“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 realises, 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. Good night, M. de Ravigne.”

“Good night, M. l’Inspecteur.”

“Well,” said Fox when the Frenchman was gone. “Well, that was a fair treat, sir. As soon as you spoke to the gentleman in his own tongue he came along like a lamb. There’s the advantage of languages. It puts you on an equal footing, so to speak. I wonder you didn’t carry on the rest of the interview in French.”

“Fox!” said Alleyn with the oddest look at him. “You make me feel a bloody fool sometimes.”

“Me?” exclaimed Fox, looking blandly astonished.

“Yes, you. Tell me, have you any comments to make on the Frenchman?”

Fox wiped his enormous paw slowly down his face.

“Well, no,” he said slowly, “except he seemed — well, sir, it’s a rum thing two of the gentlemen should offer money for the police investigations. An unheard-of idea. But of course they were both foreigners. As far as Mr. Ogden is concerned, well, we have heard of the word ‘racket,’ haven’t we?”

“Exactly,” agreed Alleyn dryly. “I imagine his proposal is not unusual in the States.”

“Ogden’s too good to be true,” interrupted Nigel. “You mark my words,” he added darkly, “he was trying to bribe you.”

“Bribe us to do what, my dear Bathgate? To catch a murderer?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Nigel loftily.

“And was M. de Ravigne also attempting to undermine the honour of the force?”

“Oh,” said Nigel, “de Ravigne’s a Frenchman. He is no doubt over-emotionalised and — and — oh, go to the devil.”

“It seems to me,” rumbled Fox, “that we ought to have a look at that little bottle in the cupboard — the one Mr. Wheatley talked about.”

“I agree. We’ll move into Mr. Garnette’s ‘little dwelling.’ By the way, where is Mr. Garnette? Is he still in the vestry being searched?”

As if in answer to Alleyn’s inquiry, the vestry door opened and the priest came out. He was now dressed in a long garment made of some heavy, dark-green material. The plain-clothes man who had escorted him into the vestry came to the door and stared after the priest with an air of disgusted bewilderment.

“Ah, Inspector!” cried Father Garnette with holy cheeriness. “Still hard at work! Still hard at work!”

“I’m most frightfully sorry,” said Alleyn. “There was no need for you to wait in there. You could have returned to your rooms.”

“Have I been long? I was engaged in an ecstatic meditation and had passed into the third portal where there is no time.”

“You were fortunate.”

Bailey came out of Father Garnette’s room and approached the inspector.

“That Miss Wade, sir,” he said, “is getting kind of resigned. I think she’s dropped off to sleep.”

Alleyn gazed at Fox and Fox at Alleyn.

“Cripes!” said Inspector Fox.

“Lummie!” said Inspector Alleyn, “I must be in ecstasy myself. I’d quite forgotten her. Lord, I am sorry! Show the lady down, Bailey.”

“Right oh, sir.”

Father Garnette showed an inclination to hover, but was most firmly removed to his own rooms. He and Miss Wade met on the chancel steps.

“Ah, you poor soul!” intoned Father Garnette. “Very weary? Very sad?”

Miss Wade looked from Bailey to the priest.

“Father!” she whispered. “They are not — they don’t suspect—”

“Courage, dear lady!” interposed Father Garnette very quickly and loudly. “Courage! We are all in good hands. I shall pray for you.”

He hurried past and made for his door, followed by Bailey. Miss Wade looked after him for a moment and then turned towards the steps. She peered short-sightedly into the hall. Alleyn went up to her.

“I cannot apologise enough for keeping you so long.”

Miss Wade examined him doubtfully. “I am sure you were doing your duty, officer,” she said.

“You are very kind, madam. Won’t you sit down?”

“Thank you.” She sat, very erect, on the edge of one of the chairs.

“There are certain questions that I must ask,” began Alleyn, “as a matter of official routine.”

“Yes?”

“Yes. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

“Thank you. It will be nice to get home,” said Miss Wade plaintively. “I am distressed by the thought that I have perhaps left my electric heater turned on. I can remember perfectly that I said to myself: ‘Now I must not forget to turn it off,’ but—”

Here Miss Wade stopped short and gazed pensively into space for at least seven seconds.

“I recollect,” she said at last. “I did turn it off. Shall we commence? You were saying?”

“That I should like, if I may, to ask you one or two questions.”

“Certainly. I shall be glad to be of any assistance. I am not at all familiar with the methods of the police, although I have a very dear brother who was an officer in the Cape Mounted Police during the Boer War. He suffered great privations and discomforts and his digestion has never quite recovered.”

Alleyn stooped abruptly and fastened his shoe.

‘The questions, Miss Wade, are these,“ he began when he had straightened up again. ”First: did you notice any unusual smell when you received the cup from M. de Ravigne?”

“Let me think. Any odour? Yes,” said Miss Wade triumphantly, “I did. Decidedly. Yes.”

“Can you describe it?”

“Indeed I can. Peppermint.”

“Peppermint!” ejaculated Alleyn.

“Yes. And onion. You see Claude, the lad who acted as cup-bearer, was bending over me and — and it was rather overwhelming. I have noticed it before and wondered if I should speak to Father about it. Evidently, the lad is passionately fond of these things, and I don’t, I really don’t think it is quite reverent.”

“I agree,” said Alleyn hurriedly. “Miss Wade, you have said once before this evening that Miss Quayne was not very happy and not very popular. Can you tell me a little more about her? Why was she unpopular?”

“But you were not here when I said that, officer. I am positive of that because when we were in there waiting — no. I’m not telling the truth — that’s a fib. It was before you came, and it was before that young man went to the telephone and” — Miss Wade again stared fixedly at the inspector for some seconds — “and Father Garnette said to me: ‘I implore you not to speak like that to the police,’ so you see I know you were not here, so how did you know?”

“Mr. Bathgate remembered and told me. Why was Miss Quayne unhappy!”