Inspector Alleyn 3-Book Collection 2. Ngaio Marsh

thinking things.’

      ‘I might, certainly.’

      ‘Yes – well – there!’

      ‘Difficult for you,’ remarked Alleyn.

      ‘Well, anyway,’ said Claude very peevishly, ‘you can ask them. I may as well know what they are.’

      ‘I have already asked the first. What did Mrs Candour say to upset you?’

      Claude wriggled.

      ‘Jealous old cat. The whole thing is she loathes Father Garnette taking the slightest notice of anybody else. She’s always too loathsomely spiteful for words – especially to Lionel and me. How she dared! And anyway everybody knows all about it. I’d hardly be stupid enough to –’ Here Claude stopped short.

      ‘To do what, Mr Wheatley?’

      ‘To do anything like that, even if I wanted to, and anyway I always thought Cara Quayne was a marvellous person – so piercingly decorative.’

      ‘What would you hardly be stupid enough to do?’ asked Alleyn patiently.

      ‘To – well – well – to do anything to the wine. Everybody knows it was my week to make preparation.’

      ‘You mean you poured the wine into the silver flagon and put the methylated tablet into the cup. What did Mrs Candour suggest?’

      ‘She didn’t actually suggest anything. She simply said I did it. She kept on saying so. Old cat.’

      ‘I shouldn’t let it worry you. Now, Mr Wheatley, will you think carefully. Did you notice any peculiar, any unusual smell when you poured out the wine?’

      ‘Any smell!’ ejaculated Claude opening his eyes very wide. ‘Any smell!’

      ‘Any smell.’

      ‘Well, of course I’d just lit all the censers you know. Don’t you think our incense is rather divine, Inspector? Father Garnette gets it from India. It’s sweet-almond blossom. There’s the oil too. We burn a dish of the oil in front of the altar. I lit it just before I got the wine. It’s a gorgeous perfume.’

      ‘Evidently. You got the bottle of wine from Mr Garnette’s room. Was it unopened?’

      ‘Yes. I drew the cork.’

      ‘You put nothing else in the flagon?’

      Claude looked profoundly uncomfortable.

      ‘Well – well, anyway I didn’t put any poison in, if that’s what you’re hinting.’

      ‘What else did you put?’

      ‘If you must know it’s something from a little bottle that Father Garnette keeps. It has a ceremonial significance. It’s always done.’

      ‘Have you any idea what it is?’

      ‘I don’t know.’

      ‘Where is this bottle kept?’

      ‘In the little cupboard in Father Garnette’s room.’

      ‘I see. Now as I understand it you took the wine to each of the Initiates in turn. Did you at any time notice an unusual smell from the cup?’

      ‘I never touched the cup, Inspector. I never touched it. They all handed it round from one to the other. I didn’t notice any smell except the incense. Not ever.’

      ‘Right. Did you notice Miss Quayne at all when she took the cup?’

      ‘Did I notice her? My God, yes.’

      ‘What happened exactly?’

      ‘It was simply appalling. You see I thought she was in Blessed Ecstasy. Well, I mean she was, up to the time she took the cup. She had spoken in ecstasy and everything. And then she drank. And then oh, it was frightful! She gave a sort of gasp. A fearfully deep gasp and sort of sharp. She made a face. And then she kind of slewed round and she dropped the cup. Her eyes looked like a doll’s eyes. Glistening. And then she twitched all over – jerked – ugh! She fell down in a sort of jerk. Oh, I’m going to be sick, I think.’

      ‘No, you’re not,’ said the inspector very firmly. ‘You are going home. Go into the vestry and change your clothes.’

      ‘Where’s Lionel?’

      ‘He’ll join you in a moment. Goodnight.’

      ‘Oh,’ said Claude rolling a languishing eye at Alleyn, ‘you are marvellous, Inspector. Oh, I would so very much rather not be sick. Goodbye.’

      ‘Goodnight.’

      Claude, under escort, walked with small steps into the vestry where they could hear him talking in a sort of feeble scream to the officer who searched him.

      ‘Oh,’ cried Inspector Fox suddenly in a falsetto voice, ‘oh, Inspector, I think I’m going to be sick.’

      ‘And well you might be,’ said Nigel, grinning. ‘What a loathly, what a nauseating, what an unspeakable little dollop.’

      ‘Horrid, wasn’t it?’ agreed Alleyn absently. ‘Damn that incense,’ he added crossly. ‘Sweet almond too, just the very thing –’ he paused and stared thoughtfully at Fox. ‘Let’s have Lionel,’ he said.

      Lionel was produced. His manner was a faithful reproduction of Claude’s and he added nothing that was material to the evidence. He was sent into the vestry, whence he and Claude presently emerged wearing, the one, a saxe-blue and the other, a pinkish-brown suit. They fussed off down the aisle and disappeared. Alleyn sent for Mrs Candour.

       CHAPTER 6 Mrs Candour and Mr Ogden

      Mrs Candour had wept and her tears had blotted her make-up. She had dried them and in doing so had blotted her make-up again. Her face was an unlovely mess of mascara, powder and rouge. It hung in flabby pockets from the bone of her skull. She looked bewildered, frightened and vindictive. Her hands were tremulous. She was a large woman born to be embarrassingly ineffectual. In answer to Alleyn’s suggestion that she should sit on one of the chairs, she twitched her loose lips, whispered something and walked towards them with that precarious gait induced by excessive flesh mounted on French heels. She moved in a thick aura of essence of violet. Alleyn waited until she was seated before he gave her the customary information that she was under no obligation to answer any questions. He paused, but she made no comment. She simply stared in front of her with lacklustre eyes.

      ‘I take it,’ said Alleyn, ‘that you have no objection. Was Miss Cara Quayne a personal friend of yours?’

      ‘Not a great friend.’

      ‘An acquaintance?’

      ‘Yes. We – we – only met here.’ Her voice was thin and faintly common. ‘At least, well, I did go to see her once or twice.’

      ‘Have you got any ideas on the subject of this business?’

      ‘Oh my God!’ moaned Mrs Candour. ‘I believe it was a judgment.’

      ‘A judgment?’

      Mrs Candour drew a lace handkerchief from her bosom.

      ‘What had Miss Quayne done,’ asked Alleyn, ‘to merit so terrible a punishment?’

      ‘She coveted the vow of Odin.’

      ‘I’m afraid I do not know what that implies.’

      ‘That is how I feel about it,’ said Mrs Candour, exactly as if she had just finished a lucid and explicit statement. ‘Father Garnette is above all that sort of thing. He is not of this world. He had told us so, often and often. But Cara was a very passionate sort of woman.’ She dropped her voice and added with an air of illicit relish: ‘Cara was