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

‘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 deity, 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.’