Inspector Alleyn 3-Book Collection 2: Death in Ecstasy, Vintage Murder, Artists in Crime. Ngaio Marsh
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dear fellow,’ said Alleyn quickly, ‘indeed I am not. Please forgive me if I am odiously facetious sometimes. It’s a bad habit I’ve got. I assure you that if I really thought you slow in the uptake I should never dream of ragging you. You’re kind enough to let me show off and I take advantage of it. Do forgive me.’
He looked so distressed and spoke with such charming formality that Nigel was both embarrassed and delighted.
‘Chief Detective-Inspector,’ he said, ‘I am your Watson, and your worm. You may both sit and trample on me. I shall continue to offer you the fruits of my inexperience.’
‘Very nicely put, Mr Bathgate,’ said Fox.
Alleyn and Nigel stared at him, but he was perfectly serious.
‘Well,’ said Alleyn hurriedly,’ to return to the Candour. She gave, as you say, a very nasty little exhibition. Would she have done so if she’d killed Miss Quayne? It’s possible. She certainly tried to ladle out sympathy later on. She was the first to take the cup. That’s a naught that may be a trifle. So much for her. B. M. de Ravigne.’
‘Ah, now, the French gentleman,’ said Fox. ‘He was in love with the deceased and owned up quite frank to it. Well now, it would have come out anyway, so there’s not a great deal in his frankness, I must say. There seem to have been some nice goings-on between deceased and the minister. Mr Pringle evidently was an eyewitness. Now monsieur never hinted at anything of the sort.’
‘And therefore thought the more,’ murmured Alleyn. ‘Yes, Fox, he was very cool, wasn’t he?’
‘Remarkable,’ said Fox, ‘until I handled deceased’s photograph and then he blazed up like a rocket. What about this crime passionel the French jokers are always dragging in? They let ‘em off for that sort of thing over there. Did you notice what Miss Wade said about the handkerchief?’
‘I did.’
‘He’s a very cool hand is monsieur,’ repeated Fox.
‘We’ll have to trace their friendship back to Paris, I dare say,’ said Alleyn wearily. ‘Oh, Lord! C. Miss Wade. I’m taking them in the order in which they knelt. She comes next.’
‘Nothing there,’ said Nigel. ‘She’s just a little pagan church-hen with a difference. Rather a nice old girl, I thought.’
‘She spoke very silly to the chief,’ pronounced Fox with unexpected heat. “Have you been through the Police College, officer?” These old ladies! You could write a book on them. She’s the sort that makes point-duty what it is.’
‘I adored the way she said she had her eyes shut all through the cup ceremony, and then told you what each of them did,’ said Nigel. ‘Didn’t you, Alleyn?’
‘Yes,’ said Alleyn. ‘It was extremely helpful and rather interesting.’
‘D. will be Mr Pringle,’ observed Fox. ‘And here we go again. To my way of thinking he’s the most likely type. Neurotic, excitable young gentleman and dopes, as you found out, sir.’
‘I agree,’ said Alleyn. ‘He is a likely type. He’s in a bad way. He’s had a violent emotional jolt and he’s suffering from the after-effects of unbridled hero-worship. Silly young dolt. I hope it’s not Pringle.’
‘Obviously,’ ventured Nigel, ‘he would look on Miss Quayne as Garnette’s evil genius.’
‘Yes,’ murmured Alleyn. ‘I don’t pretend to speak with any sort of authority, but I should expect a person in Pringle’s condition to turn against the object of his worship rather than against the – what shall I call her? – the temptress. I should expect him in the shock of his discovery to direct his violence against Garnette there and then, not against Miss Quayne some three weeks later. I may be quite wrong about that,’ he added after a minute or two. ‘However – there is Pringle. He’s neurotic, he’s dopey, and he’s had a severe emotional shock. He hero-worshipped Garnette and made a hideous discovery. He’s probably been living in an ugly little hell of his own for the last three weeks. By the way, we haven’t sampled Mr Garnette’s cigarettes, have we? Another little job for the analyst.’
‘Now Miss Jenkins,’ said Fox. ‘She’s E.’
‘She struck me as being a pleasant creature,’ said Nigel. ‘Rather amusing I should think. Not a “lovely” of course, but moderately easy to look at. Intelligent.’
‘Very intelligent,’ agreed Alleyn.
‘How she got herself mixed up in this show beats me,’ confessed Fox. ‘A nice young lady like that.’
‘She practically said herself,’ Nigel interrupted. ‘She’s attached to that ass Pringle. Women are –’
‘Yes, yes,’ interrupted Alleyn hastily. ‘We needn’t go into all that, I think, As far as we’ve got there’s no motive apparent in Miss Jenkins’s case. We are back at Ogden.’
‘F. Mr Ogden,’ said Fox solemnly. ‘It seems to me, sir, the only call we’ve got for suspecting Mr Ogden more than anybody else is that he’s an American, and it seems as if Father Garnette’s another. It don’t amount to much.’
‘It don’t,’ said Alleyn. ‘Personally I fancy the Atlantic meeting was their first one. I agree with you, Fox.’
‘As regards Father Garnette’s later utterances,’ said Nigel, ‘we had a clear case of in vino veritas.’
‘Someone was bound to say in vino veritas sooner or later,’ said Alleyn, ‘but you are quite right, Bathgate.’
‘That’s the lot, then,’ said Nigel.
‘No. Again you’ve forgotten Opifex.’
‘Opifex? What do you mean?’
‘Another classical touch. Don’t you remember the rhyme in the Latin text-books:
Common are to either sex
Artifex and Opifex.
‘Quite good names for Lionel and Claude.’
‘Really, Inspector!’ protested Nigel, grinning broadly.
‘Artifex was busy with the censer and seems unlikely. Opifex had, of course, less opportunity than the others. I understand he did not handle the cup?’
‘I don’t think he did,’ said Nigel. ‘Of course he was bending over the Initiates while they passed it round.’
‘Meaning Mr Wheatley?’ asked Fox.
‘Yes. Mr Claude Wheatley.’
‘Hardly got the guts to kill anybody, would you think, sir?’
‘I’d say not,’ agreed Nigel heartily.
‘They call poison a woman’s weapon, don’t they?’ asked Alleyn vaguely. ‘A dangerous generalisation. Well, let’s go home. There’s one more point I want to clear up. Any prints of interest, Bailey?’
Detective-Sergeant Bailey had returned from the bedroom and had been at work on the parcel and the book. He had not uttered a word for some time. He now said with an air of disgruntled boredom: ‘Nothing on the book. Reverend Garnette on the parcel, I think, but I’ll take a photograph. There’s some prints in the bedroom besides the Reverend’s. I think they are Mr Pringle’s. I got a good one of his from that rail out there. Noticed him leaning on it.’
‘Did you find out how the torch is worked?’
‘Yes. Naphtha. Bottle in the vestry.’
‘Can you ginger it up for a moment, Bailey?’
‘Very good, sir.’
‘Have you got any cigarette-papers on you?’
Bailey, looking completely disinterested,