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Nigel dived out of the door.
He found the Initiates grouped round the American gentleman, who seemed to be addressing them in a whisper. He was a type that is featured heavily in transatlantic publicity, tall, rather fat and inclined to be flabby, but almost incredibly clean, as though he used all the deodorants, mouth washes, soaps and lotions recommended by his prototype who beams pep from the colour pages of American periodicals. The only irregularities in Mr Ogden were his eyes, which were skewbald â one light blue and one brown. This gave him a comic look and made one suspect him of clowning when he was most serious.
To Nigelâs astonishment the organ was playing and from beyond the curtains came a muffled sound of singing. Father Garnetteâs voice was clearly distinguishable. Someone, the doctor perhaps, had covered the body with a piece of gorgeously embroidered satin.
When he saw Nigel the American gentleman stepped forward.
âIt appears to me we ought to get acquainted,â he said pleasantly. âYou kind of sprang up out of no place and took over the works. Thatâs OK by me, and Iâll hand it to you. I certainly appreciate prompt action. My nameâs Samuel J. Ogden. I guess Iâve got a card somewhere.â The amazing Mr Ogden actually thrust his hand into his breast pocket.
âPlease donât bother,â said Nigel. âMy name is Bathgate.â
âPleased to meet you, Mr Bathgate,â said Mr Ogden, instantly shaking hands. âAllow me to introduce these ladies and gentlemen. Mrs Candour, meet Mr Bathgate. Miss Wade, meet Mr Bathgate. Mr Bathgate, Miss Janey Jenkins. Monsieur de Ravigne, Mr Bathgate. Dr Kasbek, Mr Bathgate. Mr Maurice Pringle, Mr Bathgate. And these two young gentlemen are our acolytes. Mr Claude Wheatley and Mr Lionel Smith, meet Mr Bathgate.â
The seven inarticulate Britishers exchanged helpless glances with Nigel. M de Ravigne, a sleek Frenchman, gave him a scornful bow.
âWell now ââ began Mr Ogden with a comfortable smile.
âI think, if you donât mind,â said Nigel hurriedly, âthat someone should go down to the front door. Inspector Alleyn is on his way here, and as things are at the moment he wonât be able to get in.â
âThatâs so,â agreed Mr Ogden. âMaybe one of these boys ââ
âOh, do let me go,â begged Claude.
âFine,â said Mr Ogden.
âIâll come with you, Claude,â said the red-headed acolyte.
âThereâs no need for two, honestly, is there Mr Ogden?â
âOh, get to it, Fauntleroy, and take little Eric along!â said Mr Ogden brutally. Nigel suddenly felt that he liked Mr Ogden.
The acolytes, flouncing, disappeared through the curtain. The sound of organ and voices was momentarily louder.
âDo acolytes have to be that way?â inquired Mr Ogden of nobody in particular.
Somebody laughed attractively. It was Miss Janey Jenkins. She was young and short and looked intelligent.
âIâm sorry,â she said immediately. âI didnât mean to laugh, only Claude and Lionel are rather awful, arenât they?â
âI agree,â said Nigel quickly.
She turned, not to him, but to Maurice Pringle, the young man who had spoken so strangely to the priest. He now stood apart from the others and looked acutely miserable. Miss Jenkins went and spoke to him, but in so low a voice that Nigel could not hear what she said.
âDr Kasbek,â said the little spinster whom Mr Ogden had called Miss Wade, âDr Kasbek, I am afraid I am very foolish, but I do not understand. Has Cara Quayne been murdered?â
This suggestion, voiced for the first time, was received as though it was a gross indecency. Mrs Candour a peony of a woman, with ugly hands, uttered a scandalized yelp; M de Ravigne hissed like a steam-boiler; Mr Ogden said: âWait a minute, wait a minuteâ; Pringle seemed to shrink into himself, and Janey Jenkins took his hand.
âSurely not, Miss Wade,â said Dr Kasbek. âLet us not anticipate such a thing.â
âI only inquired,â said Miss Wade. âShe wasnât very happy, poor thing, and she wasnât very popular.â
âMiss Wade â please!â M de Ravigne looked angrily at the little figure. âI must protest â this is a â a preposterous suggestion. It is ridiculous.â He gesticulated eloquently. âIs it not enough that this tragedy should have arrived? My poor Cara, is it not enough!â
The voice of Father Garnette could be heard, muffled but sonorous, beyond the curtains.
