Inspector Alleyn 3-Book Collection 2. Ngaio Marsh

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      ‘No, Monsieur de Ravigne. Those were not my thoughts.’

      ‘N’importe,’ murmured de Ravigne.

      ‘On n’est pas dupe de son coeur –’ began Alleyn.

      ‘I see I misjudged you, M. I’Inspecteur. You have not the conventional idea of my countrymen. Also you speak with a charming and correct accent.’

      ‘You are too kind, monsieur. Has the possibility of suicide occurred to you?’

      ‘Why should she wish to die? She was beautiful and – loved.’

      ‘And not poor?’

      ‘I believe, not poor.’

      ‘Did you notice her movements when she held the cup?’

      ‘No. I did not watch,’ said de Ravigne.

      ‘You are religious yourself, of course, or you would not be here?’ remarked Alleyn after a pause.

      M. de Ravigne delicately moved his shoulders: ‘I am intrigued with this church and its ceremonial. Also the idea of one godhead embracing all gods appeals to my temperament. One must have a faith, I find. It is not in my temperament to be an atheist.’

      ‘When did you first attend the services?’

      ‘It must be – yes, I think about two years ago.’

      ‘And you became an Initiate – when?’

      ‘Three months ago, perhaps.’

      ‘Are you a subscriber to the organisation? We must ask these questions, as I am sure you understand.’

      ‘Certainly, monsieur, one must do one’s job. I subscribe a little, yes. Five shillings in the offertory always and at special times a pound. Fifty pounds when I first came. This temple was then recently established. I presented the goblet – an old one in my own family.’

      ‘A beautiful piece. Baroque at its best,’ said Alleyn.

      ‘Yes. It has its history, that cup. Also I gave a statuette. In the shrine on your right, monsieur.’

      Alleyn looked at the wall and found M. de Ravigne’s statuette. It was cast in bronze with a curious plucked technique and represented a nebulous nude figure wearing a winged helmet from which there emerged other and still more nebulous forms.

      ‘Ah yes,’ said Alleyn, ‘Most interesting. Who is the artist?’

      ‘Myself in ecstasy, monsieur,’ replied M. de Ravigne coolly.

      Alleyn glanced at his shrewd, dark face and murmured politely.

      ‘My temperament,’ continued M. de Ravigne, ‘is artistic. I am, I fear, a dilettante. I model a little, comme çi, comme ça. I write a little, trifles of elegance. I collect. I am not rich, M. I’Inspecteur, but I amuse myself.’

      ‘A delightful existence. I envy you, monsieur. But we must get back to business.’

      A dim bass rumble from the rear seemed to suggest that Inspector Fox had essayed: “Revenons à nos moutons,” and had got lost on the way.

      ‘I understand,’ said Alleyn, ‘that Miss Quayne has no relations in England. There must be someone surely?’

      ‘On the contrary. She has told me that there are none. Cara was an only child and an orphan. She was educated abroad at a convent. Her guardians are both dead.’

      ‘You met her abroad perhaps?’

      ‘Yes. In France years ago at the house of a friend.’

      ‘Did Miss Quayne introduce you to this hall?’

      ‘No, monsieur. Alas, it was I who introduced her to the ceremonies.’

      ‘Returning to her connections, monsieur. Is there no one with whom we should get in touch?’

      ‘Her notary – her solicitor.’

      ‘Of course, Do you know who that is?’

      ‘I have heard. One moment. It is – tiens! – a name like Rats. No. Rattingtown. No.’

      ‘Not Rattisbon by any chance?’

      ‘That is it. You know him?’

      ‘Slightly. Where will the money go, Monsieur de Ravigne?’ M. de Ravigne hitched up his shoulders, elevated his brows, protruded his eyes and pursed his lips.

      ‘I see,’ said Alleyn.

      ‘This I do know,’ conceded M. de Ravigne. ‘Much will go to this church. Five thousand pounds are reposed in the safe here in bearer bonds to await a further subscription. But there will be more for this church. Once Cara told me she had altered her Will for the purpose. It was then I heard the name of this Mr Rats.’

      ‘Oh, yes,’ said Alleyn politely. ‘To go to another aspect of the case, do you know anything of the procedure for preparing the cup?’

      ‘Nothing, monsieur. I am not interested in such affairs. To know the machinery of the service would damage my spiritual poise. Such is my temperament.’

      ‘You do not choose to look behind the scenes?’

      ‘Precisely. There must be certain arrangements. A flame does not make itself from nothing, one realizes, but I do not wish to inquire into these matters. I enjoy the results.’

      ‘Quite so,’ said Alleyn. ‘I think that will be all, monsieur. Thank you a thousand times for your courtesy.’

      ‘Not at all, monsieur! It is you who have displayed courtesy. If I can be of further use – It is perhaps a matter of some delicacy, but I assure you that anything I can do to help you – I shall not rest content until this animal is trapped. If there should be a question of expense – you understand?’

      ‘You are very good.’

       ‘Tout au contraire, monsieur.’

      ‘– but it is for information we ask. Do you object to our searching you, monsieur?’

      ‘I object very much, monsieur, but I submit.’ Fox searched him and found nothing but money, a chequebook and a photograph.

      ‘Mon Dieu!’ said de Ravigne. ‘Must you paw it over in your large hands? Give it to me.’

      ‘Pardon, monsoor,’ said Fox hastily, and gave it to him.

      ‘It is Cara Quayne,’ said de Ravigne to Alleyn. ‘I am sorry if I was too hasty.’

      ‘I am sure Inspector Fox understands. Goodnight, M. de Ravigne.’

      ‘Goodnight, M. l’Inspecteur.’

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