“I did not hear her,” answered Father Garnette. His manner suggested that Alleyn as well as Mrs. Candour had committed a gross error in taste.
“Another question, Mr. Garnette. In the course of your interviews with Miss Quayne can you remember any incident or remark that would throw any light on this matter?”
“None.”
“This is a very well-appointed hall.”
“We think it beautiful,” said Father Garnette complacently.
“Please do not think me impertinent. I am obliged to ask these questions. Is it supported and kept up by subscription?”
“My people welcome as a privilege the right to share in the hospitalitah of the Sacred Flame.”
“You mean they pay the running expenses?”
“Yes.”
“Was Miss Quayne a generous supporter?”
“Dear soul, yes, indeed she was.”
“Do you purchase the wine for the ceremony?”
“I do.”
“Would you mind giving me the name of this wine and the address of the shop?”
“It comes from Harrods. I think the name is — let me see—‘Le Comte’s Invalid Port’.”
Alleyn repressed a shudder and wrote it down.
“You decant it yourself? I mean you pour it into the silver flagon?”
“On this occasion, no. I believe Claude Wheatley made all the preparations this evening.”
“Would you mind telling me exactly what he would have done?”
“Certainly. He would take an unopened bottle of wine from a cupboard in my room, draw the cork and pour the contents into the vessel. He would then make ready the goblet.”
“Make ready—?”
Father Garnette’s expression changed a little. He looked at once mulish and haughty.
“A certain preparation is necessarah,” he said grandly.
“Oh, yes, of course. You mean the flame that appeared. How was that done? Methylated spirit?”
“In tabloid form,” confessed Father Garnette.
“I know,” cried Alleyn cheerfully. “The things women use for heating curling-tongs.”
“Possiblah,” said Father Garnette stiffly. “In our ritual, Inspector Alleyn, the goblet itself is holy and blessed. By the very act of pouring in the wine, this too becomes sacred — sacred by contact with the Cup. Our ceremony of the Cup, though it embraces the virtues of various communions in Christian churches, is actually entirely different in essentials and in intention.”
“I was not,” said Alleyn coldly, “so mistaken as to suspect any affinity. Having filled the flagon Mr. Wheatley would then put it — where?”
“In that niche over there on our right of the sanctuarah.”
“And what is the procedure with the methylated tablet?”
“Prior to the service Claude comes before the altar and after prostrating himself three times, draws the Sacred Cup from its Monstrance. As he does this he repeats a little prayer in Norse. He genuflects thrice and then rising to his feet he — ah — he—”
“Drops in the tablet and puts the cup away again?”
“Yes.”
“I see. Mr. Bathgate tells me the flame appeared after you laid your hands over the cup. How is this done?”
“I — ah — I employ a little capsule,‘’ said Father Garnette.
“Really? What does it contain?”
“I believe the substance is known as zinc — ah — ethyl.”
“Oh, yes. Very ingenious. You turn away for a moment as you use it perhaps?”
“That is so.”
“It all seems quite clear now. One more question. Has there, to your knowledge, ever been any form of poison kept on the premises of this building?”
Father Garnette turned as white as his robes and said no, definitely not.
“Thank you very much. I greatly appreciate your courtesy in answering so readily. I hope you will not mind very much if I ask you to wait in the — is that a vestry over there? It is! — in the vestry, while I see these other people. No doubt you will be glad to change into less ceremonial dress.”
“I shall avail myself of the opportunitah to regain in meditation my tranquilitah and spiritual at-oneness.”
“Do,” said Alleyn cordially.
“My sub-conscious mind, impregnated with the word, will flow to you-wards. In all humilitah I believe I may help you in your task. There are more things in Heaven and earth, Inspector Alleyn—”
“There are indeed, sir,” agreed the inspector dryly. “Have you any objection to being searched before you go?”
“Searched? No — er — no, certainly not. Certainly not.”
“That’s very sensible. Pure routine you know. I’ll send a man in.”
Father Garnette withdrew to the vestry accompanied by a plain-clothes man.
“Damn’, sickly, pseudo, bogus, mumbo-jumbo,” said Alleyn with great violence. “What do you think of him, Fox?”
“Well, sir,” said Fox placidly, “I must say I wondered if the gentleman knew much more about what he seemed to be talking about than I did.”
“And well you might, my Foxkin, well you might. Hullo, Bathgate.”
“Hullo,” said Nigel guardedly.
“Enjoying yourself?”
“I’m taking shorthand notes. I seem to remember that you have a passion for shorthand notes.”
“Ain’t dat de truff, Lawd! Have you read ‘Ole Man Adam’?”
“Yes.”
“I wish Garnette had. Fox!”
“Yes, sir?”
“Send someone else into.the vestry with Mr. Garnette, will you, and get them to look him over. And any of the others I send in. Where’s the wardress?”
“In the porch out there.”
“She can deal with the ladies. Tell them to look for a small piece of crumpled paper or anything that could have held powder. I don’t think they’ll find it. Bailey!”
Detective-Sergeant Bailey moved down the sanctuary.
“Yes, sir?”
“The next, if you please.”
Bailey went through the little door and reappeared with Claude Wheatley and a general air of having taken an unlucky dip in a bran-tub. Fox returned with another plain-clothes man who went into the vestry.
“This gentleman isn’t feeling too good, sir. He wants to go home,” said Bailey.
“Oh, yes,” said Claude. “Oh, yes, please. Oh, yes.”
“Sorry you’re upset, Mr. Wheatley,” said Alleyn.
“Upset! I’m simply fearfully ill, Inspector. You can’t think. Oh, please may I sit down.”
“Do.”
Claude sank into one of the Initiates’ chairs and gazed wide-eyed at the inspector.
“I feel too ghastly,” he moaned.
“What upset you?”
“That appalling old woman. She said such frightful things. I do think old women are awful.”
“Whom do you mean?”
“The Candour female.”
“What did she say to upset you?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I do feel shocking.”
Dr. Curtis came out of Garnette’s room and strolled down.
“Mr. Wheatley felt a bit squeamish,” he said cheerfully, “but he’ll be all right. He’s had a peg of some really excellent brandy. Father Garnette’s a lucky man.”
“Splendid,” rejoined Alleyn. “Would you be a good fellow and go back to them, Curtis? Some of the others may need attention.”
“Certainly.” Curtis and Alleyn exchanged a glance and the doctor returned.
“Now, Mr. Wheatley,” Alleyn began. “I think you look much better. I’ve a few questions I’d like to put to you. You can refuse to answer if you think it advisable.”
“Yes, but that’s all very well. Suppose I do refuse, then you’ll start thinking things.”
“I might, certainly.”
“Yes — well there!”
“Difficult for you,” remarked Alleyn.
“Well, anyway,” said Claude very peevishly, “you can ask them. I may as well know what they are.”