Beagle Scented Murder

16

As they reached Hollywood Boulevard a taxicab was stopped by the traffic lights and Beagle and Peel climbed into it. A few minutes later they alighted in front of the Brown Derby, on Vine Street. The rope was up, but Otis Beagle caught the eye of the headwaiter and they were whisked through a crowd of at least twenty waiting people and shown to a table.

“How you do it is beyond me,” Peel said, shaking his head. “Every restaurant, every night club…”

“A good tip now and then,” said Beagle, magnanimously.

“Never less than two dollars,” grunted Peel. “That’s what the man at Ole’s Swedish Baths told me…”

Beagle chuckled. “How about a hair of the dog?”

Peel shuddered. “I’m not used to getting drunk twice in one day.”

“Oh, it won’t hurt to relax for this once.” Beagle took a little black notebook from his pocket. “As a matter of fact, I might call up a couple of girls. A bit of a celebration…”

“What’ve we got to celebrate?”

Beagle smiled. “After all, we’ve just solved a case…”

“What case?”

“Don’t be obtuse. The police’ll get Bill Gray.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Why should I kid? The police are very good at catching people — once they know the name of the person…”

Peel signalled the waiter. “A pair of Martinis,” he ordered. Then he looked at Beagle. “I didn’t think you really believed that crap — about Bill Gray killing Helen Gray…”

Beagle groaned. “Now, wait a minute, Joe…”

“Brother, husband or boy friend — whatever he was — why should he kill Helen?”

“That’s obvious. She was carrying on with Jolliffe… a man old enough to be her father…”

Peel shook his head. “What about Marcy Holt?”

“Holt?” Beagle suddenly winced. “I’d forgotten all about him. But…” He frowned. “We’re not sure that he ties in with Jolliffe and Gray…”

“I’m sure,” said Peel. “And so is a fellow who followed me from the Lehigh Apartment to Ole’s bath House.”

“Well, maybe one of them killed Helen Gray…”

“Yeah — but why?”

“Dammit, Joe,” said Beagle, “you’ve spoiled my dinner.”

The waiter came with the martinis. Peel picked up his. “To crime, Otis…”

He put his glass to his mouth, started to drink, then lowered the glass. “Why, the dirty little liar…”

Beagle caught Peel’s eyes looking off. His head swiveled and picked out Mary Lou Tanner.

“Jolliffe’s secretary!” he exclaimed. “Who’s the bird with her?”

“George Byram, the late Mr. Jolliffe’s brother-in-law… And she told me she was true to a Marine, six feet tall.” He got to his feet. “I think I’ll tell her a thing or three…”

Otis Beagle started to protest but Joe Peel ignored him and started for the booth where Mary Lou Tanner sat across from George Byram.

As he approached he fixed his eyes on George Byram.

“George!” he cried. “George Byram — imagine meeting you here!”

He thrust his hand into that of Mrs. Jolliffe’s brother. Byram stared at him in astonishment. “I beg your pardon…” he began.

Peel plopped down opposite Byram, about six inches from Mary Lou, but still without looking at her. “I sure am glad to see you, George. How’s your wife — and the kids?”

Sudden anger blazed up in George Byram’s face. “I’m not married and I haven’t got any kids—”

Peel stared in astonishment at Byram. “Why, George…” Then he shot a quick, covert glance at Mary Lou and put on a mock cringing act. “Holy cat! What a boner…”

“Always the comic, aren’t you?” Mary Lou said sarcastically.

Peel refused to look at her. He got to his feet and held out a placating palm. “I’m sorry, Mister — I guess I did make a mistake… But you sure look like my old friend George Byram.”

“Look here, you,” Byram snarled. “I don’t know you and you don’t know me…”

“Okay, George,” Peel cut in. “Okay… I apologize…”

He turned and walked back to his own table. “All right, Otis,” he said, sitting down. “Look into your little black book and see what’s good in it.” He held up a warning finger. “But I warn you, I’ve been on blind dates before… I get first choice…”

Beagle caught the eyes of the waiter and snapped his fingers. Then he opened his little book. “Agnes,” he mused, “a sweet girl…” He turned a page and brightened. “Alice! How could I ever forget her.” He shook his head. “No — she lives in Santa Monica — too far.”

The waiter brought a telephone with a long cord and plugged it in. Beagle nodded his thanks and continued to study his book. “Anna… mmm… a bit on the plump side…!”

“No!” said Joe Peel. “I know what plump means.”

“Like ’em thin, eh? Well, here’s one on the thin side, but — ha-ha — with a bit of padding in the right places. Angela… Crestview one…” He drew the phone closer and began dialing. After a moment his eyes lit up.

“Angela, darling! Guess…!” He beamed. “Right the first time, my dear… I’ve been out of town — Chicago. Yes, an important case. Just got back a day or two ago, and I thought I’d give you a ring. What are you doing this evening?… That’s too bad. Can’t you break it?… I’ve been out of town; I really have… You must be mistaken, darling. I wasn’t at the Mocambo last week… Me, with a blonde? Are you kidding? You know I like brunettes… I mean, a certain brunette…”

Peel put his left elbow upon the table and leaned his head against the palm of his hand. He listened to Beagle give Angela the old routine.

“Of course I solved the case, dear; don’t I always?” He screwed up his face. “Yes, I’m holding heavy. Well, that’s fine, Angela. And, ah, have you got a friend?… Yes, that’s right… Mmm,” he looked across the table. “About six feet tall. Well, I wouldn’t exactly call him handsome… he’s on the rugged side… Ethel, eh? Fine, fine, she sounds just right… Tell you what, we’ll pick you up in a half hour. ’Bye, darling…” he hung up and looked at Joe Peel’s scowling face.

“On the rugged side, am I? Not handsome…”

“I said you were six feet tall. That’s giving you a break…”

“I warned you — I get first choice.”

“Oh sure, Joe. Don’t worry about that. She says Ethel’s a pip. Angela’s never wrong about a thing like that. You wait and see…”