Ross MacDonald - Strangers in Town - Three Newly Discovered Mysteries

He spoke solemnly. "What can I do for you, sir?"

"Rogers is the name. I'm investigating your brother's death — "

"A sad affair. Johnny Swain phoned me not long ago. I didn't realize, however, that it was under police investigation."

"I'm working for the hotel. All they want to do is make sure it was an accident. You may be able to give me some information about your brother's habits?"

"Won't you step inside? I haven't seen much of Henry in recent years, but I'll tell you what I can. Don't get the notion that we weren't on good terms. We were. You may know that he left me ten thousand dollars in his will?"

He led me into the living room and waved me towards a shabby chesterfield. Except for the shelves of books which lined the walls, everything in the room was shabby. In his collarless shirt and drooping trousers, Alexander Ralston suited the room. I wondered if he was a lifelong victim of primogeniture.

He saw me looking around the room and said, "I'm afraid things are in rather a mess. I do my own housekeeping, you know. I won't attempt to deny that for a retired teacher like myself that ten thousand dollars will come in very handily, very handily indeed."

"You say you hadn't seen a great deal of your brother in recent years?"

"That's quite true. Our interests differed, you see. I like to think of myself as something of an intellectual, and Henry was by way of being a hedonist. I won't accuse him of having no intellectual interests, but they weren't sustained. In a word, his money spoilt him for the life of the spirit."

"Where did he get it?"

"His money? Of course, you must be struck by the contrast between our ways of life. It was really quite a comic situation — I pride myself on being able to laugh at it still, though in a way I was the butt of the joke." He smiled wanly and stroked his one day's beard.

I began to suspect that I was dealing with an eccentric. "I don't quite get the point," I said.

"Naturally you don't. I haven't told you the situation. Henry and I had a very devout aunt who married well and in the course of time became a very wealthy and devout widow. Henry had never been given to religiosity, but Aunt Martha cracked the whip of gold over him, so to speak, and persuaded him to enter the church when he was in his early twenties. I was a freshman in college at the time, and I was a militant atheist. I still am, sir. Anyway, Aunt Martha left all her money to Henry.

"It's just as well, I suppose," he said after a pause. "Over-much money would have suited ill with the austerities of moral philosophy and metaphysics. Still, that ten thousand dollars will come in very handily."

"I understand that Mrs. Ralston will get the bulk of his fortune."

"Of course she will. And it's only fitting. She married him for that purpose, I believe."

"How long had they been married?"

"Ten years. She was about thirty at the time, and a very pretty piece — I use the word in its seventeenth-century sense. Within six months of their marriage she had become a hopeless invalid. I've suspected, perhaps without justification, that Mrs. Ralston knew at the time of their marriage that she had the disease, and deliberately inveigled Henry into it. He was really an innocent-hearted man. She was a widow without means, you see, and had a young son to support. Even if that is the case, however, I don't begrudge her the money. It kept a sick woman in comfort and brought up a fatherless boy, and thus served a useful purpose, don't you think?"

I said, "Yes."

"There's one other thing," Alexander Ralston said, his exaggerated eyes regarding me blandly through his glasses. "This is an absurd hypothesis, but I think I should introduce it. Assuming that I was intending to kill my brother for his money, I should certainly have waited a few months. His death at the present time has netted me ten thousand dollars. After Mrs. Ralston's death, which you may or may not know is imminent, Henry's death would have netted me incomparably more. His entire fortune, in fact."

I am not easily embarrassed, but I was embarrassed. "I never thought of such a thing," I said unconvincingly.

"Please don't be uncomfortable. It's your duty to think of such things. But now if you'll excuse me, I have some work to do."

I told him it had been a pleasure to meet him, and went away.

When I got back to the Valeria Pueblo, Al was in his room reading a newspaper. He put it down when I opened the door.

"The accident didn't make much of a splash," he said. "Say, that's a crack, isn't it? But I notice there's nobody in swimming in the pool today."

"There will be tomorrow. In a week it'll be forgotten. What about John Swain's alibi?"

"He was on the ship all night," Al said. "He played poker till 4 a.m., and has four buddies to prove it. I talked to one on the phone."

"That lets him out, then. Did you get anything on Jane Lennon?"

He winked and smiled lasciviously. "You're damn right. One of the black girls who cleans the bungalows gave me the straight dope on her. I knew that dame had too much to be going to waste."

"Spill it."

"She's got a boy friend in one of the other bungalows. Her racket is to wait until Mrs. Ralston goes to sleep, and then slip out for a few hours. Mrs. Ralston takes sleeping powders, see, so the nurse thought she was safe enough. But she was supposed to be on twenty-four hour duty, and she was taking a chance."

"Where was Jane Lennon last night?"

"With her boyfriend. The black girl saw her going back to her own bungalow just before dawn. But I don't see how you're going to use that against her. It gives her a better alibi than she had before."

I said, "Is Mrs. Ralston's wheelchair self-propelling? I mean can she move it herself?"

"Sure, if she wants to. But the nurse usually pushes her. My God, you're not suspecting Mrs. Ralston now?"

I said nothing.

"You're a sap if you are," Al said. "She had no motive. The dame's going to be dead in a couple of months."

"That's right," I said. "Let's go and see Mrs. Ralston."

"Look here, you take it easy," Al said. "You'll make trouble for both of us."

"The widow should be informed that her husband was murdered," I said. "I'm going to inform the widow."

Mrs. Ralston, John Swain, and Jane Lennon were sitting at an outside table in the patio. They had just finished their lunch, and a waiter was removing their debris. When he had glided away with his loaded tray, I stepped up to the table with Al beside me.

"May we join you for a moment?" I said.

"Why certainly." Mrs. Ralston looked up at me brightly, and with a movement of her right hand turned her wheelchair in a quarter circle.

I sat down facing her and said, "Last night about a quarter to one Mr. Sablacan and I left your husband at the door of your bungalow and he presumably went to bed. Since he had been drinking he probably fell into a deep alcoholic slumber. An hour or so later he was drowned. This morning I found him in the swimming pool."

"I know those things," Mrs. Ralston said. "Is there any point in repeating them to me?"

"This is very painful for my mother," John Swain said. "I'll have to ask you to put a stop to it." He dropped his cigarette on the tiles and ground it angrily under his heel.

"I have reason to believe," I said, "that Mr. Ralston was not drowned in the swimming pool."

Mrs. Ralston slumped backward and covered her face with her hands. John Swain stood up and leaned across the table towards me looking as if he would like to bite me.

"This is too much!" he said. "I'll see Mr. Whittaker about this." He marched away into the hotel.

"O.K.," I said to Jane Lennon. "Take her away. I'd just as soon be telling it to the police."

Mrs. Ralston removed her hands. She looked old, and I felt sorry for her. I felt sorrier for Mr. Ralston.