Читать книгу Death in Ecstasy - Ngaio Marsh, Stella Duffy - Страница 13

Mrs Candour had wept and her tears had blotted her make-up. She had dried them and in doing so had blotted her make-up again. Her face was an unlovely mess of mascara, powder and rouge. It hung in flabby pockets from the bone of her skull. She looked bewildered, frightened and vindictive. Her hands were tremulous. She was a large woman born to be embarrassingly ineffectual. In answer to Alleyn’s suggestion that she should sit on one of the chairs, she twitched her loose lips, whispered something and walked towards them with that precarious gait induced by excessive flesh mounted on French heels. She moved in a thick aura of essence of violet. Alleyn waited until she was seated before he gave her the customary information that she was under no obligation to answer any questions. He paused, but she made no comment. She simply stared in front of her with lacklustre eyes.

‘I take it,’ said Alleyn, ‘that you have no objection. Was Miss Cara Quayne a personal friend of yours?’

‘Not a great friend.’

‘An acquaintance?’

‘Yes. We – we – only met here.’ Her voice was thin and faintly common. ‘At least, well, I did go to see her once or twice.’

‘Have you got any ideas on the subject of this business?’

‘Oh my God!’ moaned Mrs Candour. ‘I believe it was a judgment.’

‘A judgment?’

Mrs Candour drew a lace handkerchief from her bosom.

‘What had Miss Quayne done,’ asked Alleyn, ‘to merit so terrible a punishment?’

‘She coveted the vow of Odin.’

‘I’m afraid I do not know what that implies.’

‘That is how I feel about it,’ said Mrs Candour, exactly as if she had just finished a lucid and explicit statement. ‘Father Garnette is above all that sort of thing. He is not of this world. He had told us so, often and often. But Cara was a very passionate sort of woman.’ She dropped her voice and added with an air of illicit relish: ‘Cara was dreadfully over-sexed. Pardon me.’

‘Oh,’ said Alleyn.

‘Yes. Of course I know that ecstatic union is blessed, but ecstatic union is one thing and –’ Here Mrs Candour stopped short and looked frightened.

‘Do you mean,’ said Alleyn, ‘that – ?’

‘I don’t mean anything definite,’ interrupted Mrs Candour in a hurry. ‘Please, please don’t attach any importance to what I’ve just said. It was only my idea. I’m so dreadully upset. Poor Cara. Poor, poor Cara.’

‘Mr Claude Wheatley tells me –’

‘Don’t you believe anything that little beast says, Mr – er – Inspector – er –’

‘Inspector Alleyn, madam.’

‘Oh – Inspector Alleyn. Claude’s a little pig. Always prying into other people’s affairs. I’ve told Father, but he’s so good he doesn’t see.’

‘I gather you rather upset Mr Wheatley by referring to his preparations for the service.’

‘Serves him right if I did. He kept on saying it was murder, he knew it was murder, and that Cara was such a lovely woman and everyone was jealous of her. I just said: “Well,” I said, “if she was murdered,” I said, “who prepared the goblet and the flagon?” And then he fainted. I thought it looked very queer.’

‘Miss Quayne was a very beautiful woman, I believe?’ said Alleyn casually.

‘I never could see it. Of course, if you admire that type. But just because that M. de Ravigne went silly over her – I mean everyone knows what foreigners are like. If you give them any encouragement, that is. Well, I myself – I suppose Claude told you that – about her looks, I mean. Or was it Father Garnette? Was it?’

‘I’m afraid I don’t remember,’ said Alleyn.

Mrs Candour jerked her chin up. For a second her face was horrible. ‘Cara doesn’t look very pretty now,’ she said softly.

Alleyn turned away.

‘I mustn’t keep you any longer,’ he said. ‘There’s only one other point. You were the first, after Mr Garnette, to take the cup. Did you notice any peculiar smell?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t remember. No, I don’t think so.’

‘I see. Thank you. That is all, I think.’

‘I may go home?’

‘Certainly. There is a wardress in the lobby. Would you object to being examined?’

‘Searched!’

‘Just looked over, you know. It’s the usual thing.’

‘Oh, yes, please – I’d rather – much rather.’

‘Thank you. You will be given notice of the inquest.’

‘The inquest! Oh, how dreadful. I don’t know how I’m to get over this – I’m so shockingly sensitive. Inspector Alleyn, you’ve been marvellously kind. I always thought that police methods were brutal.’ She looked up at him with a general air of feminine helplessness somewhat negatived by a glint of appraisal in her eye. It was a ghastly combination. She held out her hand.

‘Goodbye, Inspector Alleyn.’

‘Good evening, madam,’ said Alleyn.

She wobbled away on her French heels.

‘This is a very unsavoury case,’ said Nigel.

‘It’s murder,’ said Inspector Fox mildly.

‘Most foul,’ added Alleyn, ‘as at the best it is. But this most foul – Yes, I agree with you, Bathgate. Bailey!’

‘Here,’ said that worthy, rising up from behind the lectern.

‘Next please.’

‘Right, sir.’

‘What did you make of Mrs Candour?’ asked Alleyn.

‘A perfectly appalling old girl,’ said Nigel fervently.

‘Oh, yes. All that. Almost a pathological case, one might imagine. Still, the exhibition of jealousy was interesting, didn’t you think, Fox?’

‘Yes, I did,’ agreed Fox. ‘This Father Garnette seems to be a peculiar sort of man for the ministry.’

‘Exactly.’

‘When she made that appalling remark about Cara not looking very pretty now,’ said Nigel, ‘she was positively evil. Without a shadow of doubt she loathed the poor woman. I am surprised at your allowing her to escape. She should have been handcuffed immediately, I consider.’

