Death in Ecstasy Read Online Free PDF Page A

the doorkeeper. He departed, hurriedly pulling the double doors to with an apologetic slam. For a moment there was silence. Then Alleyn turned to Nigel.
    “Is there a telephone handy?”
    “Yes.”
    “Get through to the Yard, will you, Bathgate, and tell them what has happened. Fox is on duty. Ask them to send him along with the usual support. We’ll want the divisional surgeon and a wardress.”
    Nigel went into the room behind the altar and delivered this message. When he returned he found Alleyn, with his notebook in his hand, taking down the names and addresses of the Initiates.
    “It’s got to be done, you see,” he explained. “There will, of course, be an inquest and I’m afraid you will all be called as witnesses.”
    “Oh, God,” said Pringle with a sort of disgust.
    “I’d better start with the deceased,” Alleyn suggested. “What is her name, please?”
    “She was a Miss Cara Quayne, Inspector,” said Mr. Ogden. “She owned a very, very distinctive residence in Shepherd Market, No. 101. I have had the honour of dining at the Quayne home, and believe me it surely was an aesthetic experience. She was a very lovely-natured woman with a great appreciation of the beautiful—”
    “No. 101, Shepherd Market,” said Alleyn. ‘Thank you.“ He wrote it down and then glanced round his audience.
    “I will take yours first if I may, Doctor Kasbek.”
    “Certainly. Nicholas Kasbek, 189a, Wigmore Street.”
    “Right.” He turned to Miss Wade.
    “My name is Ernestine Wade,” she said very clearly and in a high voice, as though Alleyn was deaf. “I live at Primrose Court, Kings Road, Chelsea. Spinster.”
    “Thank you.”
    Miss Jenkins came forward.
    “I’m Janey Jenkins. I live in a studio flat in Yeomans Row, No. 99d. I’m a spinster, too, if you want to know.”
    “Well,” said Alleyn, “just for ‘Miss’ or ‘Mrs.’ you know.”
    “Now you, Maurice,” said Miss Jenkins.
    “Pringle,” said that gentleman as though the name was an offence. “Maurice. I’m staying at 11, Harrow Mansions, Sloane Square.”
    “Is that your permanent address?”
    “No. Haven’t got one unless you count my people’s place. I never go there if I can help it.”
    “The Phoenix Club will always find you, won’t it?” murmured Miss Jenkins.
    “Oh, God, yes,” replied Mr. Pringle distastefully.
    “Next please,” said Alleyn cheerfully. Mrs. Candour spoke suddenly from the ecclesiastical throne. She had the air of uttering an appalling indecency.
    “My name is Dagmar Candour. Mrs. Queen Charlotte Flats, Kensington Square. No. 12.”
    “C. a. n—?” queried Alleyn.
    “d. o. u. r.”
    ‘Thank you.”
    Mr. Ogden, who had several times taken a step forward and as often politely retreated, now spoke up firmly.
    “Samuel J. Ogden, Chief. I guess you’re not interested in my home address. I come from the States — New York. In London I have a permanent apartment in York Square. No. 93, Achurch Court. I just can’t locate my card-case, but — well, those are the works.”
    “Thank you so much, Mr. Ogden. And now you, if you please, sir.”
    Father Garnette hesitated a moment, oddly. Then he cleared his throat and answered in his usual richly inflected voice:
    “Father Jasper Garnette.” He spelt it. “I am the officiating priest of this temple. I live here.”
    “Here?”
    “I have a little dwelling beyond the altar.”
    “Extremely convenient,” murmured Alleyn. “And now, these two,” — he looked a little doubtfully at Claude and Lionel — “these two young men.”
    Claude and Lionel answered together in a rapturous gush.
    “What?” asked Alleyn.
    “Do be quiet, Lionel,” said Claude. “We share a flat in Ebury Street: ‘Ebury Mews.’ Well, it isn’t actually a flat, is it, Lionel? Oh dear, I always forget the number — it’s too stupid of me.”
    “You
are
hopeless, Claude,” said Lionel. “It’s 17, Ebury Mews, Ebury Street, Inspector Alleyn, only we aren’t very