Death in Ecstasy (15 page)

“Yes — yes — yes.”

Garnette pulled himself together and cast upon both ladies a sort of languishing glare.

He said: “Faithful! Faithful unto—” and then, disliking the sound of the phrase, hurriedly abandoned it.

Ogden let them all go and then walked up to Alleyn.

“Can I have a word with you, Chief?” he asked.

“Certainly, Mr. Ogden.”

“What are you going to say?” demanded Garnette.

“That’s nobody’s business, Garnette,” said Ogden. “C’m on, Chief!”

He fed the way out into the hall, followed by Alleyn, Nigel and Fox. When they were down in the aisle, he jerked his thumb at Nigel.

“I ain’t giving interviews this trip, Mr. Bathgate,” he said, “and something seems to tell me you’re a Pressman.”

“Mr. Bathgate is not here in his official capacity,” said Alleyn. “I think we can trust him.”

“Seems like I’m doing a helluva lot of trusting. Well — if you say so, Chief, that’s O.K. by me.”

Nigel returned to his old perch in the front pews, and Mr. Ogden paid no further attention to him. He addressed himself to Alleyn.

“Listen, Chief. I’ve spent quite a lot of my time in this little old island, but right now is the first occasion I’ve come into contact with the Law. Back home in God’s Own Country I’d say a guy was crazy to do what I’m doing. But listen, Chief. I guess you’re on the level, and I guess you ain’t so darned polite you can’t do your stuff.”

Here Mr. Ogden paused, drew out a large silk handkerchief and wiped his neck with it.

“Hell,” he said. “This has got me all shot to bits.”

“What’s in your mind, Mr. Ogden?” asked Alleyn.

“Hell,” repeated Mr. Ogden. “Well, listen. They opine that in this country you don’t get the hot squat, not without you earn it good and plenty.”

“I beg your pardon?” said Alleyn, gazing at him. “Oh! I see. I think you’re quite right. There are no miscarriages of justice in capital charges on the conviction side. Only, we hang them over here, you know.”

“That’s so,” agreed Mr. Ogden, “but the principle’s the same.”

“True,” said Alleyn.

Mr. Ogden seemed to find extreme difficulty in coming to the point. He rolled his eyes and goggled solemnly at Alleyn.

“Listen, Chief,” he said again, “I guess that you’ve got it figured out that whoever owns the book of the words and songs did the murder.”

“You mean the book on chemistry?”

“Yup.”

“It certainly looks rather like that.”

“Then it looks all cockeyed,” said Mr. Ogden violently. “It looks all too — Hell! Do you know why?”

“I think I can guess,” said Alleyn, smiling.

“You can! Well I’d be—”

“I rather fancied that book belonged to you.”

“Chief, you said it,” said Mr. Ogden.

“You said it,” repeated Mr. Ogden and collapsed into a pew.

“Cheer up, Mr. Ogden,” said Alleyn.

Mr. Ogden passed his handkerchief across his brow and contemplated the inspector with a certain expression of low cunning that reminded Nigel of a precocious baby.

“Maybe I seemed a mite too eager about that book,” he said. “Maybe I kinda gave you the works.”

“My inspiration dates a little further back than that,” said Alleyn. “You told us last night that you were interested in gold-refining. A letter which we found in your pockets referred rather fully to a new process. It assumed a certain knowledge of chemistry on your part. The book is an American publication. It was a little suggestive, you see.”

“Yup,” said Mr. Ogden, “I see. Now listen. I bought that book years ago, way back in the pre-war period when I first began to sit up and take notice. I was a junior clurk at the time in the offices of a gold-refining company. Junior clurk is a swell name for office-boy. I lit on that book layout in the rain on a five-cent stall, and I was ambitious to educate myself. It’s kinda stayed around ever since. The book, I mean. When I came over here it was laying in one of my grips, and I let it lay. I know a bit more than I useter, and some of them antique recipes tickled me. Well, anyhow, it stuck, and when I got fixed where I am now I packed it in the bookshelves along with the Van Dines and the
National Geographics
and the
Saturday Evening Posts
. I never opened it. And get this, Chief, I never missed it till last night.”