‘Don’t show off,’ said Alleyn abstractedly.

‘I’ll be right there, Ahfficer. Where’s the Chief?’ cried Mr Ogden from afar. He appeared with Bailey by the altar, saw Alleyn, and made straight for him.

‘Well, well, well. Look what’s here!’ exclaimed Mr Ogden.

‘Yes, look,’ said Alleyn. ‘It’s a pathetic sight, Mr Ogden. Here we go grubbing along – however.’

‘Say, Inspector, what’s the big idea? You look kind of world-weary.’

‘Do I, Mr Ogden, do I?’

‘And just when I was congratulating myself on sitting right next the works for an inside survey of British criminal investigation.’

‘And now you’ll never talk again about our wonderful police.’

‘Is that so? Well, I’m not saying anything.’

‘You won’t mind if I ask you a few dreary questions, perhaps? We have to do our stuff, you know.’

‘Go right ahead. My, my!’ said Mr Ogden contemplating Alleyn with an air of the liveliest satisfaction. ‘You certainly are the goods. I guess you’ve got British Manufacture stamped some place where it won’t wear off. All this quiet deprecation – it’s direct from a sure-fire British best-seller. I can’t hardly believe it’s true.’

Nigel, from his unobtrusive seat by Fox, allowed himself an irritating grin. Alleyn saw it and looked furious.

‘That sounds a very damning description, Mr Ogden,’ he said, and hurried on. He asked Ogden if he had noticed a peculiar smell and got the now customary reply that the reek of incense was so strong that it would drown any other smell.

‘Though, now I get to thinking about it,’ added Mr Ogden, ‘I do seem to remember it was uncommon powerful tonight. Yes, sir, I believe I thought those two he-he boys were certainly hitting up the atmosphere.’

‘Can you remember at what precise moment you thought this?’

Mr Ogden’s face became very pink. For the first time since Alleyn met him he hesitated.

‘Well, Mr Ogden?’

‘Well now, Inspector, I can’t remember. Isn’t that just too bad?’

‘Miss Jenkins was next to you in the circle, wasn’t she?’

‘That is correct,’ said Mr Ogden tonelessly.

‘Yes. Now look here, sir. You’re a business man I take it?’

‘Surely.’

‘Thank God for that. I don’t know how much this organisation means to you, and I don’t want to say anything that will be offensive, but I’m longing for a sensible man’s view of the whole situation. An intelligent and knowledgeable view.’

‘Inside dope,’ said Mr Ogden.

‘Exactly.’

‘Go right ahead. Maybe I’ll talk and maybe not. Maybe I don’t know anything.’

‘I gather you are an officer of the executive?’

‘That’s so. A Warden.’

‘You know all these people quite well, I suppose?’

‘Why, yes. We are all enthusiastic about uplift. The spirit of comradeship pervades our relationship. You Britishers are weaned on starch, I guess, but I hand myself out a whole lot of roses for the way I’ve got this bunch started. Right at the commencement of the movement they used to sit round looking at each other like they all suffered from frostbite. Now they’ve got together like regular fellows. They’re a great little crowd.’

‘You’ve been interested in the organisation since its foundation?’

‘That’s so. That was way back in – why, it must be two years ago. I met up with Father Garnette coming across to England. I move about some, Inspector. That’s my job. That trip it was the Brightwater Creek Gold Mining Company. Yes, that’s what it would be. I recollect I had Father Garnette accept a small nugget as a souvenir. That would be May two years ago. I was very, very much impressed with Father Garnette’s personality.’

‘Really,’ said Alleyn.

‘Yes, sir. I’m a self-made man, Chief. I was raised in a ten-cent fish joint, and my education simply forgot to occur, but when I meet culture I respect it. I like it handed out good and peppy, and that’s the way Father Garnette let me have it. By the time we hit Southampton we’d doped out a scheme for this church, and before six months had passed we were drawing congregations of three hundred.’

‘Remarkable,’ said Alleyn.

‘It was swell.’

‘Where did the money come from?’

‘Why, from the flock. Father Garnette had a small hall ‘way down Great Holland Road. Compared with this it was a bum show, but say, did we work it? The Father had a service every night for a month. He got right down to it. A small bunch of very influential people came along. Just one or two, but they roped in more. When he’d got them all enthusiastic he had an appeal week and loosed a line of high-voltage oratory. Sob-stuff. I gave five grand and I’m proud to spill the beans.’

‘Who were the other subscribers?’

‘Why, Dagmar Candour was in on the plush seats with a thousand pounds and poor Cara checked in at the same level. Each of those ladies seemed ambitious to carry off the generosity stakes. Then there was M. de Ravigne and – and all the bunch of Initiates. I guess I’d hold up operations some if I recited all the subscribers.’

‘Miss Quayne must have been a very wealthy woman?’

‘She was very, very wealthy, and she had a lovely nature. Why, only last month she deposited five thousand in bearer bonds in the safe back there beyond the altar. They are waiting there until another five is raised among the rest of us and then it’s to form a building fund for a new church. That’s how generous she was.’

Nigel had paused, pen in air, to gape at Mr Ogden’s enthusiastic countenance, and to reflect a little childishly on the gullibility of average men and women. None of these people was particularly stupid, he would say, except perhaps Mrs Candour. Miss Quayne had looked interesting. Mr Ogden was obviously an intelligent business man. Janey Jenkins, Maurice Pringle, M. de Ravigne were none of them idiots. He forgot all about Miss Wade. Yet all these apparently sensible individuals had been duped by Garnette into parting with sums of money. Extraordinary! At this moment he remembered his own reaction to Father Garnett’s oratory and felt less superior.