Beagle gestured impatiently. “Go ahead, give it all to me.”
“I told her Jolliffe was married. Which she knew, of course. Made her believe that this was old stuff for Jolliffe and that we usually settled for fifty bucks. The idea was to let her know it wasn’t worth while running to old lady Jolliffe about it. She took it pretty good, I thought, until I finished. Then she said she didn’t know any Wilbur Jolliffe…”
“He might have been giving her the John Smith stuff.”
“I know. That didn’t bother me. I forgot to say that in between our sparring, she suddenly said she wanted to put on a dress and popped into the bathroom. She went in and got a dress, then crossed to the kitchen to put it on.”
“Why?”
“That’s where I slipped. While she was in the kitchen I peeked into the bathroom. There wasn’t anybody inside. Then she came out of the kitchen, with her dress on. Get that, she had her dress on.”
“That’s why she went into the kitchen.”
“Yeah, but I haven’t told you yet what came out of the kitchen… after her.”
“Her brother!” Otis Beagle exclaimed, “I told you about him.”
“So you did. But that ain’t all. When I woke up…”
“He hit you?”
“Either he hit me or lightning struck me… I was out for three and a half hours. And then I woke up on Mulholland Drive.”
“What then?”
“I went home and went to bed,” Joe Peel snapped.
Beagle shook his head. “I don’t like it, Joe. I don’t like it at all. You acted like an amateur.”
“You want to hear some more?”
“What more is there to tell? You got slugged and you went home…”
“Yeah, but this morning.”
Beagle looked startled. “You didn’t go back there…”
“No. I came right down to the office and you know who was waiting outside the door? Six guesses. Wilma Huston.”
“Well go on,” Beagle cried. “What’re you keeping me in suspense for?”
“I can hardly stand it myself,” Peel said, sarcastically. “I’ll give it to you short and quick. Miss Huston wanted to hire the Beagle Agency to shoo away a man who’s been molesting her. Yeah, you guessed it. Wilbur Jolliffe…” Peel held up his hand before Beagle could interrupt. “And what’s more I took the case and gave her a receipt for twenty-five bucks…”
“Something being against the law never bothered you before. Now, grab hold of your chair and get the socker. The Wilma Huston who came into this office and hired us is… not the Wilma Huston of the Lehigh Apartments!”
For a moment Otis Beagle stared at Joe Peel. Then suddenly he kicked back his swivel chair and leaped to his feet. “A trap, Joe!”
“Maybe. I don’t think so.” Peel wrinkled up his forehead. “I was watching Becker pretty closely. You had him going and I don’t think he could have held it back, if he’d known anything about this girl. Although, I admit I didn’t like the receipt business…”
“Why the devil did you give it to her?”
“She asked.” Joe Peel coughed. “And you didn’t see her. The first Wilma Huston wasn’t bad, but the second one…” Peel whistled.
“Damn you and your women.”
“There’s no use getting sore, Otis. Like you said, you’re in trouble. You’re going to have one sweet time getting out of it. So don’t waste your energy squawking at me. Face the situation and see what you can figure out.”
“I’m thinking now. These two girls — they could be living together. Lots of girls share apartments.”
“I’m thinking along those lines myself. There was only one name on the mailbox, though. That’s why I assumed the girl who answered the door was Wilma. She could be living with Wilma, though. Except for the dress…”
“Eh?”
“She went into the kitchen to put it on. The big guy was in there all the time.” He paused. “He’s supposed to be Wilma’s brother.”
“He still could be.”
“All right, if you want to think things like that. So he’s Wilma’s brother. And the other girl’s, uh, boy friend. Now, what about Wilma herself… I mean the girl who came here this morning?”
Beagle exclaimed, “She could be the girl friend. It could have been Wilma you saw last night and this girl her friend, pretending to be Wilma.”
“That could be. But now we come to the prize question — why did this girl come here to you…?” He held up an index finger. “Remember, Jolliffe hired you to get this girl off his neck. He wouldn’t be apt to tell her he had hired a detective named Otis Beagle, would he?”
Beagle frowned. “Of course things weren’t just that clear-cut. Uh, you will recall that Jolliffe didn’t come to us.”
“I almost forgot that. You might as well tell me how you persuaded him.”
“It was your work — mostly. He was scared stiff. I dropped the name of Wilma and he almost fainted. It was his conscience. He thought he and Wilma were getting along swell, then your stuff — and my mention of Wilma’s name — well, what would you think?”
Peel nodded. “Just what was I supposed to do last night? You told me to go up to the Lehigh Apartments and wait outside, but that’s all you told me.”
“Wilbur didn’t know himself. The brother-stuff stuck in his craw. Maybe he thought there’d be rough stuff and he could yell for you. I don’t know. He just said he’d like to have a man handy.”
“He was upstairs less than half hour. Unless, he was in the kitchen with the big guy.”
“We may never know that.” Beagle sighed, then drew in a sharp breath. “You’ve got to go out to Jolliffe’s house, Joe.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.”
“My mother didn’t raise any crazy kids.”
“Can’t be helped. I’m no good at that kind of stuff. You’ve got to get into the house — look things over and talk to Mrs. Jolliffe. You can’t convince me that Jolliffe would kill himself because of this Wilma business. He’s had that kind of trouble all his life and he never killed himself before. Maybe…” A wistful expression came to Beagle’s face. “…Maybe, it wasn’t suicide at all.”
“A typed letter?” Peel shrugged. “I don’t buy that either. But… going out there to Jolliffe’s house…”
“Please…”
Peel looked at his big employer; in all the years he had worked for Beagle he had never seen humility in him. Or such fear. The fear may have accounted for the humility.
He got up. “If I wind up in the clink, Otis, I’ll hate you for the rest of your life.”
“If you get in trouble, I’ll get you out. Remember… Pinky Devol… and I’ve got other friends, too.”
6
Wilbur Jolliffe’s house was on Rodeo Drive, between Sunset and Santa Monica. It was a two-story, French Provincial, probably worth $50,000. A Ford coupe was standing at the curb in front of the house when Joe Peel strolled up from Sunset Boulevard. He walked on to Santa Monica, had a malted milk in a drugstore, then went back up Rodeo Drive. The Ford was gone.
Peel walked up to the front door and rang the bell. A colored maid came up to the screen door.
“I’d like to see Mrs. Jolliffe,” Peel said.
“She ain’t in no condition to see anybody,” the maid replied. “We’ve had big trouble here…”
“I know — that’s why I’m here.” Joe hesitated then drew a piece of tin from his trousers pocket. He gave the colored girl a flash of it. Her eyes widened.
“Oh, a detective!”
“Will you tell Mrs. Jolliffe I must see her?”
The maid opened the door and led Peel into a large living room. Then she left the room. Peel heard her feet padding up the carpeted stairs to the upper floor.