Death in Ecstasy (6 page)

“Mr. Ogden finds our methods a little lacking in colour.”

“Indeed sir?”

“Yes. Can you suggest any improvement? Have you any questions you would like to put to Mr. Ogden, Fox? Something really startling, you know.”

“Well, sir, I can’t say I have. Unless”—Fox paused a moment and stared at Alleyn—“unless Mr. Ogden can tell us anything about the — er — the ingredients of the cup.”

“Can you, Mr. Ogden?”

“Surely. It’s some sissy dope from a departmental store. I’ve seen the bottles. Invalid Port. One half per cent alcohol. But—”

“Yes?”

“Well, since you’re asking, Chief, I reckon Father Garnette has it pepped up some. A drop of brandy I’d say. Mind, I don’t know.”

“There you are, Fox. Anything else?”

“I don’t think so, sir,” said Fox with a smile, “Unless the gentleman would like to be searched.”

“Would you care to be searched, Mr. Ogden? We do that sort of thing rather neatly.”

“Well, for crying out loud!” exclaimed Mr. Ogden. He looked from Alleyn to Fox, cast up his eyes, passed a plump hand over his head and burst out laughing.

“Get to it,” he begged, “get to it. For the Lord’s sake get to it. Would I care to be searched!”

“Carry on, Fox,” said Alleyn.

Fox took out a notebook and Alleyn, with the swift precision of a pickpocket, explored the inner fastnesses of Mr. Ogden’s suit.

“Note-case. One fiver and three singles. Pocketbook. Letter. Typewritten, stamped and sealed. Address ‘Hector K. Manville, Ogden-Schultz Gold-refining and Extracting Co., 81, East Forty-fifth Street, Boston, Massachusetts.’ Letter refers to a new gold refining process. It’s rather technical.”

Fox read it with difficulty.

“Bill from Harrods. £9 10
s
. 8
d
. To account rendered. Date: November 2nd of this year. Letter beginning ‘Dear Sam,’ signed Heck. Date—”

Alleyn murmured on. It was all over before Mr. Ogden had left off chuckling.

“No phials of poison,” said Alleyn lightly. “That’s all, sir.”

“It was real smart,” declared Mr. Ogden handsomely. “They don’t fan a man neater than that in the States. That’s saying some. Well, Inspector, if that’s all I guess I’ll move off. Say, it seems real callous for me to be standing here talking facetious when Cara Quayne is lying — See here, Chief, have I got to say murdered?”

“We must wait for the inquest, Mr. Ogden.”

The American’s genial face had suddenly become preternaturally solemn like that of a clown, or a child who has been reproved for laughing.

“If it is murder,” he said quietly, “and the trail’s not just all that easy and — aw hell, Chief, I’ve got the dollars and I ain’t paralysed yet.” With which cryptic remark Mr. Ogden took himself off.

“Is he real?” asked Nigel, “or is he a murderer with unbridled histrionic ambitions? Surely no American was ever so American. Surely—”

“Do stop making these exclamatory interjections. You behave for all the world like a journalistic Greek chorus. Fox, what
did
the gentleman mean by his last remark. The one about not suffering from paralysis?”

“I understood him to be offering unlimited sums of money to the police and the prosecution, sir.”

“Bribery, thinly disguised, depend upon it,” said Nigel. “I tell you no American was ever—”

“I don’t know. His eyes, at all events, are original. People do run true to type. It’s an axiom of police investigation. Next please, Bailey.”

Janey Jenkins was next.

Miss Jenkins was one of those women who are instinctively thought of by their Christian names. She looked like a Janey. She was shortish, compact, with straight hair, well brushed, snapping black eyes, snub nose, and an amusing mouth. Without being pretty she was attractive. Her age was about twenty-two. She walked briskly towards Alleyn, sat down composedly and said: “Well, Inspector Alleyn, let’s get it over. I’ll answer any questions you like, compromising or uncompromising, as long as it’s over quickly.”

“I thank whatever gods may be,” rejoiced Alleyn, “and there are enough to begin with on the premises, if you’ll excuse my saying so.”

