Authors: Ngaio Marsh
Tags: #Fiction, #General, #det_classic, #Mystery & Detective, #London (England), #Police Procedural, #Police, #Cults, #Alleyn; Roderick (Fictitious character), #Detective and mystery stories; New Zealand
Death in Ecstasy (12 page)
“That was very honourable of you, Nannie. I’m sorry, the ‘Nannie’ slipped out.”
“You’re very welcome, sir. I’ve always been Nannie, ever since — she could talk.”
She bit her lip and then went on:
“From the time she went into that wicked place everything went badly. And I couldn’t do anything to stop it. I couldn’t do anything. I had to stand by and watch my — my — Miss Cara turn her back on the Lord and go down the way of damnation. She took me with her once,” added Nannie, ambiguously. “The sight of the place, full of naked heathen idols and all the baubles of Satan — it was worse than Rome. There! And when I found out she was going to be the leader in that lewd mockery of her own Church I wished she had died when she was an innocent baby. I wished—”
She broke off abruptly. She was shaking from head to foot. The whole of her last speech had been reeled off in a high key as though she was giving an oration. Nigel was reminded of a woman he had heard preaching at the Marble Arch. Here was a real revivalist fervour, pig-headed, stupid, arrogant. After last night it seemed blessedly straightforward and clean.
“Steady, Nannie,” said Alleyn.
“Yes, sir. Thank you. But I don’t feel steady when I think of my poor lamb cut off in the midst of her silly wickedness, like as not with heathenish words on her lips. As the Lord’s my judge, sir, I’d have rather she’d gone over to Rome that time when she was still an innocent baby, that I would.”
“Was it entirely through M. de Ravigne that she became interested in this Church?”
“He started it. He took her off there one evening. Said he thought it would ‘amuse’ her. Amuse! Not much amusement in any respectable sense of the word. And that Mr. Garnette — Reverend I will not call him — he made what was bad enough, goodness knows, ten thousand times worse. If it had been Satan himself speaking straight out of hell, he couldn’t have spoke wickeder. And the goings on! She thought I didn’t know. I knew.”
“How did you know?”
Nannie looked slightly taken aback at this question.
“I heard remarks passed when that lot came here to see her. That Mrs. Candour. You could tell at a glance. Not a
nice
woman, and not a lady either. And Miss Wade, who ought to know better at her age, always talking, talking, talking about ‘Dear Father Garnette.’ Father! Father of lies! And I had to stand aside and watch my baby drawing nearer and nearer to hell fire—”
She broke off again. Her lips trembled. She passed her hand over them and fell silent.
“What were Miss Quayne’s movements yesterday?” asked Alleyn.
She had spent the morning in her room, it appeared, engaged in meditation. She had not lunched. At about two o’clock she had sent for her car and the chauffeur had told Nannie that he had driven her to the church. He remembered glancing at his watch a second or two before she came out. It was then ten to three. He had said to the other servants that Miss Quayne seemed very upset when she came out. He drove her straight home.
“One more question,” said Alleyn. “Where were you last night when we tried to get you on the telephone?”
“I was out for a walk.”
“Out for a walk! In that weather?”
“Yes, sir. She’d told me that it was her first evening as Chosen whatever-it-was, and I was that upset and wretched! I tried to talk her out of it but she hardly listened. She just went away as if she didn’t hear me. When the door shut and I was left by myself I couldn’t endure it. I’d meant to go to chapel but I couldn’t. I put on my hat and jacket and I followed her.”
“To the hall?”
“Yes, sir. Miss Cara had taken the car, of course, so I knew I wouldn’t catch her up, but somehow I felt I’d walk. I was desperate, sir.”
“I think I understand. What did you mean to do when you got there?”
“I hardly know. I think I’d have gone in and — and stood up for the Lord in the midst of His enemies. I think I meant to do that, but when I got there the doors were shut and a young pimply-faced fellow said I couldn’t get in. He said he’d been had once already that evening. I don’t know what he meant. So I went away and as I went I heard them caterwauling inside, and it drove me nearly demented. I walked in the rain a long way and it was late when I got in. The others were back and in bed. I waited for her. I was still waiting when the police rang up. Morning it was then.”
“Oh, yes. By the way, when did you write to Mr. Garnette to warn him off Miss Cara?”
