Inspector Alleyn 3-Book Collection 2. Ngaio Marsh

she reached out her hands and took it as soon as Mr Pringle had poured in the wine. Well, I say “poured,” but it is my impression that although he made an attempt he did not actually succeed in doing so. Mr Ogden is always quite the gentleman, of course,’ added Miss Wade with one of her magnificent non sequiturs. ‘He receives the cup in both hands by the bowl and grasps the vessel firmly by the neck. That sounds a little as though he had three hands, but of course the mere idea is ludicrous.’

      ‘And then gives the cup to Mr Garnette.’

      ‘To Father Garnette. Yes. Of course when Father Garnette took it, I did raise my eyes. He does it so beautifully, it is quite uplifting. One hand on the stem,’ described Miss Wade holding up genteel little claws, ‘and the other laid over the cup. Like a benison.’

      ‘I suppose you all watch the Chosen Vessel?’

      ‘Oh, yes. As soon as poor Cara took it we all raised our eyes. You see she was speaking in ecstasy. It was a wonderful experience. I thought she was going to dance.’

      ‘To dance!’ ejaculated the inspector.

      ‘Even,’ chanted Miss Wade in a pious falsetto, ‘even as the priests danced before the Stone of Odin. It has happened before. A lady who has since passed through the last portal.’

      ‘You mean she has died?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘What did this lady die of?’ asked Alleyn.

      ‘They called it epilepsy,’ replied Miss Wade doubtfully.

      ‘Well, Miss Wade,’ said Alleyn after a pause, ‘it has been perfectly charming of you to be so patient with me. I am most grateful. There’s only one other thing.’

      ‘And that is?’ asked Miss Wade with a perky air of being exceedingly businesslike.

      ‘Will you allow the wardress to search you?’

      ‘To search me! Oh dear. I – I – must confess. It is such a very cold evening and I did not anticipate –’

      ‘You would not have to – remove anything,’ said Alleyn hurriedly. ‘Or rather’ – he looked helplessly at Miss Wade’s dejected little fur tippet and drab raincoat and, since the raincoat was unbuttoned, at layers of purple and black cardigans – ‘or rather only your outer things.’

      ‘I have no desire,’ said Miss Wade, ‘to obstruct the police in the execution of their duty. Where is this woman?’

      ‘In the porch outside.’

      ‘But that is very public.’

      ‘If you would prefer the vestry.’

      ‘I don’t think the robing-chamber would be quite nice. Let it be the porch, officer.’

      ‘Thank you, madam.’

      Detective-Sergeant Bailey came down from the chancel and whispered to Inspector Fox. Inspector Fox moved to a strategic position behind Miss Wade and proceeded to raise his eyebrows, wink with extreme deliberation, contort his features into an expression of cunning profundity and finally to hold up a small fragment of paper.

      ‘Eh?’ said Alleyn. ‘Oh! Do you know, Miss Wade, I don’t think I need bother you with this business. Just let the wardress see your bag and pockets if you have any. And your gloves. That will be quite enough.’

      ‘More than sufficient,’ said Miss Wade. ‘Thank you. Good evening, officer.’

      ‘Good evening, madam.’

      ‘Have you been through the Police College?’

      ‘Not precisely, madam.’

      ‘Indeed?’ said Miss Wade, squinting curiously at him. ‘But you speak nicely.’

      ‘You are very kind.’

      ‘A superior school perhaps? The advantages –’

      ‘My parents gave me all the advantages they could afford,’ agreed Alleyn solemnly.

      ‘Chief Detective-Inspector Alleyn, ma’am,’ began Fox with surprising emphasis, ‘was –’

      ‘Fox,’ interrupted Alleyn, ‘don’t be a snob. Get Miss Wade a taxi.’

      ‘Oh, thank you, I have my overshoes on.’

      ‘My superiors would wish it, madam.’

      ‘Then in that case – my grandfather kept his carriage at Dulwich – thank you, I will take a taxi.’

       CHAPTER 10 A Piece of Paper and a Bottle

      ‘Well, Brer Fox,’ said Alleyn when that gentleman returned, ‘has the lady been looked at?’

      ‘Mrs Bekin went through her bag and pockets,’ replied Fox.

      ‘And what was the trophy you waved at me just now?’

      ‘Bailey found something up in the chancel. It was simply lying on the floor. It had been ground into the carpet by somebody’s heel. We thought it was the article you wanted.’

      ‘I hope it is. Let’s see it.’

      ‘It wasn’t the same bit I showed you,’ explained Fox. ‘That was just, as you say, a hint. There’s the original.’

      He produced a small box. Nigel drew near. Alleyn opened the box and discovered a tiny piece of very grubby reddish paper. It had been pressed flat and was creased by a heavy indentation.

      ‘M’m,’ grunted Alleyn, ‘Wait a bit.’

      He went to his bag and got a pair of tweezers. Then he carried the paper in the box to one of the side lights and looked closely at it. He lifted it a little with the tweezers, holding it over the box. He smelt it.

      ‘That’s it, sure enough,’ he said. ‘Look – it’s an envelope. A cigarette-paper gummed double. By Jove, Fox, he took a risk. It’d need a bit of sleight-of-hand.’ He touched it very delicately with the tip of his fingers.

      ‘Wet!’ said Alleyn. ‘So that’s how it was done.’

      ‘What do you mean?’ asked Nigel, ‘It’s red. Is it drenched in somebody’s life-blood? Why must you be so tiresomely enigmatic?’

      ‘Nobody’s being enigmatic. I’m telling you, as Mr Ogden would say. Here’s a bit of cigarette-paper. It’s been doubled over and gummed into a tiny tube. One end has been folded over several times making the tube into an envelope. It has been dyed – I think with red ink. It’s wet. It smells. It’s a clue, damn your eyes, it’s a clue.’

      ‘It will have to be analysed, won’t it, sir?’ asked Fox.

      ‘Oh rather, yes. This is the real stuff. “The Case of the Folded Paper.” “Inspector Fox sees red.”’

      ‘But, Alleyn,’ complained Nigel, ‘if it’s wet do you mean it’s only recently been dipped in red ink? Oh – wait a bit. Wait a bit.’

      ‘Watch our little bud unfolding,’ said Alleyn.

      ‘It’s wet with wine,’ cried Nigel triumphantly.

      ‘Mr Bathgate, I do believe you must be right.’

      ‘Facetious ass!’

      ‘Sorry. Yes, it floated upon the wine when it was red. Bailey!’

      ‘Hullo, sir?’

      ‘Show us just where you found this. You’ve done very well.’ A faint trace of mulish satisfaction appeared on Detective-Sergeant Bailey’s face. He crossed over to the chancel steps, stooped, and pointed to a sixpenny piece.

      ‘I