“Last night? At what time?”

“After I got home. I got to thinking about Cara, and I figured it out that she passed in her checks very, very sudden, and that the suddenest poison I knew was prussic acid. Hydrocyanic acid if you want to talk Ritzy. I thought maybe I’d refresh my memory and I looked for the old book. Nothing doing. It was gone. What do you know about that?”

“What do
you
know about it?” rejoined Alleyn.

“Listen,” said Mr. Ogden for about the twentieth time that afternoon. “I know this far. It was there four weeks back. Four weeks back from tonight I threw a party. All the Sacred Flame crowd was there. Garnette was there. And Raveenje. And Cara Quayne. All the gang, even Miss Wade, who has a habit of getting mislaid or overlooked: she was there and cracking hardy. Well, Raveenje, he’s enthusiastic about literature. First editions are all published by Pep and Kick as he sees it. I saw him looking along the shelves and I yanked down the old
Curiosities
for him to have a slant at. Well, maybe it hadn’t enough whiskers on it, but it seemed to excite him about as much as a raspberry drink at a departmental store. He gave it a polite once-over and lost interest. But that’s how I remember it was there. From that night till last evening I never gave it a thought.”

“Did anyone take it away that night?”

“How should I know? I never missed the blamed thing.”

“You can’t remember anything that would help? The next time you looked at your bookshelves?”

“Nope. Wait a while. Wait a while.”

Mr. Ogden clapped a plump hand to the top of his head as if to prevent an elusive thought from escaping him.

“The next day or maybe the day after — it was around that time — Claude stopped in and he took Garnette’s books away with him. I was out at the time.”

“Mr. Garnette’s books? What books?”

Mr. Ogden looked remarkably sheepish.

“Aw Gee!” he said. “Just something for a rainy day. He loaned ’em to me. He said they were classics. Classics? And how! Boy, they were central-heated.”

“Are they among the lot in brown paper covers, behind the others?”

“You said it.”

“And Claude Wheatley took them away?”

“Sure. He told the maid Garnette had sent him for them. He wanted to keep hold of them because they were rare. I’ll say they were rare! Anyhow, that’s when I last remember anything about books. I suppose Garnette told Claude where they were.”

“Was the
Curiosities
in your shelves then?”

“Isn’t that what I’m aiming to remember!” exclaimed Mr. Ogden desperately. “Lemme think! Next day Claude told me he’d called for Garnette’s books and I said: ‘Those were the ones in brown paper overalls,’ and he said he’d recognised them by that.”

“The
Curiosities
was not in brown paper, then?”

“No, sir. I’d no call to camouflage it. It was respectable.”

Alleyn laughed.

“Can you remember noticing it that day?”

“Nope.”

“Would you have noticed if it had already gone?”

“Lordy, no!” said Mr. Ogden.

He stared wildly into space for an appreciable time and then said slowly:

“Not in that way. I wouldn’t have definitely missed it. But in another way I seem to remember
not
seeing it, if you get me. It’s a red book. Seems like I remember
not
seeing a red book. That sounds crazy, I guess.”

“On the contrary, this is all extremely interesting,” said Alleyn.

“Yeah? Well, here’s hoping it doesn’t interest you in Sam J. Ogden. Maybe Raveenje will recall me showing him the book. Or maybe one of the rest will. That,” added Mr. Ogden with a naïve smile, “is just why I thought I’d better come clean.”

“Do you incline to think somebody took the book that evening, Mr. Ogden?”

“What the hell? I haven’t a notion when it was lifted.”

“Have any of the Initiates been to see you since then?”

