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building fund for a new church. That’s how generous she was.”
    Nigel had paused, pen in air, to gape at Mr. Ogden’s enthusiastic countenance, and to reflect a little childishly on the gullibility of average men and women. None of these people was particularly stupid, he would say, except perhaps Mrs. Candour. Miss Quayne had looked interesting. Mr. Ogden was obviously an intelligent business man. Janey Jenkins, Maurice Pringle, M. de Ravigne were none of them idiots. He forgot all about Miss Wade. Yet all these apparently sensible individuals had been duped by Garnette into parting with sums of money. Extraordinary! At this moment he remembered his own reaction to Father Garnette’s oratory and felt less superior.
    “That’s how generous she was,” repeated Mr. Ogden.
    “What was the relationship between M. de Ravigne and the deceased?”
    “Crazy about her,” answered Mr. Ogden succinctly.
    “Yet I rather gathered that the Initiates were a cut above earthly love,” ventured Alleyn.
    “I guess M. de Ravigne has not altogether cast off the shackles of the body,” said Mr. Ogden dryly. “But get this: Cara was not interested. No, sir. Her soul was yearning after the inner mysteries of the spirit.”
    “Did you hear what Mr. Pringle and Mrs. Candour said immediately after the tragedy?”
    Mr. Ogden looked uncomfortable.
    “Well, I can’t say—”
    Alleyn consulted his notebook and read aloud the conversation as Nigel had reported it to him.
    “Mr. Pringle said: ‘The whole thing is a farce.’ He talked about retribution. He said to Mrs. Candour: ‘You would have taken her place if you could.’ What do you think he meant, Mr. Ogden?”
    “I don’t know, Chief, honest I don’t,” said Mr. Ogden, looking very worried. “Maybe there was a little competition between the ladies for spiritool honours. Maybe Pringle kind of thought Mrs. Candour would have enjoyed a spell as Chosen Vessel.”
    “I see.”
    “You don’t want to make too much of it. They were all het up. The boy’s three hundred per cent nerves. Garsh!” Mr. Ogden went on fervently, “I wish to hell we could smoke.”
    “Same here,” agreed Alleyn. “I’d give my soul for a pipe. No hope for me, I’m afraid, but I don’t think I need keep you much longer, Mr. Ogden.”
    Mr. Ogden looked astounded.
    “Well, say!” he remarked, “that’s certainly a surprise to me. I don’t get the works this trip?”
    “Nor the next, I hope. Unless you can think of anything you feel we ought to know I shan’t worry you any more until after the inquest. Of course, if you have any theory I should be extremely glad—”
    “For Gard’s sake!” ejaculated Mr. Ogden. “Listen. Are they all this way around the Yard?” He looked at Fox and lowered his voice to a penetrating whisper. “He looks more like a regular dick. An’ yet if I worded him maybe he’d talk back like a bud’s guide to society stuff. Is that so?”
    “You must meet Inspector Fox and find out,” said Alleyn. “Fox!”
    “Hullo, sir?” Fox hoisted himself up and walked solemnly round the pews towards them.
    “Mr. Ogden finds our methods a little lacking in colour.”
    “Indeed sir?”
    “Yes. Can you suggest any improvement? Have you any questions you would like to put to Mr. Ogden, Fox? Something really startling, you know.”
    “Well, sir, I can’t say I have. Unless”—Fox paused a moment and stared at Alleyn—“unless Mr. Ogden can tell us anything about the — er — the ingredients of the cup.”
    “Can you, Mr. Ogden?”
    “Surely. It’s some sissy dope from a departmental store. I’ve seen the bottles. Invalid Port. One half per cent alcohol. But—”
    “Yes?”
    “Well, since you’re asking, Chief, I reckon Father Garnette has it pepped up some. A drop of brandy I’d say. Mind, I don’t know.”
    “There you are, Fox. Anything else?”
    “I don’t think so, sir,” said Fox with a smile, “Unless the gentleman would like to be