“Oh, has he?”
“Yessir.” Oscar was oblivious of Rodgers’ shortness of tone. “Dat’s one o’ the things Ole Miss cut up ructions ’bout. She did hate dat Major, an’ she jes’ laid Miss Kitty out fo’ goin’ wid him.”
“Oh, come, Oscar, Miss Susan did not hate Major Wallace,” objected Rodgers.
“She did, Sah, she did.” Oscar’s smile had disappeared and he spoke quickly. “An’ she suttenly did ’spress her mind to Miss Kitty on Sunday.”
Rodgers turned and scanned Oscar closely. The old darky looked the picture of honest respectability. His worn clothes were neatly brushed and patched. He sat with his battered hat cocked a trifle over one eye and his black face shone with the enjoyment of the unexpected treat of a ride in a fast roadster with “one of the quality” as he termed Ted Rodgers in his own mind.
“Why did you tell Coroner Penfield that Miss Susan and her niece quarreled on Sunday?” Rodgers asked. The old man blinked at the unexpected question.
“’Cause he axed me, an’ they did quarrel.” Oscar’s voice betrayed a strain of obstinacy. “’Tain’t no harm tellin’ de truf, is there, Mister Rodgers?”
“No, certainly not.” Rodgers slowed down at a street crossing and in shifting gears failed to catch the sudden crafty look Oscar shot at him. It vanished in a second. “How is Miss Kitty this morning?”
“Tol’able well, thank yo’,” Oscar replied. “Dr. McLean was over las’ night an’ he tole Mandy that he wanted Miss Kitty to leave town fo’ a month; seemed to think she needed change. But Miss Kitty, she said ‘no.’”
“Then she is not going away.” Rodgers’ satisfaction was unconcealed. “Is she at home, Oscar?” as he slowed up the car before the entrance to “Rose Hill.”