It would be difficult to say which looked the more astounded at this, Nigel or Nannie. Nannie stared into the mirror over Alleyn’s head for some seconds, and then said with a snap:
“Friday night.”
“He got it on Saturday?”
“Yes.”
“And you went to the hall to see if he had taken heed?”
“Yes.”
“I see. Thank you, Nannie.”
The old woman hesitated and when she spoke again it was more haltingly.
“There’s more to it than that. When I got there and the door was shut in my face, I couldn’t rest till I knew — knew if she was doing it. I walked round the block to the back of the building. I came to a sort of yard, I could still hear the noise inside. There was a door. I stood by it listening. There was one voice, louder than the others. Then I saw the door was not quite shut — and — and—”
“You walked in.”
“Yes, sir, I did. I felt I had to. I had to
know
. It was that man’s rooms I’d got into. There was a light in the sitting-room. The voice got louder all the time. I–I went in. Miss Cara had told me about him living on the premises in that hole-and-corner fashion, so I knew about the other door — the one into the hall. I opened it a little way. There’s a curtain, but I pulled it aside.”
A dark flush crept into the pale face. She looked defiantly at Alleyn.
“I tell you I could not help myself.”
“I know. What did you see?”
“They were moving. I could see the front row. I saw her. Miss Cara. She came running up the steps toward me. That man was quite close. His back was turned to me. Her face. Her pretty face — it looked dreadful. Then she turned and faced them. She was calling out. Screaming. I tried to go in and stop it. I couldn’t. I couldn’t move. Only watch. I might have saved her. No, don’t say anything — I might. Then I saw that lot coming up after her. Skirmishing round.”
“Yes. Go on,” said Alleyn quickly. “Tell me exactly—”
“I’ll remember to my dying day. First that American gentleman, Ogden. Then one or two of them together, then the young man and Miss Jenkins. The only one of the lot I’d care to have anything to do with. Led astray like my poor child. Mrs. Candour and old Miss Wade were trying to get one on each side of that man. I saw Mrs. Candour push in by him. Miss Wade tried to get in on the other side. She was in a great-taking-on. In the end she didn’t get there. Collided with the American gentleman and nearly fell over. It’s my belief he stopped her on purpose, having some sense of decency.”
“Oh. What did she do then?”
“He put her next to Mr. Ravigne and went next to that man himself. Then my poor child began again. Don’t ask me. I can’t — I couldn’t watch. Something seemed to break in me. I turned and — and somehow I got out into the street.”
She turned her head aside, gave a harsh sob and then blew her nose defiantly.
Alleyn stood up.
“You must try and get a sleep now.”
Nannie was silent.
“At least your Miss Cara is out of it all.”
“I thank God for that,” said Nannie.
“I won’t keep you a minute longer. Do you know if Miss Quayne has left a Will?”
“She made one years ago, sir, when she came of age, but I think she’s changed it. She told me she was going to Mr. Rattisbon — that’s her lawyer — about it. That lot have been getting money out of her, as well I know.”
“Much?”
“I don’t know, sir, but I have my ideas. A great deal, if you ask me. And I dare say she’ll have left them the rest.” She hesitated and then raised her voice. “And if she’s been murdered, sir, it’s for her money. Mark my words, it’s for her money.”
“It often is,” said Alleyn. “Thank you. Go and rest somewhere. You need it, you know.”
Nannie glared down her nose, muttered: “Very considerate, I’m sure,” and tramped to the door. Here she paused and turned.
“May I ask a favour, sir?”
“Certainly.”
“Can I — will they let me have her home again before she’s put away?”
“Not just yet, Nannie,” said Alleyn gently. “Tomorrow, perhaps — but — I think it would be better not.”
She looked fixedly at him and then, without another word, went out of the room.
Nigel Takes Stock
Grand old, girl, that,” said Nigel from his armchair.
“Wasn’t she?” agreed Alleyn. “That doorkeeper in the house of the ungodly will have to be seen.”
“To check up on her visit?”
“Just that.”
“Look here,” said Nigel, “how did you know?”
“Never mind. Keep quiet. Now I’ll have to see the rest of the staff.”