“Sure, they have. I gave a little lunch last Wednesday for Cara and Raveenje and Garnette and Dagmar. Lemme see. Maurice and Janey were around last Sunday. That was the night Dr. Kasbek came in. I haven’t had Claude and Lionel come in again. Those two queens give me a pain.”

“Now look here, Mr. Ogden, you’ve got your own ideas on the subject, haven’t you? You practically stated, just now, that you believed Mr. Garnette had taken those bonds.”

Mr. Ogden looked extremely uncomfortable.

“Didn’t you?” pressed Alleyn.

“I’m not saying a thing.”

“Very well,” said Alleyn shortly, “I can’t do anything against that.”

Ogden gave him a sidelong but not unattractive grin.

“Seems like the British police is kinda helpless,” he said.

“Seems like it,” agreed Alleyn dryly. “How many of you are in this thing with Garnette?”

“What the hell? In what thing?”

He broke off, got to his feet, and stood glaring down at Alleyn, his face white and his eyes very angry.

“See here,” he said. “Just what do you mean? I’m not muscling in on any homicide rackets. I’ve told you a straight story about that book and I’m sticking to it. If you don’t believe me — find out.”

“Mr. Ogden, I fully believe your story. But there are more rackets than one, you know.”

“Yeah? Just what are you aiming to insinuate?”

“Merely that I have far too high an opinion of your intelligence to suppose that you would allow yourself to become as enamoured of transcendental mumbo-jumbo as you would have me believe.”

“Are you telling me the spiritual dope we hand out here is phoney?”

“I’m saying that you aren’t so hypnotised by it that you’ve lost your business man’s acumen.”

Mr. Ogden looked very hard at the inspector and a slow grin began to dawn on his face.

“And I’m saying,” Alleyn continued, “that you don’t float anything with big fat cheques unless you’re going to get a more tangible return for your money than a dose of over-proof spiritual uplift.”

“Maybe,” said Mr. Ogden with a fat chuckle.

“In short, Mr. Ogden, I want to know how you stand as regards the finance of this affair. I’ve got to find out how everybody stands. It’s not good mincing matters. All of the Initiates come under suspicion of this crime; yourself as much as anyone. Believe me, you cannot afford to keep back any information when there’s a capital charge in the offing.”

“Just when did you get your big idea that I’m interested financially?”

“I got it the first time I saw you. I know that there are, if you will forgive me for saying so, many hardheaded Americans who can be taken in by highly-coloured religious sects. I told myself you might be one of them, but somehow I didn’t think you were. You seemed to me to be too shrewd. Your attitude towards Mr. Garnette, when the theft of the bonds was discovered, confirmed my opinion. Of course, if you prefer not to tell me how matters stand, we can ferret round and find out. Mr. Garnette is now so alarmed he will not doubt be ready to give me his version.”

“Like hell he will, the dirty what’s it,” said Mr. Ogden indignantly. “See here, Chief, you win this deal, hands down. Bar one point. Until today I was putting my O.K. stamp on the doctrine of the Sacred Flame. I’ve never backed a phony deal in my life and I’m not starting in now. No, sir. The Sacred Flame and Jasper Garnette looked like clean peppy uplift to me. When Garnette and me met up on that trip, he outlined his scheme and he slipped me the line of talk. He told me it’d need capital. Well, I heard him address the passengers and the way he had those society dames asking if he’d accept ten dollars as a favour for the Seamen’s Fund got me thinking. Before we landed I’d figured it out. I floated the concern on a percentage basis and Garnette couldn’t have done it without me. We were in cahoots, and now, the dirty so-and-so, he’s pulled out those bonds on me.”

“Are there any other shareholders?”

“M. de Raveenje put five hundred pounds into it. All he could find. The slump hit him up some. Say, I reckon he’ll want to know the how-so about those bonds. He’s white all through, and he saw Cara way up among the gods.”

“Did you,” asked Alleyn, “have a written agreement?”

“Certainly we did. Drawn up by a lawyer. Each of us has got a copy. Want to see it, Chief?”

