Death in Ecstasy

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‘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, sir,’ said Inspector Fox.

‘There’s been some trouble here. One of you men go with these ladies and gentlemen into the room at the back there. Mr Garnette will show you the way. Will you, Mr Garnette? I’ll keep you no longer than I can possibly help. Dr Kasbek, if you wouldn’t mind waiting here –’

‘Look here,’ said Maurice Pringle suddenly, ‘I’m damned if I can see why we should be herded about like a mob of sheep. What has happened? Is she murdered?’

‘Very probably,’ said Alleyn coolly. ‘Nobody is going to herd you, Pringle. You are going to wait quietly and reasonably while we make the necessary investigations. Off you go.’

‘But –’

‘I knew,’ cried Mrs Candour suddenly. ‘I knew something dreadful would happen. M. de Ravigne, didn’t I tell you?’

‘If you please, madame!’ said de Ravigne with great firmness.

‘All that sort of thing should have been kept out,’ said little Miss Wade. ‘It should never –’

‘I think we had better follow instructions,’ interrupted Father Garnette loudly. ‘Will you all follow me?’

They trooped away, escorted by the largest of the constables.

‘Lumme!’ ejaculated Alleyn when the altar door had shut. ‘As you yourself would say, Fox, “quelle galère.”’

‘A rum crowd,’ agreed Fox, ‘and a very rum place too, seemingly. What’s happened, sir?’

‘A lady has just died of a dose of cyanide. There’s the body. Your old friend Mr Bathgate will tell you about it.’

‘Good evening, Mr Bathgate,’ said Fox mildly. ‘You’ve found something else in our line, have you?’

‘It was at the climax of the ceremony,’ began Nigel. ‘A cup was passed round a circle of people, these people whom you have just seen. This woman stood in the middle. The others knelt. A silver jug holding the wine was handed in turn to each of them and each poured a little into the cup. Then the priest, Father Garnette, gave her the cup. She drank it and – and fell down. I think she died at once, didn’t she?’

He turned to Dr Kasbek.

‘Within twenty seconds I should say.’ The doctor looked at the divisional surgeon.

‘I would have tried artificial respiration, sent for ferrous sulphate and a stomach tube and all the rest of it but’ – he grimaced – ‘there wasn’t a dog’s chance. She was dead before I got to her.’

‘I know,’ said the divisional surgeon. He lifted the drapery and bent over the body.

‘I noticed the characteristic odour at once,’ added Kasbek, ‘and so I think did Mr Bathgate.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Nigel, ‘that’s why I butted in.’

Alleyn knelt by the fallen cup and sniffed.

‘Stinks of it,’ he said. ‘Bailey, you’ll have to look at this for prints. Not much help if they all handled it. We’ll have photographs first.’

The man with the camera had already begun to set up his paraphernalia. He took three flashlight shots, from different viewpoints, of the body and surrounding area. Alleyn opened the black bag, put on a pair of rubber gloves and took out a small bottle and a tiny funnel. He drained off one or two drops of wine from the cup. While he did this Nigel took the opportunity to relate as much of the conversation of the Initiates as he could remember. Alleyn listened, grunted, and muttered to himself as he restored the little bottle to his bag. Detective-Sergeant Bailey got to work with an insufflator and white chalk.

‘Where’s the original vessel that was handed round by one of these two hothouse flowers?’ asked Alleyn. ‘Is this it?’ He pointed to a silver jug standing in a sort of velvet-lined niche on the right side of the chancel.

‘That’s it,’ said Nigel. ‘Claude must have kept his head and put it there when – after it happened.’

‘Is Claude the black orchid or the red lily?’

‘The black orchid.’

Alleyn sniffed at the silver jug and filled another bottle from it.

‘Nothing there though, I fancy,’ he murmured. ‘Let me get a picture of the routine. Miss Quayne stood in the centre here and the others knelt round her. Mr Garnette – I really cannot bring myself to allude to the gentleman as “Father” – Mr Garnette produced the cup and the – what does one call it? Decanter is scarcely the word. The flagon, perhaps. He gave the flagon to Master Ganymede Claude, passed his hand over the cup and up jumped a flame. A drop of methylated spirits perhaps.’

‘I suppose so,’ said Kasbek, looking amused.

‘Well. And then the cup was passed from hand to hand by the kneeling circle and each took the flagon from Claude and poured in a libation.’

‘Each of them uttered a single word,’ interrupted Nigel. ‘I really have no idea what some of them were.’

