Inspector Alleyn 3-Book Collection 2. Ngaio Marsh

      ‘A beautiful piece. Baroque at its best,’ said Alleyn.

      ‘Yes. It has its history, that cup. Also I gave a statuette. In the shrine on your right, monsieur.’

      Alleyn looked at the wall and found M. de Ravigne’s statuette. It was cast in bronze with a curious plucked technique and represented a nebulous nude figure wearing a winged helmet from which there emerged other and still more nebulous forms.

      ‘Ah yes,’ said Alleyn, ‘Most interesting. Who is the artist?’

      ‘Myself in ecstasy, monsieur,’ replied M. de Ravigne coolly.

      Alleyn glanced at his shrewd, dark face and murmured politely.

      ‘My temperament,’ continued M. de Ravigne, ‘is artistic. I am, I fear, a dilettante. I model a little, comme çi, comme ça. I write a little, trifles of elegance. I collect. I am not rich, M. I’Inspecteur, but I amuse myself.’

      ‘A delightful existence. I envy you, monsieur. But we must get back to business.’

      A dim bass rumble from the rear seemed to suggest that Inspector Fox had essayed: “Revenons à nos moutons,” and had got lost on the way.

      ‘I understand,’ said Alleyn, ‘that Miss Quayne has no relations in England. There must be someone surely?’

      ‘On the contrary. She has told me that there are none. Cara was an only child and an orphan. She was educated abroad at a convent. Her guardians are both dead.’

      ‘You met her abroad perhaps?’

      ‘Yes. In France years ago at the house of a friend.’

      ‘Did Miss Quayne introduce you to this hall?’

      ‘No, monsieur. Alas, it was I who introduced her to the ceremonies.’

      ‘Returning to her connections, monsieur. Is there no one with whom we should get in touch?’

      ‘Her notary – her solicitor.’

      ‘Of course, Do you know who that is?’

      ‘I have heard. One moment. It is – tiens! – a name like Rats. No. Rattingtown. No.’

      ‘Not Rattisbon by any chance?’

      ‘That is it. You know him?’

      ‘Slightly. Where will the money go, Monsieur de Ravigne?’ M. de Ravigne hitched up his shoulders, elevated his brows, protruded his eyes and pursed his lips.

      ‘I see,’ said Alleyn.

      ‘This I do know,’ conceded M. de Ravigne. ‘Much will go to this church. Five thousand pounds are reposed in the safe here in bearer bonds to await a further subscription. But there will be more for this church. Once Cara told me she had altered her Will for the purpose. It was then I heard the name of this Mr Rats.’

      ‘Oh, yes,’ said Alleyn politely. ‘To go to another aspect of the case, do you know anything of the procedure for preparing the cup?’

      ‘Nothing, monsieur. I am not interested in such affairs. To know the machinery of the service would damage my spiritual poise. Such is my temperament.’

      ‘You do not choose to look behind the scenes?’

      ‘Precisely. There must be certain arrangements. A flame does not make itself from nothing, one realizes, but I do not wish to inquire into these matters. I enjoy the results.’

      ‘Quite so,’ said Alleyn. ‘I think that will be all, monsieur. Thank you a thousand times for your courtesy.’

      ‘Not at all, monsieur! It is you who have displayed courtesy. If I can be of further use – It is perhaps a matter of some delicacy, but I assure you that anything I can do to help you – I shall not rest content until this animal is trapped. If there should be a question of expense – you understand?’

      ‘You are very good.’

       ‘Tout au contraire, monsieur.’

      ‘– but it is for information we ask. Do you object to our searching you, monsieur?’

      ‘I object very much, monsieur, but I submit.’ Fox searched him and found nothing but money, a chequebook and a photograph.

      ‘Mon Dieu!’ said de Ravigne. ‘Must you paw it over in your large hands? Give it to me.’

      ‘Pardon, monsoor,’ said Fox hastily, and gave it to him.

      ‘It is Cara Quayne,’ said de Ravigne to Alleyn. ‘I am sorry if I was too hasty.’

      ‘I am sure Inspector Fox understands. Goodnight, M. de Ravigne.’

      ‘Goodnight, M. l’Inspecteur.’

      ‘Well,’ said Fox when the Frenchman had gone. ‘Well, that was a fair treat, sir. As soon as you spoke to the gentleman in his own tongue he came along like a lamb. There’s the advantage of languages. It puts you on an equal footing, so to speak. I wonder you didn’t carry on the rest of the interview in French.’

      ‘Fox!’ said Alleyn with the oddest look at him. ‘You make me feel a bloody fool sometimes.’

      ‘Me?’ exclaimed Fox, looking blandly astonished.

      ‘Yes, you. Tell me, have you any comments to make on the Frenchman?’

      Fox wiped his enormous paw slowly down his face.

      ‘Well, no,’ he said slowly, ‘except he seemed – well, sir, it’s a rum thing two of the gentlemen should offer money for the police investigations. An unheard of idea. But of course they were both foreigners. As far as Mr Ogden is concerned, well, we have heard of the word “racket,” haven’t we?’

      ‘Exactly,’ agreed Alleyn dryly. ‘I imagine his proposal is not unusual in the States.’

      ‘Ogden’s too good to be true,’ interrupted Nigel. ‘You mark my words,’ he added darkly, ‘he was trying to bribe you.’

      ‘Bribe us to do what, my dear Bathgate? To catch a murderer?’

      ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Nigel loftily.

      ‘And was M. de Ravigne also attempting to undermine the honour of the force?’

      Oh,’ said Nigel, ‘de Ravigne’s a Frenchman. He is no doubt over-emotionalized and – and – oh, go to the devil.’

      ‘It seems to me,’ rumbled Fox, ‘that we ought to have a look at that little bottle in the cupboard – the one Mr Wheatley talked about.’

      ‘I agree. We’ll move into Mr Garnette’s “little dwelling.” By the way, where is Mr Garnette? Is he still in the vestry being searched?’

      As if in answer to Alleyn’s inquiry, the vestry door opened and the priest came out. He was now dressed in a long garment made of some heavy, dark-green material. The plain-clothes man who had escorted him into the vestry came to the door and stared after the priest with an air of disgusted bewilderment.

      ‘Ah, Inspector!’ cried Father Garnette with holy cheeriness. ‘Still hard at work! Still hard at work!’

      ‘I’m most frightfully sorry,’ said Alleyn. ‘There was no need for you to wait in there. You could have returned to your rooms.’

      ‘Have I been long? I was engaged in an ecstatic meditation and had passed into the third portal where there is no time.’

      ‘You were fortunate.’

      Bailey came out of Father Garnette’s room and approached the inspector.

      ‘That Miss Wade, sir,’ he said, ‘is getting kind of resigned. I think she’s dropped off to sleep.’

      Alleyn gazed at Fox and Fox at Alleyn.

      ‘Cripes!’