As I’ve said, we had registered at the Beaumont Inn near Harrodsburg and were having early cocktails in the bar when Seth Godwin telephoned. While Patrick was answering the phone I began thinking about Seth. He had been in college with Pat. During the war, Seth served as a medic in the same division of Marines as Patrick. Afterward he took some postgraduate surgery and settled down to practice in his home town in Kentucky. He lived on a farm which had long belonged to the Godwin family. He had lived alone since his mother died two or three years ago.
We had hired a car in Lexington, intending to drive around the Bluegrass country at our leisure and stay overnight wherever dusk overtook us. Our only fixed date was for the Derby in Louisville on Saturday. Pat had wired Seth to telephone us at the Beaumont Inn so that we would be sure to get together some time during our short stay. Private dates had to be sandwiched in and arranged, for this was the season of the greatest social activity in this part of the world.
Patrick came back from the telephone and told me that Seth wanted us to come over right away. I rebelled, as I’ve said. It did no good. In less than three minutes we were on our way.
Patrick drove fast. We turned into Seth Godwin’s lane three quarters of an hour after he had telephoned. The house was white, a Victorian number of ample size, with a wing at the back for the dining room and kitchen. It stood on a natural hill carpeted in bluegrass. The trees stood about as they had grown naturally. One of the great beauties of this country is the natural settings of the fine old houses. A white lane led up to the house.
Seth’s black business coupe stood outside the yard gate. The flower beds along the brick walk were crammed with bleeding hearts, bluebells, lilies of the valley, tulips and hyacinths and masses of white jonquils.
Seth came down the prim walk to meet us. I had never met Seth Godwin, so my impression of his tall loose-hinged figure, kind homely face, thick auburn hair, was sharp and definite. His eyes were blue.
Instantly I felt the same trusting feeling of friendship for Seth that Patrick had treasured for many years.
We shook hands. Seth Godwin had the delicately cared-for hands of a good doctor. His clasp was warm and dry and friendly.
“Come on in. Dinner’s ready but we’ll manage a quick drink first. I’m sure glad to see you.”
“Glad to see you, Seth. What’s on your mind?”
“Let it wait till after dinner, Pat. Got to catch up on your personal news first.”
If you don’t get called away, Seth, I thought.
The room we sat in before dinner was furnished in the style of its time. There was a fine flowered carpet, delicate lace curtains, and the handsome mahogany furniture which belonged in this kind of house. I admired it vocally and Seth replied that his mother had lived here all her life and had freshened but never changed the furnishings. Seth and Pat exchanged news. An old colored man in a white jacket came to the door and said that dinner was served. In the dining room we sat at an oval pedestal table. The china was French, white and edged with wide gold bands. The silver was an old floral pattern, richly carved. Dinner was that wonderful old country ham they give you in Kentucky, candied yams, hot biscuits and fresh sweet butter and new asparagus, strawberry shortcake with thick Jersey cream.
The telephone rang several times during dinner and the Negro man brought the instrument to the table. There was always a special tension in Seth with each call, but he relaxed when the call was a simple one that asked only advice. He would ask about symptoms, give his suggestions and hang up obviously relieved.
We were having coffee and cognac in the living room when Seth got the call he’d been waiting for. He listened and asked to be called back when the report was complete. The man took the telephone away and Seth, lighting a cigarette, said, “One of my patients was murdered this afternoon.”
Seth served us more cognac from the carafe and set it down again on the coffee table. “I was sure it was murder, but I had to wait for the pathologist and coroner to get together over an autopsy. They’re working on it yet but they’ve already verified my diagnosis. Patient was killed with cyanide apparently given in a capsule. I notified the police after the body was taken to the hospital morgue. Should have had them come to the house before the body was taken away but couldn’t be sure I was right and hated to upset the family unnecessarily. They’ve had a prowl car posted not far from the gate to check on people going in or leaving. After the post-mortem the police will take over, but I’ll have to be present at the inquiry. We may have another hour, though, and I’d like to discuss the case as I see it. Do you mind, Jean?”
“Oh, no,” I lied.
“Fire away,” Patrick said.
“The chief suspect is certain to be the victim’s wife.”
“Had she reason to kill him?”
“Plenty. And his family will ride herd on her, as you westerners say. She won’t stand a chance.”
“Do you think she did it, Seth?”