“We
are
rather generously endowed, aren’t we?” said Janey.

“You must forgive me. I didn’t mean to be offensive.”

“You weren’t. I’m not altogether an ass. This is rather a rum show, I dare say.”

“You don’t talk like my idea of an Initiate.”

“Don’t I? Well perhaps I’m not a very good one. I’m thinking of backsliding, Inspector Alleyn. Oh, not because of this awful business. At least — I don’t know. Perhaps it has shown us up in rather an unattractive light.” She paused and wrinkled her forehead. “It all seems very bogus to you I expect, but — but — there’s something in it — or I thought so.”

“When I was an undergraduate I became a Plymouth Brother for two months. It seemed frightfully important at the time. I believe nowadays they go in for Black Magic.”

“Yes, Maurice tried that when he was up. Then he switched over to this.”

“You speak of Mr. Pringle?”

“Yes.”

“Did he introduce you to this church?”

“Clever of you,” said Janey. “Yes, he did.”

“When was this?”

“Oh, about six months ago.”

“You have advanced rather quickly, surely.”

“This was my first evening as an Initiate. Maurice has been one for some time. I was to have begun special instruction next week.”

“You don’t mean to go on with it?”

“I don’t, ” said Janey.

“Would you mind telling me why?”

“I think perhaps I would.” She looked thoughtfully at Alleyn. “No, I’ll tell you. I’ve got my doubts about it. I’ve had my doubts about it for some time, to be quite honest.”

‘Then why—?”

“Maurice was so terribly keen. You see we’re engaged. He could talk of nothing else. He’s awfully highly strung— terribly sensitive — and — and sort of vulnerable, and I thought—”

“You thought you would keep an eye on him — that it?”

“Yes. I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

“I am sure you will not regret doing so. Miss Jenkins, do you know what Mr. Pringle was driving at when he said that Mr. Garnette. was keeping them all quiet, that Mrs. Candour would have taken Miss Quayne’s place if she could, and that he was going to tell everybody something?”

“How do you know Maurice said that?”

“You may remember he was in the middle of it when I arrived. He stopped short when he saw me. I heard some of it. Mr. Bathgate has told me the rest What is the explanation?”

“I don’t think I can answer that.”

“Can’t you? Why not?”

“I don’t want to stir it all up. It has got nothing to do with this dreadful thing. I’m sure of that.”

“You cannot possibly be sure of that. Listen to me. Mr. Bathgate is prepared to swear that Miss Quayne put nothing into the cup after it was handed to her. She took it by the stem in both hands and drank from it without changing their position. She died two minutes after she drank from the cup. It had gone round the circle of Initiates. No one else, except the acolyte and Mr. Garnette, had handled it. Can you not see that the inter-relationships of those six people are of importance? Can you not see that I must learn all I may of them? I must not try to persuade you to speak against your judgment — if I did this I should grossly exceed my duty. But please Miss Jenkins,
don’t
say: ‘It’s got nothing to do with the case.’ We don’t know what may or may not bear on the case. There is only one person who could tell us that.”

“Only one person? You mean — a guilty person?”

“I do. If such a one exists.”

There was a long silence.

“I’ll tell you this much,” said Janey at last. “Maurice hero-worshipped Father Garnette. He went, as Mr. Ogden would say, crazy about him. I think Father Garnette took hold of his imagination. Maurice is very responsive to personal magnetism.”

“Yes.”

“I feel for it myself. When he preaches — it’s rather extraordinary — one feels as though the most terrific revelation is being made. No, that’s not quite it. Everything seems to be beautifully dovetailed and balanced.”

“A sense of exquisite precision,” murmured Alleyn. “I believe opium smokers experience it.”

Janey flushed.

“You mean we were drugged with words. I don’t think I quite admit that. But where was I? Oh. Well, a little while ago Maurice began to suspect that things were happening all the time in the background. He had put Father Garnette on a pedestal, you see, and the least suggestion of — of worldly interest seemed wrong to Maurice. Some of the women in the congregation, Mrs. Candour and poor Cara too, I’m afraid, were rather blatantly doting. Maurice got all worked up about it. He minded most dreadfully. That’s what he meant when he talked like that about Mrs. Candour.”

