Читать книгу Death in Ecstasy - Ngaio Marsh, Stella Duffy - Страница 12

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?’

‘I’ve been over the ground,’ said Detective-Sergeant Bailey guardedly.

‘Then call in the first witness. Find out if any of them are particularly anxious to get away, and I’ll take them in order of urgency.’

‘Very good, sir.’

Bailey, with an air of mulish indifference, disappeared through the altar door. In a moment he came back.

‘Gentleman just fainted,’ he grumbled.

‘Oh, Lord!’ apostrophized Alleyn. ‘Have a look, will you, Curtis? Which is it, Bailey?’

‘One of those affairs in purple shirts, the dark one.’

‘My oath,’ said Alleyn.

Dr Curtis uttered a brief ‘Tsss!’ and disappeared. Bailey emerged with Father Garnette.

‘I’m extremely sorry to have kept you waiting, sir,’ said Alleyn, ‘but you will understand that there were several matters to deal with. Shall we go down into the chairs there?’

Garnette inclined his head and led the way. He seated himself unhurriedly and hid his hands in his wide sleeves. Fox, all bland detachment, strolled to a nearby pew and seemed to be absorbed in his sketch-plan of the chancel and sanctuary. Nigel, at a glance from Alleyn, joined Inspector Fox and took out his notebook. A shorthand report of the interviews would do no harm. Father Garnette did not so much as glance at Nigel and Fox. Alleyn pulled forward a large fald-stool and sat on it with his back to the flickering torch. The priest and the policeman regarded each other steadily.

‘I am appalled,’ said Father Garnette loudly. His voice was mellifluous and impossibly sorrowful. ‘Ap-PALL-ed.’

‘Unpleasant business, isn’t it?’ remarked Alleyn.

‘I am bewildered. I do not understand, as yet, what has happened. What unseen power has struck down this dear soul in the very moment of spiritual ecstasah?’

‘Cyanide of potassium I think,’ said Alleyn coolly, ‘but of course that’s not official.’

The embroidery on the white sleeves quivered slightly.

‘But that is a poison,’ said Father Garnette.

‘One of the deadliest,’ said Alleyn.

‘I am appalled,’ said Father Garnette.

‘The possibility of suicide will have to be explored, of course.’

‘Suicide!’

‘It does not seem likely, certainly. Accident is even more improbable, I should say.’

‘You mean, then, that she – that she – that murder has been done!’

‘That will be for a jury to decide. There will be an inquest, of course. In the meantime there are one or two questions I should like to ask you, Mr Garnette. I need not remind you that you are not obliged to answer them.’

‘I know nothing of such matters. I simply wish to do my duty.’

‘That’s excellent, sir,’ said Alleyn politely. ‘Now as regards the deceased. I’ve got her name and address, but I should like to learn a little more about her. You knew her personally as well as officially, I expect?’

‘All my children are my friends. Cara Quayne was a very dear friend. Hers was a rare soul, Inspector – ah?’

‘Alleyn, sir.’

‘Inspector Alleyn. Hers was a rare soul, singularly fitted for the tremendous spiritual discoverahs to which it was granted I should point the way.’

‘Oh, yes. For how long has she been a member of your congregation?’

‘Let me think. I can well remember the first evening I was aware of her. I felt the presence of something vital, a kind of intensitah, a – how can I put it? – an increased receptivitah. We have our own words for expressing these experiences.’

‘I hardly think I should understand them,’ remarked Alleyn dryly. ‘Can you give me the date of her first visit?’

‘I believe I can. It was on the festival of Aeger. December the fifteenth of last year.’

‘Since then she has been a regular attendant?’

‘Yes. She had attained to the highest rank.’

‘By that you mean she was a Chosen Vessel?’

Father Garnette bent his extraordinary eyes on the inspector.

‘Then you know something of our ritual, Inspector Alleyn?’

‘Very little, I am afraid.’

‘Do you know that you yourself are exceedingly receptive?’

‘I receive facts,’ said Alleyn, ‘as a spider does flies.’

‘Ah.’ Father Garnette nodded his head slowly. ‘This is not the time. But I think it will come. Well, ask what you will, Inspector.’

‘I gather that you knew Miss Quayne intimately – that in the course of her preparation for tonight’s ceremony you saw a great deal of her.’

‘A great deal.’

‘I understand she took the name of Frigga in your ceremony?’

‘That is so,’ said Father Garnette uneasily.

‘The wife of Odin, I seem to remember.’

‘In our ritual the relationship is one of the spirit.’

