Death in Ecstasy by Ngaio Marsh Page A

unspeakable little dollop.”
    “Horrid, wasn’t it?” agreed Alleyn absently. “Damn that incense,” he added crossly. “Sweet almond too, just the very thing—” he paused and stared thoughtfully at Fox. “Let’s have Lionel,” he said.
    Lionel was produced. His manner was a faithful reproduction of Claude’s and he added nothing that was material to the evidence. He was sent into the vestry, whence he and Claude presently emerged wearing, the one, a saxe-blue and the other, a pinkish-brown suit. They fussed off down the aisle and disappeared. Alleyn sent for Mrs. Candour.

CHAPTER VI
Mrs. Candour and Mr. Ogden
    Mrs. Candour had wept and her tears had blotted her make-up. She had dried them and in doing so had blotted her make-up again. Her face was an unlovely mess of mascara, powder and rouge. It hung in flabby pockets from the bone of her skull. She looked bewildered, frightened and vindictive. Her hands were tremulous. She was a large woman born to be embarrassingly ineffectual. In answer to Alleyn’s suggestion that she should sit on one of the chairs, she twitched her loose lips, whispered something, and walked towards them with that precarious gait induced by excessive flesh mounted on French heels. She moved in a thick aura of essence of violet. Alleyn waited until she was seated before he gave her the customary information that she was under no obligation to answer any questions. He paused, but she made no comment. She simply stared in front of her with lacklustre eyes.
    “I take it,” said Alleyn, “that you have no objection. Was Miss Cara Quayne a personal friend of yours?”
    “Not a great friend.”
    “An acquaintance?”
    “Yes. We — we only met here.” Her voice was thin and faintly common. “At least, well, I did go to see her once or twice.”
    “Have you got any ideas on the subject of this business?”
    “Oh my God!” moaned Mrs. Candour. “I believe it was a judgment.”
    “A judgment?”
    Mrs. Candour drew a lace handkerchief from her bosom.
    “What had Miss Quayne done,” asked Alleyn, “to merit so terrible a punishment?”
    “She coveted the vow of Odin.”
    “I’m afraid I do not know what that implies.”
    “That is how I feel about it,” said Mrs. Candour, exactly as if she had just finished a lucid and explicit statement. “Father Garnette is above all that sort of thing. He is not of this world. He had told us so, often and often. But Cara was a very passionate sort of woman.” She dropped her voice and added with an air of illicit relish: “Cara was dreadfully over-sexed. Pardon me.”
    “Oh,” said Alleyn.
    “Yes. Of course I know that ecstatic union is blessed, but ecstatic union is one thing and—” Here Mrs. Candour stopped short and looked frightened.
    “Do you mean,” said Alleyn, “that—?”
    “I don’t mean anything definite,” interrupted Mrs. Candour in a hurry. “Please, please don’t attach any importance to what I’ve just said. It was only my idea. I’m so dreadfully upset. Poor Cara. Poor, poor Cara.”
    “Mr. Claude Wheatley tells me—”
    “Don’t you believe anything that little beast says, Mr. — er— Inspector— er—”
    “Inspector Alleyn, Madam.”
    “Oh— Inspector Alleyn. Claude’s a little pig. Always prying into other people’s affairs. I’ve told Father, but he’s so
good
he doesn’t
see
.”
    “I gather you rather upset Mr. Wheatley by referring to his preparations for the service.”
    “Serves him right if I did. He kept on saying it was murder, he knew it was murder, and that Cara was such a lovely woman and everyone was jealous of her. I just said: ‘Well,’ I said, ‘if she was murdered,’ I said, ‘who prepared the goblet and the flagon?’ And then he fainted. I thought it looked very queer.”
    “Miss Quayne
was
a very beautiful woman, I believe?” said Alleyn casually.
    “I never could see it. Of course, if you admire that type. But just because that M. de Ravigne went silly