Inspector Alleyn 3-Book Collection 2. Ngaio Marsh

you think it is coincidence?’

      ‘Bless my soul, Bathgate, how on earth am I to know? Your simple faith is most soothing, but I can assure you it’s misplaced.’

      ‘Well, but what do you think? Tell me what you think.’

      ‘I “think naught a trifle, though it small appear.”’

      ‘That has the advantage of sounding well and meaning nothing.’

      ‘Not altogether. Look here. We know Miss Quayne was probably murdered by cyanide poisoning. We believe that it must have been done by one of eight persons.’

      Nigel counted beneath his breath.

      ‘Only seven, six Initiates and Garnette.’

      ‘Mr Wheatley, sir,’ Fox reminded him. ‘The young fellow that handed round, you know.’

      ‘Oh – true. Well?’

      ‘Well,’ Alleyn went on composedly, ‘we have reason to suppose the stuff was dropped into the cup in a cigarette-paper. The paper was later found on the place where the cup fell. So much for the actual event. We have learned that Miss Quayne had deposited bearer-bonds, to the tune of five thousand, in the safe. We have found a parcel that appeared to be the original wrapping of these bonds. If so the bonds have been taken and newspaper substituted. We have found a message in Cara Quayne’s writing, addressed yesterday, presumably to Garnette. This message says she must see him at once as she had made a terrible discovery. I think the odds are he has not read the message. Whether it referred to the bonds or not we have no idea. We have found an antique work on chemistry hidden among Garnette’s books. It falls open at a recipe for home-made cyanide. So much for our tangible data.’

      ‘What about motive?’ suggested Nigel.

      ‘Motive. You mean Garnette’s motive, don’t you? I gather you are no longer wedded to Mr Ogden as the villain of the piece?’

      ‘I wasn’t really serious about Ogden, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he and Garnette were rogues together in the States.’

      ‘What’s your view, Fox?’ asked Alleyn.

      ‘Well, sir, I must say I don’t think so. Father Garnette was very frank under the influence and he said he met Mr Ogden crossing the Atlantic. That tallies with Mr Ogden’s statement.’

      ‘Exactly, Fox.’

      ‘And I must say, sir, Mr Ogden isn’t my notion of a Chicago racketeer.’

      ‘Not mine either. Perhaps we are too conservative, Brer Fox. But because two men come from the United States of America and one’s a rogue, it doesn’t mean they are old associates.’

      ‘If you put it like that,’ said Nigel, ‘it does sound a bit far-fetched.’

      ‘Of course they are associates now,’ ruminated Fox, ‘but Mr Ogden seems more like a victim than a crook.’

      ‘Well, then – Garnette,’ urged Nigel.

      ‘If,’ said Alleyn, ‘Mr Garnette stole the bonds and killed Miss Quayne with a jorum of sodium cyanide, he set about it in a most peculiar manner. He chose a moment when he and seven other persons would be equally suspected. He must have known that a search would be made of these rooms, yet he left his recipe book in a place where it was sufficiently concealed to look furtive, and not well enough hidden to escape discovery. He destroyed, so far as we know, none of her letters. He left, inside a cigarette-box, her note, suggesting that she had discovered something very upsetting.’

      ‘But you said he never found it,’ objected Nigel.

      ‘If that’s so why did he think it necessary to kill her?’

      ‘She may have rung up or something.’

      ‘She may, certainly, but wouldn’t she have mentioned the note?’

      ‘Perhaps,’ said Nigel doubtfully.

      ‘I quite agree it’s not cast-iron,’ Alleyn continued, ‘I am breaking my own rule and going in heavily for conjecture. So far, I am convinced, we have only scratched the surface of an extremely unsavoury case.’

      ‘What about the others?’ said Fox. ‘They are a very strange lot – very strange indeed. There may be motives among them, Chief.’

      ‘Oh, yes.’

      ‘Such as jealousy,’ began Nigel eagerly. ‘Jealousy, you know, and passion, and religious mania.’

      ‘Now you’re talking exactly like the Dormouse. Really, Bathgate, you are a perfect piece of pastiche this evening.’

      ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Let us take the others in turn.’

      ‘Very well,’ said Alleyn resignedly, ‘It’s hideously late but let us. A. Mrs Candour.’

      ‘There you are!’ cried Nigel. ‘A warped nature if ever there was one. Did you notice how she behaved when you said you supposed Miss Quayne was very beautiful? She fairly writhed. She’s even jealous of that little squirt Wheatley. There are those two bits of paper Fox got from the grate. Obviously a letter beginning: “This is to warn you –” and then later on M – S and CA and what might be the top of an N. Mrs Candour again. And did you notice her face when she said: “Cara doesn’t look so pretty now?” It was absolutely obscene.’

      ‘It was,’ said Alleyn quietly. ‘You do see things, Bathgate.’

      ‘I suppose you are making mock of me as usual.’

      ‘My dear fellow,’ said Alleyn quickly, ‘indeed I am not. Please forgive me if I am odiously facetious sometimes. It’s a bad habit I’ve got. I assure you that if I really thought you slow in the uptake I should never dream of ragging you. You’re kind enough to let me show off and I take advantage of it. Do forgive me.’

      He looked so distressed and spoke with such charming formality that Nigel was both embarrassed and delighted.

      ‘Chief Detective-Inspector,’ he said, ‘I am your Watson, and your worm. You may both sit and trample on me. I shall continue to offer you the fruits of my inexperience.’

      ‘Very nicely put, Mr Bathgate,’ said Fox.

      Alleyn and Nigel stared at him, but he was perfectly serious.

      ‘Well,’ said Alleyn hurriedly,’ to return to the Candour. She gave, as you say, a very nasty little exhibition. Would she have done so if she’d killed Miss Quayne? It’s possible. She certainly tried to ladle out sympathy later on. She was the first to take the cup. That’s a naught that may be a trifle. So much for her. B. M. de Ravigne.’

      ‘Ah, now, the French gentleman,’ said Fox. ‘He was in love with the deceased and owned up quite frank to it. Well now, it would have come out anyway, so there’s not a great deal in his frankness, I must say. There seem to have been some nice goings-on between deceased and the minister. Mr Pringle evidently was an eyewitness. Now monsieur never hinted at anything of the sort.’

      ‘And therefore thought the more,’ murmured Alleyn. ‘Yes, Fox, he was very cool, wasn’t he?’

      ‘Remarkable,’ said Fox, ‘until I handled deceased’s photograph and then he blazed up like a rocket. What about this crime passionel the French jokers are always dragging in? They let ‘em off for that sort of thing over there. Did you notice what Miss Wade said about the handkerchief?’

      ‘I did.’

      ‘He’s a very cool hand is monsieur,’ repeated Fox.

      ‘We’ll have to trace their friendship back to Paris, I dare say,’ said Alleyn wearily. ‘Oh, Lord! C. Miss Wade. I’m taking them in the order in which they knelt. She comes next.’

      ‘Nothing there,’ said Nigel. ‘She’s just a little pagan church-hen with