The Grave Maurice

Jury gave him a look and shook his head. “Is today your ‘I’m a Simpleton’ day? For God’s sake, smoking is a complex matter. How many packs a day do you go through?”

“Only one. I limit myself to just the one so I won’t get addicted.”

Ruthven entered.

“Let’s have some more incredibly soused potatoes and another bottle of whatever.”

“The Hermitage?”

“That’s the ticket.”

Ruthven retreated.

Melrose asked, “Where was the place she was taken to?” “About two miles from Ryder’s, to the north. She was that close.”

“Weren’t they afraid she might be recognized?”

“Apparently not.” Jury thought about the walls. “If you were a good horseman, it’s more direct to jump those walls. And this person was apparently a very good horseman. Nell thinks he could easily have been a jockey.”

Ruthven returned with the wine and the potatoes. “These damn things are making me drunk,” said Melrose while Ruthven spooned up the potatoes for him.

“It wouldn’t be the whole bottle of wine, right?”

Ruthven tittered as he served Jury.

“No, it wouldn’t. That’s what I usually have and I’m sober as a judge.”

Ruthven said, “Will you be ready for dessert in fifteen minutes? The souffle will be out of the oven then.”

“Yes, thanks.”

Ruthven made his exit with tray and server.

“Souffle. What kind?”

“Chocolate. With fairy cakes.”

“Do those things really exist?”

“Of course. Fairies exist, after all. It’s a child’s confection, a cupcake with wings.”

They had cleaned their plates and Jury sat back with a sigh. “God, this is so nice. Waited on hand and foot, whiskey, wine, duck.”

“Is it?”

“You don’t think so?”

“I’m used to it. Mind if I smoke?”

“It’s bad manners to smoke between courses.” Melrose plucked a cigarette from a porcelain box, lit it with his Zippo. “And nor do I know why the second Mrs. Ryder was done in on a training course.”

Jury sat back. Then he said, “Possibly a joke.”

“Oh, how droll. ‘I saw the funniest thing the other day, a dead body on a racecourse.’ ”

“Not that kind of a joke. Or joke’s the wrong word.”

“Well, whoever did it is no doubt pleased to see all the trouble they’ve caused.”

“Yes. That’s the other part-”

Ruthven had returned with the souffle, served with a raspberry confit in a delicate tracery of red.

“Delicious looking. Martha’s really outdone herself.”

They ate in silence for a while, savoring the mingling of chocolate and raspberry.

Jury looked up suddenly, holding his fork like a little spear. “Unless-”

“Yes? Unless what-”

Jury shook his head. “Nothing. It’s a bit far-fetched-”

“At Ardry End, you’re in the land of the far-fetched, believe me.”

“I was going to say, it reminds me of the way he died.

Dan Ryder. Thrown from his horse.”

“Hm. Interesting. What about this woman, then? This second wife. Your Cambridge detective-did he fill you in on anything?”

“Simone Ryder. She was here, apparently, to talk to an insurance adjuster.”

“But that accident occurred-when? Over two years ago, didn’t it? She hasn’t collected the insurance yet?”

“No. The thing is, there’s a double indemnity clause in the policy.”

“Ah-ha! Shades of Barbara Stanwyck and Fred MacMurray.”

“What?”

“Surely you’ve seen that classic noir film. Double Indemnity. They murder her husband after taking out insurance with one of those clauses. If the death is caused by accident, pay up twice the face amount.”

Jury looked up from the design he was making in the raspberry sauce with his fork. “Wouldn’t it be a bit difficult for Mrs. Ryder and her boyfriend to kill her husband by means of a fall from a horse?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I imagine you could plot a murder any old way.”

“So, she makes sure the indemnity clause is intact and then Ryder’s wife and her lover somehow orchestrate this riding accident. With the horse’s cooperation. Hm.”

“Then Edward G. Robinson starts smelling something fishy.”

“Edward G. Robinson?”

“He was in charge of claims,” said Melrose. “One of those terrier types who get their teeth into possible fraud and won’t let go.”

“How was Stanwyck’s husband supposed to have died in this film?”

“Train. Fell off the back; that’s when you could go out onto the platform for a smoke on American trains.” Melrose looked at his own cigarette and considered. “Why was she in the Grave Maurice? It isn’t exactly a pub one would seek out. Or a place where a woman like that would choose to meet someone. So I assume it was simply handy, and that would be because she’d been to the hospital, or was going to it. I don’t see how she could have been going to meet Roger Ryder, as he was there when I came in. Left just a moment after.”

“But she wouldn’t have recognized him. I doubt she was carrying a snapshot of the good doctor around. Remember, the Ryders had never met this woman.”

“So they say.”

“So they say, yes.”

They drank their coffee and were silent.

Jury asked, “What sort of racing do they have in Wales? Is there much of it?”

“Point to point. There’s a lot of that. Are you thinking of Dan Ryder’s going there because of this woman Sara Hunt? Point to point is mostly amateur stuff, but certainly professionals ride in it.”

Jury nodded. “I’m thinking of them, yes. Wondering how easily they