‘Ah, yes,’ said Alleyn. ‘Had you any reason to believe she suffered from depression or was troubled about anything?’

‘I am certain of the contrarah. She was in a state of tranquilitah and joy.’

‘I see. No worries over money?’

‘Money? No. She was what the world calls rich.’

‘What do you call it, sir?’

Father Garnette gave a frank and dreadfully boyish laugh.

‘Why, I should call her rich too, Inspector,’ he cried gaily.

‘Any unhappy love affair, do you know?’ pursued Alleyn.

Father Garnette did not answer for a moment. Then he said sadly:

‘Ah, Inspector Alleyn, we speak in different languages.’

‘I didn’t realize that,’ said Alleyn. ‘Can you translate my question into your own language, or would you rather not answer it?’

‘You misunderstand me. Cara Quayne was not concerned with earthly love; she was on the threshold of a new spiritual life.’

‘And apparently she has crossed it.’

‘You speak more faithfully than you realize. I earnestly believe she has crossed it.’

‘No love affair,’ said Alleyn, and wrote it down in his notebook. ‘Was she on friendly terms with the other Initiates?’

‘There is perfect loving kindness among them. Nay, that does not express my meaning. The Initiates have attained to the third plane where all human relationships merge in an ecstatic indifference. They cannot hate for there is no hatred. They realize that hatred is maya – illusion.’

‘And love?’

‘If you mean earthlah love, that too is illusion.’

‘Then,’ said Alleyn, ‘if you follow the idea to a logical conclusion, what one does cannot matter as long as one’s actions spring from one’s emotions for if these are illusion – or am I wrong?’

‘Ah,’ exclaimed Father Garnette, ‘I knew I was right. We must have a long talk some day, my dear fellow.’

‘You are very kind,’ said Alleyn. ‘What did Miss Wade mean when she said: “All that sort of thing should have been kept out”?’

‘Did Miss Wade say that?’

‘Yes.’

‘I cannot imagine what she meant. The poor soul was very distressed no doubt.’

‘What do you think Mrs Candour meant when she said she knew something dreadful would happen and that she had said so to M. de Ravigne?’

‘I did not hear her,’ answered Father Garnette. His manner suggested that Alleyn as well as Mrs Candour had committed a gross error in taste.

‘Another question, Mr Garnette. In the course of your interviews with Miss Quayne can you remember any incident or remark that would throw any light on this matter?’

‘None.’

‘This is a very well-appointed hall.’

‘We think it beautiful,’ said Father Garnette complacently.

‘Please do not think me impertinent. I am obliged to ask these questions. Is it supported and kept up by subscription?’

‘My people welcome as a privilege the right to share in the hospitalitah of the Sacred Flame.’

‘You mean they pay the running expenses?’

‘Yes.’

‘Was Miss Quayne a generous supporter?’

‘Dear soul, yes, indeed she was.’

‘Do you purchase the wine for the ceremony?’

‘I do.’

‘Would you mind giving me the name of this wine and the address of the shop?’

‘It comes from Harrods. I think the name is – let me see – “Le Comte’s Invalid Port”.’

Alleyn repressed a shudder and wrote it down.

‘You decant it yourself? I mean you pour it into the silver flagon?’

‘On this occasion, no. I believe Claude Wheatley made all the preparations this evening.’

‘Would you mind telling me exactly what he would have done?’

‘Certainly. He would take an unopened bottle of wine from a cupboard in my room, draw the cork and pour the contents into the vessel. He would then make ready the goblet.’

‘Make ready – ?’

Father Garnette’s expression changed a little. He looked at once mulish and haughty. ‘A certain preparation is necessarah,’ he said grandly.

‘Oh, yes, of course. You mean the flame that appeared. How was that done? Methylated spirit?’

‘In tabloid form,’ confessed Father Garnette.

‘I know,’ cried Alleyn cheerfully. ‘The things women use for heating curling-tongs.’

‘Possiblah,’ said Father Garnette stiffly. ‘In our ritual, Inspector Alleyn, the goblet itself is holy and blessed. By the very act of pouring in the wine, this too becomes sacred – sacred by contact with the Cup. Our ceremony of the Cup, though it embraces the virtues of various communions in Christian churches, is actually entirely different in essentials and in intention.’

‘I was not,’ said Alleyn, coldly, ‘so mistaken as to suspect any affinity. Having filled the flagon Mr Wheatley would then put it – where?’

‘In that niche over there on our right of the sanctuarah.’

‘And what is the procedure with the methylated tablet?’

