he found a ground glass door on which was the legend: Jolliffe & Company. He brought the false beard out of his pocket, slipped it on, then opened the door and entered a fancy reception room over which presided a redhead who was at least gorgeous, if not more.

She looked inquiringly at Peel.

Id like to see Mr. Jolliffe, Peels tone conveyed the impression that he expected Mr. Jolliffe to drop everything to talk to him.

The redhead thought otherwise, however, May I have your name?

Jolliffe, said Peel. Julius Jolliffe. Im Wilburs uncle.

Quit your kidding, said the girl. And your beard is slipping.

Peel adjusted it. Thanks. All right, so Wilburs my uncle. I still want to see him.

Ive a good notion to call a cop.

Peel looked steadily at her. Get much exercise around here, if you know what I mean?

Now, wa-ait a minute...

Without the disguise, baby, Im a tall, handsome fella and I like you, too, but this is business. Cross my heart.