“I do not. If I had, I shouldn’t have called you. But she was alone with him when he died. She gave him the capsule. They separated a year ago. She was supporting herself with a job in New York. She came back here today because she was summoned by a telegram which said that he was dying and couldn’t last much longer.”
“Was that true?”
“No. He was in better shape than he had been for some time. The telegram was a hoax to get her back here. It was telephoned to Western Union by the victim’s mother. She said she didn’t send it. But when I quizzed her she admitted that she had. Dick could get his mother to do anything he wished. In this case he must have been amazingly persuasive. Mrs. Mallory always hated her daughter-in-law passionately. She didn’t want her here. She’s one of those matriarchs who rule their homes and families like female dictators. Dick was her only son. He’d been an alcoholic for some time. Occasionally he was bedridden for weeks, which was the case now, but his heart was first-rate and he might have lived on for years.
“I suppose you’d say that Dick was in love with his wife, as much as he could love anyone. But Jane had the sense to leave him a year ago and if I’d been consulted today I would certainly have wired her not to come back. I know Jane Mallory. She’s tops.” Seth frowned into his glass.
“Trouble is, all the others concerned in this business live here and have always lived here. They have money and an assured social position, which matters a lot in a place like this. Jane Mallory was born in New York. Her father was a professor of languages at Columbia University. The family shuttled back and forth to Europe on a very limited budget. Jane got out of college and got a job in an advertising agency. Dick was one of the partners in the agency. They married after a very short acquaintance. Sarah Mallory swears that Jane married Dick for his money. I’m certain she didn’t. She loved the stinker and she stayed with him long after a less courageous woman would have beat it.”
Seth frowned again and then said, “I’m sure she was happy at first. But Dick always drank hard. His carousing started catching up with him. His mother always kept a hand on the purse strings. He was forced out of his agency and, needing money, he had to come home. He promised Jane to stop drinking and promised his mother to take over the management of the property. He did neither. After one year Jane went back to New York, got a job, and asked Dick to agree to a divorce without alimony or any kind of settlement. Dick did nothing at all.”
“Did he think he’d starve her into coming back to him?”
“Sure. But he used Jane all along. His mother was determined that he should get rid of her. She wanted him to marry Denise Clarke, pretty but a mental lightweight, whose people live on a farm south of the Mallorys. They’re stinking rich, too. Denise has been married twice and twice divorced. She sheds her married names when she divorces. She’s very pretty in a doll-like way and good-natured, and Sarah Mallory has been crazy about her all her life. Have you ever noticed how some of these strong-minded old dames will take a fancy to a babe like Denise? It’s not her money, either. Sarah Mallory is certain that Denise is—or was—the one woman for her erring son Dick. Dick strung them along, pretending that he would marry Denise if he were free. Maybe Denise knew he was only playing, but he fooled his mother.”
Seth drank off his cognac.
“And now there’s murder. Jane gave Dick the capsule. It was on the bedside table. Jane was alone with him at this time. They had quarreled and he’d batted her around a bit. She says that Dick had a spell of weakness and asked for the medicine. Jane was familiar with my medicines for she doubled as a nurse all the time she was here. The nurse on duty declares that the capsule she left on the table was one from my regular prescription. She always kept a capsule on the table within the patient’s reach when she was out of the room.”
“In which case, somebody switched capsules.”
“Sure thing. How else?”
“Who inherits?”
“I’ve no idea. I can’t imagine Sarah Mallory letting Dick have control of his money back, so long as he was tied to Jane. He may have made promises, though, in exchange for special privileges. He probably promised her he would marry Denise. Anyway, Jane Mallory is in for it. For sure.”
“Who found him dead?”
“The nurse. Jane was just leaving the house. Not so good, either. Looked as though she were running away.”
“What’s the setup there? I mean, who all lives on the place and how would they fit into a deal like this?”
“Let me begin with the family. Sarah Mallory was born a Wayne. The Waynes were poor as they come when she was young, but they’re an older family and, socially, considered superior to the Mallorys. The Mallorys were richer, however. Sarah married Richard Mallory, Dick’s father, when she was in her early twenties. The Mallory estate was already on the skids, but Sarah managed and fenagled and she was especially astute in holding on to the distilleries. Prohibition came along, see, and a lot of people saw no future in Kentucky bourbon. Their mistake. The first child was a daughter, Amelia. She seems to have been an attractive girl but something happened—it’s a grim tale, maybe just gossip—and Amelia has been a shadow in the house ever since. Dick was three years younger than Amelia, good-looking, clever, a good student and athlete. Sarah Mallory put all her hopes on Dick. Her husband died of alcoholism when Dick was in prep school. Then there’s Uncle Victor.”
