Ngaio Marsh - Death In Ecstasy

“Clever of you,” said Janey. “Yes, he did.”

“When was this?”

“Oh, about six months ago.”

“You have advanced rather quickly, surely.”

“This was my first evening as an Initiate. Maurice has been one for some time. I was to have begun special instruction next week.”

“You don’t mean to go on with it?”

“I don’t, ” said Janey.

“Would you mind telling me why?”

“I think perhaps I would.” She looked thoughtfully at Alleyn. “No, I’ll tell you. I’ve got my doubts about it. I’ve had my doubts about it for some time, to be quite honest.”

‘Then why—?”

“Maurice was so terribly keen. You see we’re engaged. He could talk of nothing else. He’s awfully highly strung— terribly sensitive — and — and sort of vulnerable, and I thought—”

“You thought you would keep an eye on him — that it?”

“Yes. I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

“I am sure you will not regret doing so. Miss Jenkins, do you know what Mr. Pringle was driving at when he said that Mr. Garnette. was keeping them all quiet, that Mrs. Candour would have taken Miss Quayne’s place if she could, and that he was going to tell everybody something?”

“How do you know Maurice said that?”

“You may remember he was in the middle of it when I arrived. He stopped short when he saw me. I heard some of it. Mr. Bathgate has told me the rest What is the explanation?”

“I don’t think I can answer that.”

“Can’t you? Why not?”

“I don’t want to stir it all up. It has got nothing to do with this dreadful thing. I’m sure of that.”

“You cannot possibly be sure of that. Listen to me. Mr. Bathgate is prepared to swear that Miss Quayne put nothing into the cup after it was handed to her. She took it by the stem in both hands and drank from it without changing their position. She died two minutes after she drank from the cup. It had gone round the circle of Initiates. No one else, except the acolyte and Mr. Garnette, had handled it. Can you not see that the inter-relationships of those six people are of importance? Can you not see that I must learn all I may of them? I must not try to persuade you to speak against your judgment — if I did this I should grossly exceed my duty. But please Miss Jenkins, don’t say: ‘It’s got nothing to do with the case.’ We don’t know what may or may not bear on the case. There is only one person who could tell us that.”

“Only one person? You mean — a guilty person?”

“I do. If such a one exists.”

There was a long silence.

“I’ll tell you this much,” said Janey at last. “Maurice hero-worshipped Father Garnette. He went, as Mr. Ogden would say, crazy about him. I think Father Garnette took hold of his imagination. Maurice is very responsive to personal magnetism.”

“Yes.”

“I feel for it myself. When he preaches — it’s rather extraordinary — one feels as though the most terrific revelation is being made. No, that’s not quite it. Everything seems to be beautifully dovetailed and balanced.”

“A sense of exquisite precision,” murmured Alleyn. “I believe opium smokers experience it.”

Janey flushed.

“You mean we were drugged with words. I don’t think I quite admit that. But where was I? Oh. Well, a little while ago Maurice began to suspect that things were happening all the time in the background. He had put Father Garnette on a pedestal, you see, and the least suggestion of — of worldly interest seemed wrong to Maurice. Some of the women in the congregation, Mrs. Candour and poor Cara too, I’m afraid, were rather blatantly doting. Maurice got all worked up about it. He minded most dreadfully. That’s what he meant when he talked like that about Mrs. Candour.”

“He meant that Mrs. Candour was jealous of Miss Quayne and that Mr. Garnette had kept it quiet?”

“Yes.”

“I see.”

“But not that Mrs. Candour was so jealous that — he didn’t mean that. Please, please don’t think that. It was nothing. Maurice was hysterical. He sees everything in an exaggerated light. You do believe me, don’t you? Don’t you?”

“I’m not sure,” said Alleyn. “I think you are understating things, you know.”

“I’m not. Oh, why did I say anything! I won’t answer any more questions. Let me go.” Janey’s voice shook. She stood up, her hands clenched, her pupils dilated.

“Of course you may go, Miss Jenkins,” said Alleyn very quietly. “You have had a wretched experience and it’s unnerved you. Believe me, you need not reproach yourself for anything you have told me. Really. If only people would understand that in these cases they are under a moral obligation to help the police, that by keeping things back they may actually place an innocent man or woman in the gravest danger! However, I grow pompous and in a minute I might become facetious. Save yourself, Miss Jenkins, and go home.”

Janey managed a smile and brushed her hand across her face.

“Oh dear,” she whispered.

“You’re done up,” said Alleyn quickly. “Bathgate, dodge out and get a taxi for Miss Jenkins, will you?”

“I think I’d better wait for Maurice, please.”

“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 statement 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 psychoanalysis, Mr. Pringle?” asked Alleyn politely.