‘Prior to the service Claude comes before the altar and after prostrating himself three times, draws the Sacred Cup from its Monstrance. As he does this he repeats a little prayer in Norse. He genuflects thrice and then rising to his feet he – ah – he –’

‘Drops in the tablet and puts the cup away again?’

‘Yes.’

‘I see. Mr Bathgate tells me the flame appeared after you laid your hands over the cup. How is this done?’

‘I – ah – I employ a little capsule,’ said Father Garnette.

‘Really? What does it contain?’

‘I believe the substance is known as zinc – ah – ethyl.’

‘Oh, yes. Very ingenious. You turn away for a moment as you use it perhaps?’

‘That is so.’

‘It all seems quite clear now. One more question. Has there, to your knowledge, ever been any form of poison kept on the premises of this building?’

Father Garnette turned as white as his robes and said no, definitely not.

‘Thank you very much. I greatly appreciate your courtesy in answering so readily. I hope you will not mind very much if I ask you to wait in the – is that a vestry over there? It is! – in the vestry, while I see these other people. No doubt you will be glad to change into less ceremonial dress.’

‘I shall avail myself of the opportunitah to regain in meditation my tranquilitah and spiritual at-oneness.’

‘Do,’ said Alleyn cordially.

‘My subconscious mind, impregnated with the word, will flow to you-wards. In all humilitah I believe I may help you in your task. There are more things in Heaven and earth, Inspector Alleyn –’

‘There are indeed, sir,’ agreed the inspector dryly. ‘Have you any objection to being searched before you go?’

‘Searched? No – er – no, certainly not. Certainly not.’

‘That’s very sensible. Pure routine you know. I’ll send a man in.’

Father Garnette withdrew to the vestry accompanied by a plain-clothes man.

‘Damn’, sickly, pseudo, bogus, mumbo-jumbo,’ said Alleyn with great violence. ‘What do you think of him, Fox?’

‘Well, sir,’ said Fox placidly, ‘I must say I wondered if the gentleman knew much more about what he seemed to be talking about than I did.’

‘And well you might, my Foxkin, well you might. Hullo, Bathgate.’

‘Hullo,’ said Nigel guardedly.

‘Enjoying yourself?’

‘I’m taking shorthand notes. I seem to remember that you have a passion for shorthand notes.’

‘Ain’t dat de truff, Lawd! Have you read “Ole Man Adam”?’

‘Yes.’

‘I wish Garnette had. Fox!’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Send someone else into the vestry with Mr Garnette, will you, and get them to look him over. And any of the others I send in. Where’s the wardress?’

‘In the porch out there.’

‘She can deal with the ladies. Tell them to look for a small piece of crumpled paper or anything that could have held powder. I don’t think they’ll find it. Bailey!’

Detective-Sergeant Bailey moved down from the sanctuary.

‘Yes, sir?’

‘The next, if you please.’

Bailey went through the little door and reappeared with Claude Wheatley and a general air of having taken an unlucky dip in a bran-tub. Fox returned with another plain-clothes man who went into the vestry.

‘This gentleman isn’t feeling too good, sir. He wants to go home,’ said Bailey.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Claude. ‘Oh, yes, please. Oh, yes.’

‘Sorry you’re upset, Mr Wheatley,’ said Alleyn.

‘Upset! I’m fearfully ill, Inspector. You can’t think. Oh, please may I sit down.’

‘Do.’

Claude sank into one of the Initiates’ chairs and gazed wide-eyed at the inspector.

‘I feel too ghastly,’ he moaned.

‘What upset you?’

‘That appalling old woman. She said such frightful things. I do think old women are awful.’

‘Whom do you mean?’

‘The Candour female.’

‘What did she say to upset you?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. I do feel shocking.’

Dr Curtis came out of Garnette’s room and strolled down.

‘Mr Wheatley felt a bit squeamish,’ he said cheerfully, ‘but he’ll be all right. He’s had a peg of some really excellent brandy. Father Garnette’s a lucky man.’

‘Splendid,’ rejoined Alleyn. ‘Would you be a good fellow and go back to them, Curtis? Some of the others may need attention.’

‘Certainly.’ Curtis and Alleyn exchanged a glance and the doctor returned.

‘Now, Mr Wheatley,’ Alleyn began. ‘I think you look much better. I’ve a few questions I’d like to put to you. You can refuse to answer if you think it advisable.’

‘Yes, but that’s all very well. Suppose I do refuse, then you’ll start thinking things.’

‘I might, certainly.’

