He gave me twenty dollars. I said, "How do you happen to know the provisions of Mr. Ralston's will?"
"I witnessed it. He made no secret of it. He loved his wife, and he wanted her to have his money."
"Did she love him?"
"Of course she loved him. Mrs. Ralston is a very fine and loyal woman. In spite of her grievous affliction, she made the old man an excellent wife."
"How old is she?"
"In her early forties. I can't see the point in these questions. I hope you're not going to stir up any trouble?"
"The trouble's all over," I said. "I'm just trying to understand it."
James Denton, the sailor, reminded us that he had been sitting silently on the grass ever since the police left. "Is it all right if I go?" he said. "I'm supposed to get back to the ship at San Pedro at nine, and I don't think I'll make it."
I said, "You're a friend of Mr. Ralston's stepson John Swain?"
He stood up and said, "Yessir."
"Why didn't John come along with you last night?"
"He was restricted to the ship, because he was absent over leave at Pearl. I was here before with John, and Mr. Ralston said he'd be glad to see me any time."
"If you're restricted to the ship, there's no way you can get off, is that right?"
"Yessir. There are guards on the gangways, and you have to report to the Master-at-Arms."
"What ship are you on?"
"APA 237."
"Is there a phone aboard?"
"Yessir." He gave me the number.
"If we need you we'll get in touch with you. Were the other two boys from the same ship?"
"Yessir." He gave me their names and left.
"Better call John Swain on the APA 237 and tell him to come here," I said to Al. "If they won't let him off, Mr. Whittaker will verify it."
"Yes, of course," said Mr. Whittaker, who seemed happier when he had no decisions to make.
Al went back to the main building to phone, and I asked Mr. Whittaker which was the Ralstons' bungalow. He pointed to a long low stucco building, half hidden in flowering shrubbery, about fifty yards from the pool.
"What's the setup in there?" I said.
"What do you mean?"
"How many rooms? How big a ménage? Sleeping arrangements and so on."
"Three bedrooms, a living room, and a kitchenette. Two bathrooms, one off Mr. Ralston's bedroom, the other shared by Mrs. Ralston and her nurse. Mrs. Ralston has a full-time nurse, of course. I don't know whether you knew she was a cripple."
"Yes, I know. The rooms are interconnecting, I suppose?"
"All but the bathrooms and kitchenette open on the central hallway. I could draw you a plan — "
"That's hardly necessary. I thought I'd just go and take a look. And isn't it about time somebody told Mrs. Ralston what happened to her husband?"
"By Jove, I forgot about that." He glanced at an octagonal platinum wristwatch which said seven-thirty. After a pause during which his cheek was active, he said, "I think I should consult her physician before breaking the news to Mrs. Ralston. In view of her physical condition. Excuse me."
He trotted stiffly away. I sauntered down the concrete walk to the Ralston bungalow. With all the Venetian blinds down it looked impassive yet vulnerable, like a face with closed eyes. For some reason I was leery of pressing the bell push, as if it might be a signal for something to jump out at me.
What jumped out at me was a very pretty brunette in her ripe late twenties and a fresh white nurse's uniform.
"Please don't make any noise," she said. "Mrs. Ralston is sleeping."
You look as if you could do with some sleep, I thought. There were blue-grey rings under her eyes and the flesh of her face drooped.
I said, "Miss Lennon?"
"Yes?" She stepped outside onto the little porch and closed the door behind her. I noticed that the concrete floor of the porch sloped up to the doorstep and down to the walk. Of course, Mrs. Ralston would have a wheelchair.
"My name is Rogers. Mr. Whittaker has hired me to investigate the death of Mr. Ralston."
"What?" The drooping flesh around her eyes and mouth slanted upward in lines of painful astonishment.
"Mr. Ralston was drowned in the swimming pool last night. Can you throw any light on the accident?"
"My God. This will kill Mrs. Ralston."
"It killed Mr. Ralston."
She looked at me narrowly. "When?"
"One or two in the morning, I'd say. The police will be able to give a better estimate when they complete the autopsy."
"I can't imagine," she said.
"You didn't see or hear anything?"
"Not a thing. Mrs. Ralston and I went to bed before midnight and slept right through. I just got up a few minutes ago. This will be a terrible shock to her."
"Do you sleep in the same room with her?"
"Adjoining rooms. I keep the door open at night in case she needs me for anything."
"Where did Mr. Ralston sleep?"
"His room is across the hall from ours. How on earth did he fall in?"
"That's what I'm trying to find out. Did he go in for swimming?"
"I've seen him swim. But he hardly went in at all the last few years. He was getting pretty old."
"How old?"
"Seventy-three."
"Thanks," I said. "Don't say anything to Mrs. Ralston just yet. Mr. Whittaker has gone to call her doctor."
"I won't say anything."
She went back into the bungalow, moving as quietly as a cat. I found my way to the dining room, where Al was just finishing his breakfast.
"I talked to John Swain," he said. "He's coming right over from Pedro in a taxi."
"How did he take it?"
"He was upset all right. But I guess it didn't floor him."
"Could anyone have gotten into the pueblo last night after we left Mr. Ralston?"
"We locked the gates at midnight. After that the only way to get in is through the lobby, and there's always somebody on duty there. Nobody but a guest or an employee could get in, unless he climbed the wall."
"Would that be hard?"
"You saw it." The wall was solid brick, about eight feet high, and topped with iron spikes. "Why? You're not thinking somebody got in and killed the old man?"
"It sounds impossible, doesn't it? But a man has to be pretty drunk to go swimming by himself after midnight at the age of seventy-three. Drunker than Mr. Ralston was."
"I don't know," Al said.
After I had eaten a quick breakfast we went to look for Mr. Whittaker. He was in his office sitting on the corner of the desk and swinging a leg in time like a metronome.
"Dr. Wiley will be here in a few minutes," he said. "He said we'd better wait for him."
I told him the nurse's story, that she'd slept through the night and hadn't heard a thing. Then Dr. Wiley arrived, a large cheerful man dressed for golf but carrying a medical bag.
"I don't anticipate any serious reaction," Dr. Wiley said. "But it's just as well to be prepared. There's no telling how a woman who is not at all well will react to a shock of this nature."
"I dread this," Mr. Whittaker said. "This is going to be an ordeal."
When we reached the bungalow Mrs. Ralston was sunning herself in front of it in a wheelchair, her legs swathed in a steamer rug. Even under the rug the lower half of her body looked pathetically feeble, but from the waist up she seemed at first glance to be a healthy woman of forty. Her bosom was impressive and her shoulders were handsome in a light linen blouse. Her face was strong and beautiful in a bold and striking way, but there were shadows in it. Until now, it seemed to me, she had held out against her disease, but now she was approaching the point of surrender. There were daubs of grey in her carefully dressed brown hair.
Yet she waived gaily at her doctor and showed her white even teeth in a smile. "I wasn't expecting you this morning," she said.
Al and I stood back and pretended to look at the trees while Whittaker and Dr. Wiley walked up to her without speaking. The nurse stood in the background looking worried.