“He meant that Mrs. Candour was jealous of Miss Quayne and that Mr. Garnette had kept it quiet?”

“Yes.”

“I see.”

“But not that Mrs. Candour was so jealous that — he didn’t mean that. Please, please don’t think that. It was nothing. Maurice was hysterical. He sees everything in an exaggerated light. You do believe me, don’t you? Don’t you?”

“I’m not sure,” said Alleyn. “I think you are understating things, you know.”

“I’m not. Oh, why did I say anything! I won’t answer any more questions. Let me go.” Janey’s voice shook. She stood up, her hands clenched, her pupils dilated.

“Of course you may go, Miss Jenkins,” said Alleyn very quietly. “You have had a wretched experience and it’s unnerved you. Believe me, you need not reproach yourself for anything you have told me. Really. If only people would understand that in these cases they are under a moral obligation to help the police, that by keeping things back they may actually place an innocent man or woman in the gravest danger! However, I grow pompous and in a minute I might become facetious. Save yourself, Miss Jenkins, and go home.”

Janey managed a smile and brushed her hand across her face.

“Oh dear,” she whispered.

“You’re done up,” said Alleyn quickly. “Bathgate, dodge out and get a taxi for Miss Jenkins, will you?”

“I think I’d better wait for Maurice, please.”

“Do you? Would you like some of Mr. Garnette’s brandy?”

“No thank you. I’ll just wait in the back pews if I may.”

“Of course you may. If it wouldn’t bother you too much the wardress will run over you. Have you ever been searched?”

“Never. It sounds beastly, but I suppose I must.”

“That’s very sensible. Inspector Fox will take you to the wardress. I’ll see your young man now.”

Janey walked firmly down the aisle with Fox and disappeared into the shadows. Fox returned and Bailey produced Maurice Pringle.

Maurice looked quickly about him, and stopped like a pointer when he saw Alleyn. At the inspector’s suggestion he came into the hall but refused to sit down. He thrust his hands into his pockets and seemed unable to stand still.

“Now then, Mr. Pringle,” began Alleyn cheerfully.

“Where’s Janey? Miss Jenkins?” demanded Maurice.

“Waiting for you.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Anything you can tell me that’s to the purpose.”

Maurice was silent. Alleyn asked about the smell and heard about the incense. He read Maurice’s previous statement from his notebook.

“What were you going to say when I came in?”

“Nothing.”

“Do you usually speak in half-phrases, Mr. Pringle?”

“What d’you mean?”

“You said: ‘I’m going to tell them that—’ and then you know I walked in and you stopped.”

Maurice snatched his left hand out of his pocket and bit at one of his fingers.

“Come. What did you mean by retribution? What would Mrs. Candour have had so willingly from Miss Quayne? What had Mr. Garnette kept quiet? What were you going to tell them?”

“I refuse to answer. It’s my affair.”

“Very good. Fox!”

“Sir?”

“Will you tell Miss Jenkins that Mr. Pringle does not wish to make any statements at present and that I think she need not wait? See that she gets a taxi, will you? She’s a bit done up.”

“Very good, sir.”

“What do you mean?” said Maurice angrily. “I’m taking her home.” Fox paused.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to stay a little longer,” said Alleyn.

“My God, how I hate officials! Sadism at its worst.”

“Off you go, Fox.”

“Stay where you are,” said Maurice. “I’ll — what’s the damn’ phrase — I’ll talk.”

Alleyn smiled and Fox blandly returned to his pew.

“You are interested in psychoanalysis, Mr. Pringle?” asked Alleyn politely.

“What’s that got to do with it?” rejoined Maurice, who seemed to have set himself some impossible standard of discourtesy. “I should have thought the British Police Force scarcely knew how to pronounce the word judging by results.”

“Someone must have told me about it,” said Alleyn vaguely.

Maurice looked sharply at him and then turned red.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “This filthy show’s got me all jumpy.”