âListen to him!â said Pringle. âListen! Heâs keeping them quiet. Heâs kept us all quiet. What are we to believe of him?â
âWhat are you talking about?â whispered Mrs Candour savagely.
âYou know well enough. Youâd have taken her place if you could. Itâs not his fault â itâs yours. Itâs all so â so beastly ââ
âMaurice,â said Miss Jenkins softly.
âBe quiet, Janey. I will say it. Whatever it is, itâs retribution. The whole thingâs a farce. I canât stand it any longer. Iâm going to tell them ââ
He broke away from her and ran towards the curtains. Before he reached them they parted and a tall man came through.
âOh, there you are, Bathgate,â said Chief Detective-Inspector Alleyn. âWhatâs the trouble?â
CHAPTER 4 The Yard (#ulink_7d080db7-c282-50cc-90b1-9f5ef9ae900a)
The entrance of Chief Detective-Inspector Alleyn had a curious effect upon the scene and upon the actors. It was an effect which might be likened to that achieved by the cinema when the camera is shifted and the whole scene presented from a different viewpoint. Nigel had felt himself to be involved in a nightmare, but it now seemed to be someone elseâs nightmare of which he was merely the narrator. He wondered wildly whether he should follow Mr Ogdenâs example and embark on an elaborate series of introductions. However, he avoided this complication and in as few words as possible told Alleyn what had happened. The others remained silent, eyeing the inspector. Janey Jenkins held Pringleâs hand between her two hands; Miss Wade kept a handkerchief pressed against her lips; M.de Ravigne stood scornfully apart; Mrs Candour had collapsed into a grand-opera throne on the left of the altar; Mr Ogden looked capable and perturbed and the two acolytes gazed rapturously at the inspector. Alleyn listened with his curious air of detachment that always reminded Nigel of a polite faun. When Nigel came to the ecstatic frenzy, Alleyn made a slantwise grimace. Speaking so quietly that the others could not overhear him, Nigel repeated as closely as he could remember them the exclamations made by Pringle, Miss Wade and de Ravigne. Alleyn asked for the names of persons who should be informed. Beyond Miss Quayneâs servants there seemed to be nobody. Miss Jenkins, appealed to, said she had overheard Miss Quayne saying that her staff were all out on Sunday evening. She volunteered to ring up and find out and retired to Father Garnetteâs room to do so. She returned to say there was no answer. Alleyn took the number and said he would see the house was informed later. As soon as he had learnt the facts of the case, Alleyn lifted the satin drapery and looked at the distorted face beneath it, spoke a few words aside to Dr Kasbek, and then addressed them all quietly. At this moment Father Garnette, having set his congregation going on another hymn, returned to the group. Nigel alone noticed him. He stood just inside the curtains and never took his eyes off the inspector.
Alleyn said: âThere is, I think, no reason why you should not know what has happened here. This woman has probably died of poisoning. Until we know more of the circumstances and the nature of her death I shall have to take over the case on behalf of the police. From what I have heard I believe that there is nothing to be gained in keeping the rest of the congregation here.â He turned slightly and saw the priest.
âYou are Mr Garnette? Will you be good enough to ask your congregation to go home â when they have quite finished singing, of course. I have stationed a constable inside the door. He will take their names. Just tell them that, will you?â
âCertainly,â said Father Garnette and disappeared through the curtains.
They heard him pronounce a benediction of sorts. Beyond the curtains there was a sort of stirring and movement. One or two people coughed. It all died away at last. A door slammed with a desolate air of finality and there was complete silence in the building, save for the slobbering of the torch. Father Garnette returned.
âPhew!â said Alleyn. âLetâs have the curtains drawn back, may we?â
Father Garnette inclined his head. Claude and Lionel flew to the sides of the chancel and in a moment the curtains rattled apart, revealing the solitary figure of the doorkeeper, agape on the lowest step.
âIs there anything I can do, Father?â asked the doorkeeper.
âLock the front door and go home,â said Father Garnette.
âYes, Father,â whispered the doorkeeper. He departed hurriedly pulling the double doors to with an apologetic slam. For a moment there was silence. Then Alleyn turned to Nigel.
âIs there a telephone handy?â
âYes.â
âGet 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. Weâll want the divisional surgeon and a wardress.â
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.
