Death in Ecstasy by Ngaio Marsh

what they are.”
    “I have already asked the first. What did Mrs. Candour say to upset you?”
    Claude wriggled.
    “Jealous old cat. The whole thing is she loathes Father Garnette taking the slightest notice of anybody else. She’s always too loathsomely spiteful for words — especially to Lionel and me. How she dared! And anyway everybody knows all about it. I’d hardly be stupid enough to—” Here Claude stopped short.
    “To do what, Mr. Wheatley?”
    “To do anything like that, even if I wanted to, and anyways I always thought Cara Quayne was a marvellous person — so piercingly decorative.”
    “What would you hardly be stupid enough to do?” asked Alleyn patiently.
    “To — well — well — to do anything to the wine. Everybody knows it was my week to make preparation.”
    “You mean you poured the wine into the silver flagon and put the methylated tablet into the cup. What did Mrs. Candour suggest?”
    “She didn’t actually suggest anything. She simply said I did it. She kept on saying so. Old cat.”
    “I shouldn’t let it worry you. Now, Mr. Wheatley, will you think carefully. Did you notice any peculiar, any unusual smell when you poured out the wine?”
    “Any smell!” ejaculated Claude opening his eyes very wide. “Any
smell
!”
    “Any smell.”
    “Well, of course I’d just lit all the censers you know. Don’t you think our incense is rather divine, Inspector? Father Garnette gets it from India. It’s sweet-almond blossom. There’s the oil too. We burn a dish of the oil in front of the altar. I lit it just before I got the wine. It’s a gorgeous perfume.”
    “Evidently. You got the bottle of wine from Mr. Garnette’s room. Was it unopened?”
    “Yes. I drew the cork.”
    “You put nothing else in the flagon?”
    Claude looked profoundly uncomfortable.
    “Well — well, anyway I didn’t put any poison in, if that’s what you’re hinting.”
    “What else did you put?”
    “If you must know it’s something from a little bottle that Father Garnette keeps. It has a ceremonial significance. It’s always done.”
    “Have you any idea what it is?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Where is this bottle kept?”
    “In the little cupboard in Father Garnette’s room.”
    “I see. Now as I understand it you took the wine to each of the Initiates in turn. Did you at any time notice any unusual smell from the cup?”
    “I never touched the cup, Inspector. I never touched it. They all handed it round from one to the other. I didn’t notice any smell except the incense. Not ever.”
    “Right. Did you notice Miss Quayne at all when she took the cup?”
    “Did I notice her? My God, yes.”
    “What happened exactly?”
    “It was simply appalling. You see I thought she was in Blessed Ecstasy. Well, I mean she was, up to the time she took the cup. She had spoken in ecstasy and everything. And then she drank. And then — oh, it was frightful. She gave a sort of gasp. A fearfully deep gasp and sort of sharp. She made a face. And then she kind of slewed round and she dropped the cup. Her eyes looked like a doll’s eyes. Glistening. And then she twitched all over — jerked — ugh! She fell down in a sort of jerk. Oh, I’m going to be sick, I think.”
    “No, you’re not,” said the inspector very firmly. “You are going home. Go into the vestry and change your clothes.”
    “Where’s Lionel?”
    “He’ll join you in a moment. Good night.”
    “Oh,” said Claude rolling a languishing eye at Alleyn, “You are marvellous, Inspector. Oh, I would so very much rather not be sick. Good-bye.”
    “Good night.”
    Claude, under escort, walked with small steps into the vestry where they could hear him talking in a sort of feeble scream to the officer who searched him.
    “Oh,” cried Inspector Fox suddenly in a falsetto voice, “oh, Inspector, I think I’m going to be sick.”
    “And well you might be,” said Nigel, grinning.
    “What a loathly, what a nauseating, what an