‘Yes – well – there!’

‘Difficult for you,’ remarked Alleyn.

‘Well, anyway,’ said Claude very peevishly, ‘you can ask them. I may as well know what they are.’

‘I have already asked the first. What did Mrs Candour say to upset you?’

Claude wriggled.

‘Jealous old cat. The whole thing is she loathes Father Garnette taking the slightest notice of anybody else. She’s always too loathsomely spiteful for words – especially to Lionel and me. How she dared! And anyway everybody knows all about it. I’d hardly be stupid enough to –’ Here Claude stopped short.

‘To do what, Mr Wheatley?’

‘To do anything like that, even if I wanted to, and anyway I always thought Cara Quayne was a marvellous person – so piercingly decorative.’

‘What would you hardly be stupid enough to do?’ asked Alleyn patiently.

‘To – well – well – to do anything to the wine. Everybody knows it was my week to make preparation.’

‘You mean you poured the wine into the silver flagon and put the methylated tablet into the cup. What did Mrs Candour suggest?’

‘She didn’t actually suggest anything. She simply said I did it. She kept on saying so. Old cat.’

‘I shouldn’t let it worry you. Now, Mr Wheatley, will you think carefully. Did you notice any peculiar, any unusual smell when you poured out the wine?’

‘Any smell!’ ejaculated Claude opening his eyes very wide. ‘Any smell!’

‘Any smell.’

‘Well, of course I’d just lit all the censers you know. Don’t you think our incense is rather divine, Inspector? Father Garnette gets it from India. It’s sweet-almond blossom. There’s the oil too. We burn a dish of the oil in front of the altar. I lit it just before I got the wine. It’s a gorgeous perfume.’

‘Evidently. You got the bottle of wine from Mr Garnette’s room. Was it unopened?’

‘Yes. I drew the cork.’

‘You put nothing else in the flagon?’

Claude looked profoundly uncomfortable.

‘Well – well, anyway I didn’t put any poison in, if that’s what you’re hinting.’

‘What else did you put?’

‘If you must know it’s something from a little bottle that Father Garnette keeps. It has a ceremonial significance. It’s always done.’

‘Have you any idea what it is?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Where is this bottle kept?’

‘In the little cupboard in Father Garnette’s room.’

‘I see. Now as I understand it you took the wine to each of the Initiates in turn. Did you at any time notice an unusual smell from the cup?’

‘I never touched the cup, Inspector. I never touched it. They all handed it round from one to the other. I didn’t notice any smell except the incense. Not ever.’

‘Right. Did you notice Miss Quayne at all when she took the cup?’

‘Did I notice her? My God, yes.’

‘What happened exactly?’

‘It was simply appalling. You see I thought she was in Blessed Ecstasy. Well, I mean she was, up to the time she took the cup. She had spoken in ecstasy and everything. And then she drank. And then oh, it was frightful! She gave a sort of gasp. A fearfully deep gasp and sort of sharp. She made a face. And then she kind of slewed round and she dropped the cup. Her eyes looked like a doll’s eyes. Glistening. And then she twitched all over – jerked – ugh! She fell down in a sort of jerk. Oh, I’m going to be sick, I think.’

‘No, you’re not,’ said the inspector very firmly. ‘You are going home. Go into the vestry and change your clothes.’

‘Where’s Lionel?’

‘He’ll join you in a moment. Goodnight.’

‘Oh,’ said Claude rolling a languishing eye at Alleyn, ‘you are marvellous, Inspector. Oh, I would so very much rather not be sick. Goodbye.’

‘Goodnight.’

Claude, under escort, walked with small steps into the vestry where they could hear him talking in a sort of feeble scream to the officer who searched him.

‘Oh,’ cried Inspector Fox suddenly in a falsetto voice, ‘oh, Inspector, I think I’m going to be sick.’

‘And well you might be,’ said Nigel, grinning. ‘What a loathly, what a nauseating, what an unspeakable little dollop.’

‘Horrid, wasn’t it?’ agreed Alleyn absently. ‘Damn that incense,’ he added crossly. ‘Sweet almond too, just the very thing –’ he paused and stared thoughtfully at Fox. ‘Let’s have Lionel,’ he said.

Lionel was produced. His manner was a faithful reproduction of Claude’s and he added nothing that was material to the evidence. He was sent into the vestry, whence he and Claude presently emerged wearing, the one, a saxe-blue and the other, a pinkish-brown suit. They fussed off down the aisle and disappeared. Alleyn sent for Mrs Candour.