Once the Sackville-Bagginses left my office, I had time to think about what
I'd just done. I took a long look at it, and what I saw was ugly: I'd just
accepted a job I should never have considered from two people I should
never have let into my office. How do you find out what happened to one
small hobbit in all of Middle-earth?
My first instinct was to send a message to Oliver. Two days later, he showed up on my doorstep, and I took him over to the Prancing Pony for a meal and some ale.
Word to the wise: never offer to feed a hobbit unless you've got either a full moneybag or a tavern owner who knows you're good for the balance. I could see I'd be smoothing things over with Butterbur after Oliver was finished eating us both out of house and home.
When I finally got the little guy's attention away from his food and ale, I asked him what he knew about the Bagginses.
"Peculiar folks," said Oliver, lighting his pipe. "Most hobbits--with the notable exception of yours truly--like to stick close to home. Word has it, though, that some, oh, fifty or so years ago, old Bilbo Baggins went hiring off with a wizard and a bunch of dwarves to places like Mirkwood and the Misty Mountains. Say he came back with part of a dragon's hoard, too, and is rich as a king."
"What about Frodo Baggins?"
"Haven't heard too much about him, only that he's supposedly to inherit his uncle's wealth, and he's one highly eligible bachelor in Hobbiton. Good- looking chap, too, if the gossip's to be believed."
I told Oliver about my meeting with the Sackville-Bagginses and what they'd told me.
"Huh!" said Oliver. "Hadn't heard anything about old Bilbo disappearing. Wouldn't put it past him, though, even at his age. Interesting that the Sackville-Bagginses brought it up to you, though."
"Why do you say that?" I asked. I knew why I thought it was strange, but I wanted to hear what Oliver thought.
"Because there's no love lost between Bag End and the Sackville-Bagginses, that's why." Oliver gestured with his pipe. "Scuttlebutt around the Shire says that they always wanted Bag End for themselves and couldn't believe Bilbo wasn't gracious enough to kick the bucket when it was convenient for them. 'Course, it's all academic now; young Frodo's probably set up housekeeping, and who knows how long he'll live?"
My brain was churning like storm clouds over Caradhras. If the Sackville- Bagginses wanted Bag End, the combination of Bilbo being dead or out of the picture and Frodo being blamed for his disappearance would suit them right down to their hairy little feet. That answered for their motivations, but it still left me with the puzzle of what happened to Bilbo Baggins.
"I need you to do some digging for me," I said to Oliver. "Nothing big; just sit in on a few conversations at the tavern in Hobbiton and see what you can hear."
Oliver made a show of unclogging his pipe. "Love to help you, Digger, I really would," he said, "but I had a, er, business dispute with the owner of the Green Dragon a few months back, and somehow I doubt I'd be welcome."
"What kind of business dispute?"
The little guy gave me that innocent look that only children and hobbits can pull off without looking stupid. "He seemed to think my bar tab was somewhat higher than I thought it was--or should be, rather--and I thought it wise to remove myself from the premises before he got too insistent on the matter. Avoiding conflict, if you catch my meaning." He hopped down from his stool before I had a chance to say anything. "Lovely catching up with you, Digger, and best of luck on the case."
With that felicitation hanging in the air along with his pipe smoke, Oliver was gone, leaving me with my thoughts. No matter which way they twisted or turned, they always ended up in the same place:
If I wanted to crack this case, I was going to have to go to the Shire myself.
Next time: Big Man in the Shire!
My first instinct was to send a message to Oliver. Two days later, he showed up on my doorstep, and I took him over to the Prancing Pony for a meal and some ale.
Word to the wise: never offer to feed a hobbit unless you've got either a full moneybag or a tavern owner who knows you're good for the balance. I could see I'd be smoothing things over with Butterbur after Oliver was finished eating us both out of house and home.
When I finally got the little guy's attention away from his food and ale, I asked him what he knew about the Bagginses.
"Peculiar folks," said Oliver, lighting his pipe. "Most hobbits--with the notable exception of yours truly--like to stick close to home. Word has it, though, that some, oh, fifty or so years ago, old Bilbo Baggins went hiring off with a wizard and a bunch of dwarves to places like Mirkwood and the Misty Mountains. Say he came back with part of a dragon's hoard, too, and is rich as a king."
"What about Frodo Baggins?"
"Haven't heard too much about him, only that he's supposedly to inherit his uncle's wealth, and he's one highly eligible bachelor in Hobbiton. Good- looking chap, too, if the gossip's to be believed."
I told Oliver about my meeting with the Sackville-Bagginses and what they'd told me.
"Huh!" said Oliver. "Hadn't heard anything about old Bilbo disappearing. Wouldn't put it past him, though, even at his age. Interesting that the Sackville-Bagginses brought it up to you, though."
"Why do you say that?" I asked. I knew why I thought it was strange, but I wanted to hear what Oliver thought.
"Because there's no love lost between Bag End and the Sackville-Bagginses, that's why." Oliver gestured with his pipe. "Scuttlebutt around the Shire says that they always wanted Bag End for themselves and couldn't believe Bilbo wasn't gracious enough to kick the bucket when it was convenient for them. 'Course, it's all academic now; young Frodo's probably set up housekeeping, and who knows how long he'll live?"
My brain was churning like storm clouds over Caradhras. If the Sackville- Bagginses wanted Bag End, the combination of Bilbo being dead or out of the picture and Frodo being blamed for his disappearance would suit them right down to their hairy little feet. That answered for their motivations, but it still left me with the puzzle of what happened to Bilbo Baggins.
"I need you to do some digging for me," I said to Oliver. "Nothing big; just sit in on a few conversations at the tavern in Hobbiton and see what you can hear."
Oliver made a show of unclogging his pipe. "Love to help you, Digger, I really would," he said, "but I had a, er, business dispute with the owner of the Green Dragon a few months back, and somehow I doubt I'd be welcome."
"What kind of business dispute?"
The little guy gave me that innocent look that only children and hobbits can pull off without looking stupid. "He seemed to think my bar tab was somewhat higher than I thought it was--or should be, rather--and I thought it wise to remove myself from the premises before he got too insistent on the matter. Avoiding conflict, if you catch my meaning." He hopped down from his stool before I had a chance to say anything. "Lovely catching up with you, Digger, and best of luck on the case."
With that felicitation hanging in the air along with his pipe smoke, Oliver was gone, leaving me with my thoughts. No matter which way they twisted or turned, they always ended up in the same place:
If I wanted to crack this case, I was going to have to go to the Shire myself.
Next time: Big Man in the Shire!