“Yes, we’d better have a look at it. I wonder where Mr. Garnette keeps his.”

“Most likely at his bank. He’s a wise coon!”

“You are convinced Garnette took the bonds?”

“I wish to God I wasn’t,” said Mr. Ogden unexpectedly. “I–I kind of reverenced that guy. Me! Maybe I’ll learn sense — next year.”

“Did you keep books?”

“Yes, sir. I did the books and Raveenje and Garnette could see them any time. Raveenje has got them home right now.”

“How did it work?”

“Like any regular company. I’m the biggest shareholder — I put up the most dollars. Garnette is paid a salary and he draws twenty per cent of the profits. That was square enough.”

“Do you know Mr. Garnette is a fellow-countryman of yours?”

Mr. Ogden looked as if he might be a sign for an inn called
The Incredulous Man
. “Forget it,” he said briefly. “Him! No, sir! We certainly breed one brand of polecat, but it ain’t called Garnette. Look at his line of talk! Where do you get that stuff, anyway?”

“You might say,” said Alleyn with a glance at Fox, “that the gentleman told me himself.”

“Then he piled up one more lie on to his total.”

“Ah, well,” sighed Alleyn, “I think that’s all for the moment, Mr. Ogden.”

“Good! But listen, Chief, I don’t want to get in wrong over the financial side of this joint. Get this. I put up the dollars. I saw it as a commercial proposition and I banked it. I’ve run my department straight and I’ve had no more’n my fair share. Same goes for Raveenje. He’s on the level all right. I look at it this way. This temple has brought colour and interest into folk’s lives. I’d thought it was something more than that, day-before-yesterday, when Garnette looked like a regular guy. But even if Garnette’s synthetic, and he certainly is, it’s been a great little party.” He paused and then repeated as though it was a manufacturer’s slogan: “It has brought colour and interest into otherwise drab and grey lives.”

“Together with hysteria and heroin, Mr. Ogden.”

Nigel, who had managed to make unostentatious shorthand notes throughout this interview, now watched Ogden eagerly. Would this shot go home? He decided that the American’s astonishment bore the unmistakable stamp of sincerity.

“What the sweltering hell d’you mean?” asked Ogden. “Heroin? Snow? Who’s doping in this crowd? By heck!” he added after a moment’s pause, “is that what’s wrong with young Pringle? Who’s started it?”

“To the best of my belief, Mr. Garnette.”

The American swore, heartily, solidly, and with lurid emphasis. Alleyn listened, politely, Fox with a dispassionate air of expert criticism,

“By God,” ended Mr. Ogden. “I wish to— I’d never touched this — concern. Never no more! It’s taken a murder to put me wise, but never no more. Say, listen, Chief, as God’s my witness I never — Aw, what’s the use?”

“It’s all right,” said Alleyn quietly. “We have been told you were not mixed up in it.”

“How’s that?”

“Pringle told me. Don’t worry about it too much, Mr. Ogden. We’re not going to pull you in for drug-running.”

Ogden looked nervously from Fox to Alleyn.

“Not for
drug-running
,” he said. “I’m not raving about the way you said it.”

“Now look here,” said Alleyn, “don’t you go making things more difficult by getting the wind up. I can’t go round like a child in a nursery game saying: ‘It isn’t you! It isn’t you! until I get to the ‘he.’ I can only repeat my well-worn slogan that the innocent are safe as long as they stick to the truth.”

“I hope to hell you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. It’ll all come out what the Australians call ‘jakealoo.’ Have any of the Initiates ever been to Australia, do you know?”

“I don’t know, Chief. I haven’t.”

“They have a strong way of putting things there. But I wander. Don’t worry, Mr. Ogden.”

“That damned book! If only I knew when it went”

“Never mind about the book. I think I can guess when it went and who took it.”

“Well, ain’t you the clam’s cuticle!” said Mr. Ogden.