The rest of the staff proved to be unproductive of much intelligence. Two housemaids, a parlourmaid, a chauffeur and a cook, who all seemed excited and perturbed as if they had one eye on the tragedy and the other on losing their jobs. The parlourmaid, outwardly a frigid woman, obviously regarded the affair as a personal affront and seemed at the same time to be in a semi-explosive condition. The upper-housemaid was excited, the under-housemaid was incoherent. The cook wept, but absent-mindedly and rather as though she felt it incumbent on her as a fat, comfortable woman to do so. They bore out Nannie’s statements as regards their movements on the preceding day. The chauffeur repeated his previous statement that he had driven Miss Quayne to the church at two-thirty and had brought her home at five to three. He had certainly thought she seemed most upset when she came out of the church. “Kind of flabbergasted,” was the way he’d describe it. She was very pale and, he thought, out of breath. He had got tired of sitting in the car and had walked up the side entry to the double doors. Miss Quayne had left one door open and he looked into the hall. He saw her come out of the door by the altar. He thought she said something and supposed she was speaking to Father Garnette. One or two people had gone into the church while he waited. Alleyn asked the parlourmaid, who had been with Miss Quayne since she took the house, how many of the Initiates were regular visitors. He gave her a list of their names which she held in genteel fashion with her little finger crooked.
“Most of these neemes are familiar,” she said.
“Have all of them visited Miss Quayne?”
“Yes.”
“Some more frequently than others?”
“Quayte,” said the parlourmaid, whose name was Wilson.
“Which were the most regular visitors?”
“Mr. Ravinje,” it appeared, Mr. Ogden and Mrs. Candour.
“Mrs. Candour? When was she last here?”
“I could ascertain,” said Wilson, “from the appointment book.”
“Please let me see it.”
Wilson produced the appointment book. It was a diary, and Alleyn spent some minutes over it.
“I notice,” he said at last, “that Mrs. Candour was quite a regular visitor until some three weeks ago. She seems to have lunched or dined pretty well every week. Then her name does not appear again.” He raised an eyebrow at Wilson. “Any reason for that, do you know?”
“There was words,” said Wilson.
“What about?”
“A certain party.”
“Oh. What party? Or don’t you know?”
Wilson drew down the corners of her mouth.
“Come on, Wilson,” said Alleyn. “Let’s know the worst.”
“Well, reelly, I never am in the habit of repeating the drawing-room in the kitchen,” said Wilson.
“This isn’t the kitchen and it may be important. Did Mrs. Candour and Miss Quayne have words about Mr. Garnette?”
“Yes, sir,” said Wilson who seemed to have weighed Alleyn in the balance and found him quality.
“Tell me about it, Wilson. You’ll be speaking in the cause of justice, you know. Think of that and expand. Did this row take place at lunch on Wednesday, November 14th, the last time Mrs. Candour was here?”
“Yes, sir. Or rather it was after lunch. Over the coffee in here.”
“You brought the coffee in?”
“Yes. Voices was raised and I heard words as the ladies came out of the diningroom. I was coming into the hall with the tray and I didn’t hardly know what to do.”
“Very awkward for you. What were they saying?”
Wilson suddenly cast off all parlourmaidenly restraint and launched herself into a verbatim account.
“Mrs. Candour said to Miss Quayne: ‘You know what I mean, quite well,’ sh’ said, ‘I’ve been watching you,’ sh’ said, ‘and I was disgusted,’ sh’ said. That was when they came out of the diningroom and they never noticed me standing there they was so carried away. And Miss Quayne looked at her and she said: ‘I hope I don’t understand you, Dagmar,’ sh’ said. And the way she said it! ‘I hope I don’t understand you, Dagmar,’ sh’ said, ‘because I can’t believe you would let your soul come down to such an earth-plane,’ sh’ said, ‘as to think of Father Garnette and me in such a way,’ sh’ said. And Mrs. Candour laughed and she said: ‘Earth-plane!’ sh’ said. ‘If you’re not revelling on the earth-plane at this very moment I’d like to know who is? Don’t pretend, Cara,’ sh’ said. Then they went into the drawing-room and I waited and I didn’t like to go in and they never shut the door and Miss Quayne said very loud: ‘It’s pathetically clear,’ sh’ said, ‘what’s the matter with you. You’re devoured by jealousy.’ Mrs. Candour gave a kind of — well, a kind of screech, sir, but Miss Quayne said, sh’ said: ‘Because Father Garnette has chosen me to discover the hidden mysteries of the spirit and the body,’ sh’ said — or something like that it was, and then Mrs. Candour laughed. And the way she laughed! Well! And she said: ‘Cara,’ sh’ said, ‘don’t think you can take me in,’ sh’ said, ‘because I know.’ And she said: ‘I promise you, I’m not going to stand aside and see it,’ sh’ said. And then I was that upset I kind of quivered if you understand me, sir, and. the cups rattled and Miss Quayne said: ‘S’ssh!’ sh’ said, ‘Wilson,’ sh’ said. So I walked in.”