‘The name of a diety, I understand,’ volunteered Kasbek. ‘I am not a member of the cult, but I’ve been here before. They pronounce the names of six deities. “Hagring,” “Haco,” “Frigga,” and so on. Garnette is Odin and the Chosen Vessel is always Frigga. The idea is that all the godheads are embodied in one godhead and that the essence of each is mingled in the cup. It’s a kind of popular pantheism.’

‘Oh, Lord!’ said Alleyn. ‘Now then. The cup went round the circle. When it got to the last man, what happened?’

‘He handed it to the acolyte, who passed it on to the priest, who gave it to Miss Quayne.’

‘Who drank it,’

‘Yes,’ said Dr Kasbek, ‘who drank it, poor thing.’

They were silent for a moment.

‘I said “when it got to the last man” – it was a man you said? Yes, I know we’ve been over this before, but I want to be positive.’

‘I’m sure it was,’ said Nigel. ‘I remember that Mr Ogden knelt at the top of the circle, as it were, and I seem to remember him giving the cup to the acolyte.’

‘I believe you’re right,’ agreed the doctor.

‘That agrees with the positions they took up just now.’

‘Was there any chance of Miss Quayne herself dropping anything into the cup?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Nigel said slowly. ‘It so happens that I remember distinctly she took it in both hands, holding it by the stem. I’ve got a very clear mental picture of her, standing there, lit by the torch. She had rings on both hands and I remember I noticed that they reflected the light in the same way as the jewels on the cup. I feel quite certain she held it like that until she drank.’

‘I have no such recollection,’ declared the doctor.

‘Quite sure, Bathgate?’

‘Yes, quite sure. I – I’d swear to it.’

‘You may have to,’ said Alleyn. ‘Dr Kasbek, you say you are not one of the elect. Perhaps, in that case, you would not object to telling me a little more about this place. It is an extremely unusual sort of church.’ He glanced round apologetically. ‘All this intellectual sculpture. Who is the lowering gentleman with the battle-axe? He makes one feel quite shy.’

‘I fancy he is Wotan, which is the same as Odin. Perhaps Thor. I really don’t know. I imagine the general idea owes something to some cult in Germany, and is based partly on Scandinavian mythology, though as you see it does not limit itself to one, or even a dozen, doctrines. It’s a veritable olla podrida with Garnette to stir the pot. The statues were commissioned by a very rich old lady in the congregation.’

‘An old lady!’ murmured Alleyn. ‘Fancy!’

‘It is rather overwhelming,’ agreed Kasbek. ‘Shall we move into the hall? I should like to sit down.’

‘Certainly,’ said Alleyn. ‘Fox, will you make a sketch-plan of the chancel? I won’t be more than two minutes and then we’ll start on the others. Run a line of chalk round the body and get the bluebottle in there to ring for the mortuary-van. Come along with us, won’t you, Bathgate?’

Nigel and Dr Kasbek followed the inspector down to the front row of chairs. These were sumptuously upholstered in red embossed velvet.

‘Front stalls,’ said Alleyn, sitting down.

‘There are seven of them, as you see. They are for the six Initiates and the Chosen Vessel. These are selected from a sort of inner circle among the congregation, or so I understand.’

Dr Kasbek settled himself comfortably in his velvet pew. He was a solid shortish man of about fifty-five with dark hair worn en brosse, a rather fleshy and pale face, and small, intelligent eyes.

‘It was founded by Garnette two years ago. I first heard of it from an old patient of mine who lives nearby. She was always raving about the ceremonies and begging me to go. I was called in to see her one Sunday evening just before the service began and she made me promise I’d attend it. I’ve been several times since. I am attracted by curious places and interested in – how shall I put it? – in the incalculable vagaries of human faith. Garnette’s doctrine of dramatized pantheism, if that’s what it is, amused and intrigued me. So did the man himself. Where he got the money to buy the place – it was originally a nonconformist club-room, I think – and furnish it and keep it going, I’ve no idea. Probably it was done by subscription. Ogden is Grand Warden or something. He’ll be able to tell you. It’s all very expensive, as you see. Garnette is the only priest and literally the “onlie begetter,” the whole show in fact. He undoubtedly practises hypnotism and that, too, interests me. The service you saw tonight, Mr Bathgate, is only held once a month and is their star turn. The Chosen Vessel – Miss Quayne on this occasion – has to do a month’s preparation, which means, I think, intensive instruction and private meditation with Garnette.’

‘Odin and Frigga,’ said Alleyn. ‘I begin to understand. Are you personally acquainted with any of the Initiates?’