“Well it might. I only asked you if you were interested in psychoanalysis because you used that password to the intelligentsia—‘sadism.’ I don’t suppose you know what it means. What are your views on crowd psychology?”

“Look here, what the hell are you driving at?”

“On the psychology of oratory, for instance? What do you think happens to people when they come under the sway of, shall we say, a magnetic preacher?”

“What happens to them! My God, they are his slaves.”

“Strong,” said Alleyn. “Would you describe this congregation as Mr. Garnette’s slaves?”

“If you must know — yes. Yes. Yes. Yes!”

“Yourself included?”

The boy looked strangely at Alleyn as though he was bringing the inspector into focus. His lips trembled.

“Look,” he said.

Alleyn walked up to him, looked steadily in his face, and then murmured, so quietly that Nigel did not hear, a single word. Maurice nodded.

“How did you guess?”

“You told me to look. It’s your eyes, you know. Contracted pupils. Also, if you’ll forgive me, your bad manners.”

“I can’t help it.”

“I suppose not. Is this Mr. Garnette’s doing?”

“No. I mean somebody gets them for him. He — he gave me special cigarettes. Quite mild really. He said it helped one to become receptive.”

“No doubt.”

“And it does! It’s marvellous. Everything seems so clear. Only — only—”

“It’s more than mild cigarettes now, I think.”

“Don’t be so bloody superior. Oh, God, I’m sorry!”

“Do the other Initiates employ this short cut to spiritual ecstasy?”

“Janey doesn’t. Janey doesn’t know. Nor does Ogden. Don’t tell Janey.”

“I won’t if I can help it. All the others?”

“No. Cara Quayne had begun. The Candour does. She did before Father Garnette found her. Ogden and de Ravigne don’t. At least I’m not sure about de Ravigne. I want him to try. Everyone ought to try and you can always leave off.”

“Can you?” said Alleyn.

“Of course. I don’t mean to go on with it.”

“Did you all meet here in Mr. Garnette’s rooms and— smoke his cigarettes.”

“At first. But lately those two — Mrs. Candour and Cara — came at separate times.” Maurice put his hand to his mouth and pulled shakily at his under lip. “And then — then Cara began to make her preparations for Chosen Vessel and she came alone.”

“I see.”

“No, you don’t. You don’t see. You don’t know. Only I know.” He now spoke rapidly and with great vehemence as though driven by an intolerable urge. “It was one afternoon about three weeks ago when I came in to see him. No one in the church. So I went straight up here — past here — up to the door, his door. I spoke: ‘Are you there, Father?’ They couldn’t have heard. I went in — half in — they didn’t see me. Oh, God! Oh, God! Frigga and Odin. The Chosen Vessel!” He gave a screech of laughter and flung himself into one of the chairs. He buried his face in his arm and sobbed quite loudly with an utter lack of restraint.

Inspector Fox strolled across the nave and stared with an air of calm appreciation at a small effigy of a most unprepossessing Nordic god. Nigel, acutely embarrassed, bent over his notebook. Detective-Sergeant Bailey emerged from his retreat, cast a glance of weary disparagement at Maurice, and went back again.

“So that is what you meant by retribution,” said Alleyn. Pringle made a sort of shuddering movement, an eloquent assent.

A little figure appeared out of the shadows at the end of the hall.

“Have you quite finished, Inspector Alleyn?” asked Janey.

She spoke so quietly that it took Nigel a second or two to realise how furiously angry she was.

“I’ve quite finished,” said Alleyn gravely. “You may both go home.”

She bent over Pringle.

“Maurice. Maurice darling, let’s go.”

“Let me alone, Janey.”

“Of course I won’t. I want you to take me home.”

She spoke softly to him for a minute and then he got up. She took his arm. Alleyn stood aside.

“I could murder you for this,” said Janey.

“Oh, my child, don’t talk like that!” exclaimed Alleyn with so much feeling that Nigel stared.

Janey looked again at the inspector. Perhaps she saw something in his dark face that made her change her mind.

“All right, I won’t,” said Janey.