“Extraordinarily dramatic!” exclaimed Alleyn. “A princely entrance. And did they drink their coffee?”
“Their hands shook that much they could hardly pour it out, sir.”
“And you withdrew?”
“Yes, sir, and closed the door,” said Wilson, righteous but regretful. A moment later she followed her own example and Alleyn and Nigel were left alone.
“Could you possibly keep up with all that?” asked Alleyn.
“I may have left out an occasional ‘sh’ said.’ Otherwise it’s all here. Do you think Mrs. Candour really talked like that?”
“Wouldn’t be surprised. She’s a very common woman. She’s a liar, what’s more. She said she’d only been twice to this house.”
“I wonder if she’s a murderess,” said Nigel.
‘Too stupid, I’d have thought,“ said Alleyn, ”but you never know. There’s a certain kind of low cunning that comes out very strong on occasion. I wish I had it. I’m scared to death I’ll make a fool of myself over this case. The boss-man is very excited about it. It
ought
to be easy — it’s so startling. Startling cases are generally easy. The difficult cases are the ones when one drunk heaves a brick at another drunk and leaves him lying in the road. Once they go in for fancy touches it’s usually kindergarten stuff. And this is so very fancy, so very extra, so specially Susie. Like to make one of your analyses, Bathgate?”
“What do you mean? My analyses?”
“On paper. All the people and their motives and opportunities with neat little sub-headings. Like a balance-sheet.”
“Do you really want me to?”
“Yes, if you will. I shall be able to cast a superior eye over it and then shatter it with a few facetiae. It will restore my self-respect. No, do make it. You will look at the show from a different point of view. It may easily suggest something. It will be a help. Really.”
“I shall be delighted,” said Nigel and set to work.
Alleyn returned to Cara Quayne’s desk and carried on with the job of sorting her papers. There was a long silence broken only by the rustling of paper, the snap and crackle of the fire, and the sound of Nigel’s pen. Presently he looked up and said:
“There. Finished.”
“Let me see,” said Alleyn.
With a smug but slightly anxious air, Nigel laid his paper before the inspector. This is what he had written:
MURDER OF CARA QUAYNE
Suspects
The Initiates, the priest, and the acolyte.
All of these had the opportunity to slip the cigarette-paper possibly containing cyanide into the cup.
Circumstances
Cara Quayne drank the wine while in a state of great nervous excitement. She seemed to me to be self-hypnotized and scarcely conscious of her actions. I was reminded of a dervish or a negro priestess.
“Have you ever seen one?” asked Alleyn.
“No. That didn’t prevent me from being reminded of one.”
Alleyn read on:
The other Initiates were also in a highly emotional condition, and it is unlikely that they would notice any hanky-panky with the cup.
Garnette
. Probably the only normal person there. He handled the cup twice. He started it off, took it back from Ogden and gave it to Cara Quayne. He had the greatest opportunity. Miss Wade said he covered the cup with one hand so he could have easily dropped the paper into the wine.
Motive
. Deceased had left £5,000 in bearer bonds in his safe. These have been pinched. She had made a “Terrible discovery” and may have told him of it. If he stole the bonds this might induce him to kill her. She may have left him a large sum in her Will.
Note
. A work on poisons was hidden behind his books. It fell open at a recipe for homemade cyanide. Garnette spoke like an American when tight.
Mrs. Candour
. First Initiate to take cup. Jealous of Miss Quayne.
Motive
. Quarrelled with her over Garnette. Oversexed, unattractive, stupid, vindictive. The scrap of paper found in the grate seems to refer to her — “Sir, this is to warn — with M — s Can,” etc.