âItâs got to be done, you see,â he explained. âThere will, of course, be an inquest and Iâm afraid you will all be called as witnesses.â
âOh, God,â said Pringle with a snort of disgust.
âIâd better start with the deceased,â Alleyn suggested. âWhat is her name, please?â
âShe was a Miss Cara Quayne, Inspector,â said Mr Ogden. âShe 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 ââ
âNo. 101 Shepherd Market,â said Alleyn. âThank you.â He wrote it down and then glanced round his audience.
âI will take yours first if I may, Doctor Kasbek.â
âCertainly. Nicholas Kasbek, 189a Wigmore Street.â
âRight.â He turned to Miss Wade.
âMy name is Ernestine Wade,â she said very clearly and in a high voice, as though Alleyn was deaf. âI live at Primrose Court, Kingâs Road, Chelsea. Spinster.â
âThank you.â
Miss Jenkins came forward.
âIâm Janey Jenkins. I live in a studio flat in Yeomans Row, No.99d. Iâm a spinster too, if you want to know.â
âWell,â said Alleyn, âjust for âMissâ or âMrs,â you know.â
âNow you, Maurice,â said Miss Jenkins.
âPringle,â said that gentleman as though the name was an offence. âMaurice. Iâm staying at 11 Harrow Mansions, Sloane Square.â
âIs that your permanent address?â
âNo. Havenât got one unless you count my peopleâs place. I never go there if I can help it.â
âThe Phoenix Club will always find you, wonât it?â murmured Miss Jenkins.
âOh, God, yes,â replied Mr Pringle distastefully.
âNext please,â said Alleyn cheerfully. Mrs Candour spoke suddenly from the ecclesiastical throne. She had the air of uttering an appalling indecency.
âMy name is Dagmar Candour. Mrs. Queen Charlotte Flats, Kensington Square. No.12.â
âC.a.n. â ?â queried Alleyn.
âd.o.u.r.â
âThank you.â
Mr Ogden, who had several times taken a step forward and as often politely retreated, now spoke up firmly.
âSamuel J. Ogden, Chief. I guess youâre not interested in my home address. I come from the States â New York. In London I have a permanent apartment in York Square. No.93, Achurch Court. I just canât locate my card-case, but â well, those are the works.â
âThank you so much, Mr Ogden. And now you, if you please, sir.â
Father Garnette hesitated a moment, oddly. Then he cleared his throat and answered in his usual richly inflected voice:
âFather Jasper Garnette.â He spelt it. âI am officiating priest of this temple. I live here.â
âHere?â
âI have a little dwelling beyond the altar.â
âExtremely convenient,â murmured Alleyn. âAnd now, these twoâ â he looked a little doubtfully at Claude and Lionel â âthese two young men.â
Claude and Lionel answered together in a rapturous gush.
âWhat?â asked Alleyn.
âDo be quiet, Lionel,â said Claude. âWe share a flat in Ebury Street; âEbury Mews.â Well, it isnât actually a flat, is it, Lionel? Oh dear, I always forget the number â itâs too stupid of me.â
âYou are hopeless, Claude,â said Lionel. âItâs 17 Ebury Mews, Ebury Street, Inspector Alleyn, only we arenât very often there because Iâm in the show at the Palladium and Claude is at Madame Karenâs in Sloane Street and ââ
âI do not yet know your names.â
âLionel, you are perfectly maddening,â said Claude. âIâm Claude Wheatley, Inspector Alleyn, and this is Lionel Smith.â
Alleyn wrote these names down with the address, and added in brackets: âGemini, possibly heavenly.â
M. de Ravigne came forward and bowed.
âRaoul Honoré Christophe Jérôme de Ravigne, monsieur. I live at Branscombe Chambers, Lowndes Square. My card.â
âThank 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.â
After a momentâs silence the priest came forward.
âI stood here,â he said, âwith the chalice in my hands. Mr Ogden knelt on my right, and Mrs Candour on my left.â
âThat is correct, sir,â agreed Ogden and moved into place. âMiss Jenkins was on my right, I guess.â
âYes,â said that lady, âand Maurice on mine.â
Mrs Candour came forward reluctantly and stood on Garnetteâs left.
âM. de Ravigne was beside me,â she whispered.
âCertainly.â M. de Ravigne took up his position and Miss Wade slipped in beside him.
âI was here,â she said, âbetween Mr de Ravigne and Mr Pringle.â