LITMIR.BIZ

       CHAPTER 6 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.

      â€˜I take it,’ said Alleyn, ‘that you have no objection. Was Miss Cara Quayne a personal friend of yours?’

      â€˜Not a great friend.’

      â€˜An acquaintance?’

      â€˜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.’

      â€˜Have you got any ideas on the subject of this business?’

      â€˜Oh my God!’ moaned Mrs Candour. ‘I believe it was a judgment.’

      â€˜A judgment?’

      Mrs Candour drew a lace handkerchief from her bosom.

      â€˜What had Miss Quayne done,’ asked Alleyn, ‘to merit so terrible a punishment?’

      â€˜She coveted the vow of Odin.’

      â€˜I’m afraid I do not know what that implies.’

      â€˜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.’

      â€˜Oh,’ said Alleyn.

      â€˜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.

      â€˜Do you mean,’ said Alleyn, ‘that – ?’

      â€˜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 dreadully upset. Poor Cara. Poor, poor Cara.’

      â€˜Mr Claude Wheatley tells me –’

      â€˜Don’t you believe anything that little beast says, Mr – er – Inspector – er –’

      â€˜Inspector Alleyn, madam.’

      â€˜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.’

      â€˜I gather you rather upset Mr Wheatley by referring to his preparations for the service.’

      â€˜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.’

      â€˜Miss Quayne was a very beautiful woman, I believe?’ said Alleyn casually.

      â€˜I never could see it. Of course, if you admire that type. But just because that M. de Ravigne went silly over her – I mean everyone knows what foreigners are like. If you give them any encouragement, that is. Well, I myself – I suppose Claude told you that – about her looks, I mean. Or was it Father Garnette? Was it?’

      â€˜I’m afraid I don’t remember,’ said Alleyn.

      Mrs Candour jerked her chin up. For a second her face was horrible. ‘Cara doesn’t look very pretty now,’ she said softly.

      Alleyn turned away.

      â€˜I mustn’t keep you any longer,’ he said. ‘There’s only one other point. You were the first, after Mr Garnette, to take the cup. Did you notice any peculiar smell?’

      â€˜I don’t know. I don’t remember. No, I don’t think so.’

      â€˜I see. Thank you. That is all, I think.’

      â€˜I may go home?’

      â€˜Certainly. There is a wardress in the lobby. Would you object to being examined?’

      â€˜Searched!’

      â€˜Just looked over, you know. It’s the usual thing.’

      â€˜Oh, yes, please – I’d rather – much rather.’

      â€˜Thank you. You will be given notice of the inquest.’

      â€˜The inquest! Oh, how dreadful. I don’t know how I’m to get over this – I’m so shockingly sensitive. Inspector Alleyn, you’ve been marvellously kind. I always thought that police methods were brutal.’ She looked up at him with a general air of feminine helplessness somewhat negatived by a glint of appraisal in her eye. It was a ghastly combination. She held out her hand.

      â€˜Goodbye, Inspector Alleyn.’

      â€˜Good evening, madam,’ said Alleyn.

      She wobbled away on her French heels.

      â€˜This is a very unsavoury case,’ said Nigel.

      â€˜It’s murder,’ said Inspector Fox mildly.

      â€˜Most

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