Could this have been a warning against Mrs. Candour? If so, from whom?
M. de Ravigne
. Second Initiate to handle cup. Miss Wade says he used handkerchief to wipe rim. Might have palmed poison with this.
Motive
. In love with Miss Quayne, who was evidently Garnette’s mistress. A very cool customer. Has known deceased longer than any of the others.
Miss Wade
. Third Initiate to handle cup. Unlikely.
Motive
. None apparent. She seems unaware of the Quayne-Garnette situation.
Pringle
. Fourth to handle cup. Neurotic. Takes drugs. Worships Garnette.
Motive
. He surprised Garnette and Miss Quayne. Possibly shock unhinged him and he determined to save G. Miss W. says he made a botch of handling cup.
Janey Jenkins. Fifth to handle cup. Engaged to Pringle
. Very unlikely.
Motive
. None.
Ogden
. Last. American. Met Garnette coming over to England. Very keen on the church.
Seems
straightforward, but you never know. Has given largely to church funds.
Motive
. Possibly he and Garnette were rogues together in States and are in this together. If so Ogden may have offered to do the killing. Garnette bore out Ogden’s statement when he (G.) was tight.
Claude Wheatley
. Carried round flagon with wine. Could have dropped cyanide into cup. Horrible youth. Dotes on Garnette. Perhaps the Greeks had a word for him.
Motive
. Jealousy. Unlikely. Wouldn’t have the guts.
Note
, if sodium cyanide is found at autopsy it seems certain the book on chemistry is a definite clue. That points to Garnette. Garnette is the obvious man, I think. The chauffeur’s statement about Miss Quayne’s afternoon visit to the church seems to suggest that she found something there that upset her and caused her to write the note to Garnette which Fox found in the cigarette-box.
Here Nigel’s summary stopped abruptly. He had added a few words and scored them out.
“Excellent,” said Alleyn.
“It says nothing new, I’m afraid.”
“No, but it raises several disputable points, which is always helpful. By the way, the analyst rang up just before you came. He has found sodium cyanide in the cigarette-paper, but of course the autopsy will take some time yet.”
“Then the
Curiosities of Chemistry
is an important clue.”
“I don’t know,” said Alleyn slowly, “but I rather fancy it’s not important in quite the way you fancy.”
“Whatever does that mean?”
“There were no prints on that book. Bailey has tried all the stock dodges of dactylography.”
“What may that be? Oh, wait a bit. Dactyl. Why not say ‘fingerprintery’?”
“As you please. He’s dabbed nitrate of silver solution on it and developed the pages. Nothing there. It’s a glossy paper, so someone must have dealt with the book. If Garnette got his big idea from it he must have wiped his fingerprints off and put it where he knew we would find it. A curious combination of forethought and stupidity, don’t you think?”
“Yes, but still — Oh, I don’t know. Go on with Garnette.”
“You note that Garnette was probably the only completely self-possessed person present. A very good point to make. Should you say this crime looks more like the work of a calculating, shrewd, unscrupulous individual, or a hysterical monomaniac with a streak of cunning?”
“The latter, I suppose,” said Nigel slowly, “which Garnette is not. All the same, he might have meant us to think that.”
“Ah,” said Alleyn, “that’s very subtle, Bathgate.”
“Garnette strikes me as being subtlish,” said Nigel. “What do you think about Garnette and Ogden being old partners in infamy?”
“Not a great deal. As I said last night, I think Garnette told the truth when he was tight. If you remember he advanced the colourful suggestion that Ogden looks upon him as the sand-fly’s garters. I’m not well up in Americanese, but I had the distinct impression that Mr. Garnette regards Mr. Ogden as fair and easy game.”
“Look here,” said Nigel suddenly, “let’s pretend it’s a detective novel. Where would we be by this time? About halfway through, I should think. Well, who’s your pick.”
“I am invariably gulled by detective novels. No herring so red but I raise my voice and give chase.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Nigel.
“Fact. You see in real detection herrings are so often out of season.”
“Well, never mind, who’s your pick?”
“It depends on the author. If it’s Agatha Christie, Miss Wade’s occulted guilt drips from every page. Dorothy Sayers’s Lord Peter would plump for Pringle, I fancy. Inspector French would go for Ogden. Of course Ogden, on the face of it, is the first suspect.”