Inspector Alleyn 3-Book Collection 2. Ngaio Marsh

through to the Yard, will you, Bathgate, and tell them what has happened. Fox is on duty. Ask them to send him along with the usual support. We’ll want the divisional surgeon and a wardress.’

      Nigel went into the room behind the altar and delivered this message. When he returned he found Alleyn, with his notebook in his hand, taking down the names and addresses of the Initiates.

      ‘It’s got to be done, you see,’ he explained. ‘There will, of course, be an inquest and I’m afraid you will all be called as witnesses.’

      ‘Oh, God,’ said Pringle with a snort of disgust.

      ‘I’d better start with the deceased,’ Alleyn suggested. ‘What is her name, please?’

      ‘She was a Miss Cara Quayne, Inspector,’ said Mr Ogden. ‘She owned a very, very distinctive residence in Shepherd Market, No.101. I have had the honour of dining at the Quayne home, and believe me it surely was an aesthetic experience. She was a very lovely-natured woman with a great appreciation of the beautiful –’

      ‘No. 101 Shepherd Market,’ said Alleyn. ‘Thank you.’ He wrote it down and then glanced round his audience.

      ‘I will take yours first if I may, Doctor Kasbek.’

      ‘Certainly. Nicholas Kasbek, 189a Wigmore Street.’

      ‘Right.’ He turned to Miss Wade.

      ‘My name is Ernestine Wade,’ she said very clearly and in a high voice, as though Alleyn was deaf. ‘I live at Primrose Court, King’s Road, Chelsea. Spinster.’

      ‘Thank you.’

      Miss Jenkins came forward.

      ‘I’m Janey Jenkins. I live in a studio flat in Yeomans Row, No.99d. I’m a spinster too, if you want to know.’

      ‘Well,’ said Alleyn, ‘just for “Miss” or “Mrs,” you know.’

      ‘Now you, Maurice,’ said Miss Jenkins.

      ‘Pringle,’ said that gentleman as though the name was an offence. ‘Maurice. I’m staying at 11 Harrow Mansions, Sloane Square.’

      ‘Is that your permanent address?’

      ‘No. Haven’t got one unless you count my people’s place. I never go there if I can help it.’

      ‘The Phoenix Club will always find you, won’t it?’ murmured Miss Jenkins.

      ‘Oh, God, yes,’ replied Mr Pringle distastefully.

      ‘Next please,’ said Alleyn cheerfully. Mrs Candour spoke suddenly from the ecclesiastical throne. She had the air of uttering an appalling indecency.

      ‘My name is Dagmar Candour. Mrs. Queen Charlotte Flats, Kensington Square. No.12.’

      ‘C.a.n. – ?’ queried Alleyn.

      ‘d.o.u.r.’

      ‘Thank you.’

      Mr Ogden, who had several times taken a step forward and as often politely retreated, now spoke up firmly.

      ‘Samuel J. Ogden, Chief. I guess you’re not interested in my home address. I come from the States – New York. In London I have a permanent apartment in York Square. No.93, Achurch Court. I just can’t locate my card-case, but – well, those are the works.’

      ‘Thank you so much, Mr Ogden. And now you, if you please, sir.’

      Father Garnette hesitated a moment, oddly. Then he cleared his throat and answered in his usual richly inflected voice:

      ‘Father Jasper Garnette.’ He spelt it. ‘I am officiating priest of this temple. I live here.’

      ‘Here?’

      ‘I have a little dwelling beyond the altar.’

      ‘Extremely convenient,’ murmured Alleyn. ‘And now, these two’ – he looked a little doubtfully at Claude and Lionel – ‘these two young men.’

      Claude and Lionel answered together in a rapturous gush.

      ‘What?’ asked Alleyn.

      ‘Do be quiet, Lionel,’ said Claude. ‘We share a flat in Ebury Street; “Ebury Mews.” Well, it isn’t actually a flat, is it, Lionel? Oh dear, I always forget the number – it’s too stupid of me.’

      ‘You are hopeless, Claude,’ said Lionel. ‘It’s 17 Ebury Mews, Ebury Street, Inspector Alleyn, only we aren’t very often there because I’m in the show at the Palladium and Claude is at Madame Karen’s in Sloane Street and –’

      ‘I do not yet know your names.’

      ‘Lionel, you are perfectly maddening,’ said Claude. ‘I’m Claude Wheatley, Inspector Alleyn, and this is Lionel Smith.’

      Alleyn wrote these names down with the address, and added in brackets: ‘Gemini, possibly heavenly.’

      M. de Ravigne came forward and bowed.

      ‘Raoul Honoré Christophe Jérôme de Ravigne, monsieur. I live at Branscombe Chambers, Lowndes Square. My card.’

      ‘Thank you. M. de Ravigne. And now will you all please show me exactly how you were placed while the cup was passed round the circle. I understand the ceremony took place in the centre of this area.’

      After a moment’s silence the priest came forward.

      ‘I stood here,’ he said, ‘with the chalice in my hands. Mr Ogden knelt on my right, and Mrs Candour on my left.’

      ‘That is correct, sir,’ agreed Ogden and moved into place. ‘Miss Jenkins was on my right, I guess.’

      ‘Yes,’ said that lady, ‘and Maurice on mine.’

      Mrs Candour came forward reluctantly and stood on Garnette’s left.

      ‘M. de Ravigne was beside me,’ she whispered.

      ‘Certainly.’ M. de Ravigne took up his position and Miss Wade slipped in beside him.

      ‘I was here,’ she said, ‘between Mr de Ravigne and Mr Pringle.’

      ‘That completes the circle,’ said Alleyn. ‘What were the movements of the acolytes.’

      ‘Well you see,’ began Claude eagerly, ‘I came here – just here on Father Garnette’s right hand. I was the Ganymede you see, so I had the jug of wine. As soon as Father Garnette gave Mrs Candour the cup, I gave her the wine. She holds the cup in her left hand and the wine in her right hand. She pours in a little wine and speaks the first god-name. You are Hagring, aren’t you Mrs Candour?’

      ‘I was,’ sobbed Mrs Candour.

      ‘Yes. And then I take the jug and hand it to the next person and –’

      ‘And so on,’ said Alleyn. Thank you.’

      ‘And I was censing over here,’ struck in Lionel with passionate determination. ‘I was censing all the time.’

      ‘Yes,’ said Alleyn; ‘and now, I’m afraid I’ll have to keep you all a little longer. Perhaps, Mr Garnette, you will allow them to wait in your rooms. I am sure you would all like to get away from the scene of this tragedy. I think I hear my colleagues outside.’

      There was a resounding knock on the front door.

      ‘Oh, may I let them in?’ asked Claude.

      ‘Please do,’ said Alleyn.

      Claude hurried away down the aisle and opened the double doors. Seven men, three of them constables, came in, in single file, headed by a tall thick-set individual in plain clothes who removed his hat, glanced in mild surprise at the nude statues, and walked stolidly up the aisle.

      ‘Hullo, Fox,’ said Alleyn.

      ‘Evening,