‘Ogden introduced himself to me some weeks ago and Garnette came and spoke to me the first evening I was here. On the look-out for new material, I suppose.’

‘None of the others?’

‘No. Ogden suggested I should “get acquainted,” but’ – he smiled – ‘I enjoy being an onlooker and I evaded it. I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you.’

‘It’s all extremely suggestive and most useful. Thank you very much, Dr Kasbek. I won’t keep you any longer. Dr Curtis may want a word with you before you go. I’ll send him down here. You’ll be subpoenaed for the inquest of course.’

‘Of course. Are you Chief Detective-Inspector Alleyn?’

‘Yes.’

‘I remembered your face. I saw you at the Theodore Roberts trial.’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘The case interested me. You see I’m an alienist.’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Alleyn again with his air of polite detachment.

‘I was glad they brought in a verdict of insanity. Poor Roberts. I suppose in a case of that sort the police do not push for the – the other thing.’

‘The police force is merely a machine. I must fly I’m afraid. Goodnight. Bathgate, will you let Dr Kasbek out when he has spoken to Curtis?’

Alleyn returned to the top of the hall. The divisional surgeon joined Kasbek and the two doctors walked down the aisle with that consultation manner, heads together, faces very solemn, like small boys in conference. Nigel followed sheepishly at a tactful distance. The word cyanide floated at intervals down the aisle. At last Dr Curtis said: ‘Yes. All right. Goodnight.’ They shook hands. Nigel hurried up to wrestle with the elaborate bolts and lock that secured the double doors.

‘Oh, thank you very much,’ said Kasbek. ‘You’ve made yourself quite invaluable this evening, Mr Bathgate.’

To tell you the truth, sir,’ said Nigel, ‘I am surprised at my own initiative. It was the smell that did it.’

‘Oh, quite. I was just going to say no one must leave when you spoke up. Very glad of your support. Can you manage? Ah – that’s done it. I see there’s a constable outside. I hope he lets me out! Goodnight, Mr Bathgate.’

CHAPTER 5 A Priest and Two Acolytes (#ulink_d39b2cb4-87fc-5e50-a443-c3d06d62d0e3)

The constable had arrived with the mortuary-van. A stretcher was brought in. Nigel, not wishing to see again that terrible figure, hung back at the entrance, but after all, try as he would, he could not help watching. The group up in the chancel looked curiously theatrical. Alleyn had turned on all the side lamps but they were dull red and insignificant. The torch flickered confusedly. At one moment it threw down a strong glare, and at the next almost failed, so that the figures of the men continually started to life and seemed to move when actually they were still. Alleyn drew the brocaded satin away from the body and stood contemplating it. The body, still in its same contracted, headlong posture, looked as though some force had thrown it down with a sudden violence. Dr Curtis said something. His voice sounded small and melancholy in the empty building. Nigel caught the words ‘rigor mortis – rapid.’ Alleyn nodded and his shadow, starting up on the wall as the torch flared again, made a monstrous exaggeration of the gesture. They bent down and lifted the body on to the whitish strip of the stretcher. One of the men pulled a sheet up. Curtis spoke to them. They lifted the stretcher and came slowly down the aisle, black silhouettes now against the lighted chancel. They passed Nigel heavily and went out of the open door. The constable stayed in the entrance, so Nigel did not relock the doors. He returned to the chancel.

‘I’m glad that part is over,’ he said to Alleyn.

‘What? Oh, the body.’

‘You appear to be lost in the folds of your professional abstraction,’ remarked Nigel tartly. ‘Pray, what are you going to do next?’

‘Your style is an unconvincing mixture of George Moore and Lewis Carroll, my dear Bathgate. I am about to interview the ladies and gentlemen. I dislike this affair. I dislike it very much. This is a beastly place. Why did you come to it?’

‘I really can’t tell you. I was bored and I saw the sign swinging in the rain. I came in search of adventure.’

‘And I suppose, with your habitual naîveté, you consider that you have found it. Fox, have you made your plan?’

‘Not quite finished, sir, but I’ll carry on quietly.’

‘Well, give an ear to the conversation. When we get to M. de Ravigne, you may like to conduct the examination in French.’

Fox smiled blandly. He had taken a course of gramophone lessons in French and now followed closely an intermediate course on the radio.

‘I’m not quite up to it as yet, sir,’ he said, ‘but I’d be glad to listen if you feel like doing it yourself.’

‘Bless you, Fox, I should make a complete ass of myself. Got your prints, Bailey?’