“Uncle Victor?”
Seth smiled.
“Victor was the older son in the Mallory family. When their father died, pint-sized Victor settled for cash, lived his life in gay places all over the globe, is said to have made and lost several fortunes, married three or four times, and wound up here a few years ago broke. He’s crashing eighty, at least. Sarah Mallory took him in.”
“Then she can’t be too hard,” I said.
“Honey, if she hadn’t taken him in, there would have been talk. Uncle Victor lives in the log cabin at the back of the grounds. Collects spiders.”
“Spiders?” I squirmed. “What a bunch of psychos, Seth. Ought to be good hunting for a doctor.”
“You said it, Jean.”
“Were all these people in the house when Dick was killed?” Patrick asked.
“They were all around somewhere. Denise Clarke was there. Mrs. Rollo, who’s both housekeeper and cook, and two maids were there. Uncle Victor was somewhere around. Amelia was in her room, where she stays most of the time.”
“And the nurse? Was there only one?”
“There were three, but only one, Mildred James, was in the house. She was on duty. She lived in.”
“Denise Clarke,” Patrick said ruminatively. “Could she have killed him out of revenge? A woman spurned, you know.”
“I can’t imagine it. Denise has the emotional stability of a butterfly. She’s thirty-some and looks and acts like a sweet sixteen. Besides, she’s been making a big play for Bart Wayne ever since he came home on vacation.”
“Who’s Bart Wayne?”
“He’s Barton Wayne, related on Sarah Wayne Mallory’s side of the family. Last of the Waynes. His father and Sarah Mallory were cousins. Bart’s family had no money. He worked his way through school, did his service in the Navy, and went to South America on a job. He’s a petroleum engineer. Got back a month ago and is putting the old Wayne House into shape. Sarah Mallory has always wanted that house but Bart won’t sell.”
“What’s he like?”
“He’s okay. I’ve known him all my life and I guess I’m a fair judge of character. They don’t come better than Bart Wayne. He’s what Sarah Mallory hoped and dreamed her son would be.”
“Would Wayne have any motive?”
“Not unless he figured on inheriting, which I deem well-nigh impossible. Dick never liked him much. Besides, if Bart wanted money, he could marry Denise Clarke.”
“Then Jane is stuck with it?”
Seth frowned.
“She wouldn’t do it.”
“Suppose the provocation became unbearable?”
“Well, maybe that could happen. I’ve patched Jane up a good many times. Once Dick broke her arm. Once he threw her downstairs. Bruises and scratches were all in the day’s work. There was a struggle today, unfortunately. It looks bad. And there’s something else. There is some quality, some expression, in Jane’s face that rouses suspicion. Men are drawn to her. Women distrust her.”
“What about you, Seth? How do you feel about Jane Mallory?”
Seth grinned.
“I’m a doctor. I’ve seen Jane carry on through odds that would break an ordinary woman. She’s tops in my book. I say she would not plan and execute a murder and this murder was planned. As I said, she’s an outsider. Not so good. All the others belong here.”
The telephone rang and apparently the servants were not in hearing distance. It rang again and Seth went to take the call in another room.
I looked at Patrick.
“What do you think?”
“Nothing as yet.”
“We’ve only got a couple of days, with Derby Day coming up this Saturday.”
“Yep.”
“We didn’t come here to get mixed up in murder.”
“Nope.”
“Don’t be so utterly exasperating!”
“I don’t mean to be. But I’ve seen Seth Godwin under fire, taking risks that most of the medics would not dare. Many people owe him their lives. Seth is honest and very brave. If I can do anything for him—oh, don’t worry, Jeanie. Chances are the local law enforcement officers can handle it. Anyhow, I want to meet that family.”
“You should have been a psychiatrist, darling,” I said, in a poisonous tone.
“Oh, no. A detective has a much better chance to bring a case to a quick and successful conclusion.”
“They’re a bunch of nuts, Pat.”
“Huh-uh. Just a normal happy well-to-do family.”
“Actually, you just want to meet Jane Mallory, don’t you?”
“I certainly do, honey doll.”
Well, I wanted to meet her myself, come to think of it.