Inspector Alleyn 3-Book Collection 2: Death in Ecstasy, Vintage Murder, Artists in Crime

‘Do you? Would you like some of Mr Garnette’s brandy?’

‘No thank you. I’ll just wait in the back pews if I may.’

‘Of course you may. If it wouldn’t bother you too much the wardress will run over you. Have you ever been searched?’

‘Never. It sounds beastly, but I suppose I must.’

‘That’s very sensible. Inspector Fox will take you to the wardress. I’ll see your young man now.’

Janey walked firmly down the aisle with Fox and disappeared into the shadows. Fox returned and Bailey produced Maurice Pringle.

Maurice looked quickly about him, and stopped like a pointer when he saw Alleyn. At the inspector’s suggestion he came into the hall but refused to sit down. He thrust his hands into his pockets and seemed unable to stand still.

‘Now then, Mr Pringle,’ began Alleyn cheerfully.

‘Where’s Janey? Miss Jenkins?’ demanded Maurice.

‘Waiting for you.’

‘What do you want to know?’

‘Anything you can tell me that’s to the purpose.’

Maurice was silent. Alleyn asked about the smell and heard about the incense. He read Maurice’s previous statements from his notebook.

‘What were you going to say when I came in?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Do you usually speak in half-phrases, Mr Pringle?’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘You said: “I’m going to tell them that –” and then you know I walked in and you stopped.’

Maurice snatched his left hand out of his pocket and bit at one of his fingers.

‘Come. What did you mean by retribution? What would Mrs Candour have had so willingly from Miss Quayne? What had Mr Garnette kept quiet? What were you going to tell them?’

‘I refuse to answer. It’s my affair.’

‘Very good. Fox!’

‘Sir?’

‘Will you tell Miss Jenkins that Mr Pringle does not wish to make any statements at present and that I think she need not wait? See that she gets a taxi, will you? She’s a bit done up.’

‘Very good, sir.’

‘What do you mean?’ said Maurice angrily. ‘I’m taking her home.’ Fox paused.

‘I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to stay a little longer,’ said Alleyn.

‘My God, how I hate officials! Sadism at its worst.’

‘Off you go, Fox.’

‘Stay where you are,’ said Maurice. ‘I’ll – what’s the damn’ phrase – I’ll talk.’

Alleyn smiled and Fox blandly returned to his pew.

‘You are interested in psycho-analysis, Mr Pringle?’ asked Alleyn politely.

‘What’s that got to do with it?’ rejoined Maurice, who seemed to have set himself some impossible standard of discourtesy. ‘I should have thought the British Police Force scarcely knew how to pronounce the word – judging by results.’

‘Someone must have told me about it,’ said Alleyn vaguely.

Maurice looked sharply at him and then turned red.

‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered. ‘This filthy show’s got me all jumpy.’

‘Well it might. I only asked you if you were interested in psychoanalysis because you used that password to the intelligentsia – “sadism.” I don’t suppose you know what it means. What are your views on crowd psychology?’

‘Look here, what the hell are you driving at?’

‘On the psychology of oratory, for instance? What do you think happens to people when they come under the sway of, shall we say, a magnetic preacher?’

‘What happens to them! My God, they are his slaves.’

‘Strong,’ said Alleyn. ‘Would you describe this congregation as Mr Garnette’s slaves?’

‘If you must know – yes. Yes. Yes. Yes!’

‘Yourself included?’

The boy looked strangely at Alleyn as though he was bringing the inspector into focus. His lips trembled.

‘Look,’ he said.

Alleyn walked up to him, looked steadily in his face, and then murmured, so quietly that Nigel did not hear, a single word. Maurice nodded.

‘How did you guess?’

‘You told me to look. It’s your eyes, you know. Contracted pupils. Also, if you’ll forgive me, your bad manners.’

‘I can’t help it.’

‘I suppose not. Is this Mr Garnette’s doing?’