Free Death in Ecstasy by Ngaio Marsh Page A

blatantly doting. Maurice got all worked up about it. He minded most dreadfully. That’s what he meant when he talked like that about Mrs. Candour.”
    “He meant that Mrs. Candour was jealous of Miss Quayne and that Mr. Garnette had kept it quiet?”
    “Yes.”
    “I see.”
    “But not that Mrs. Candour was so jealous that — he didn’t mean that. Please, please don’t think that. It was nothing. Maurice was hysterical. He sees everything in an exaggerated light. You do believe me, don’t you? Don’t you?”
    “I’m not sure,” said Alleyn. “I think you are understating things, you know.”
    “I’m not. Oh, why did I say anything! I won’t answer any more questions. Let me go.” Janey’s voice shook. She stood up, her hands clenched, her pupils dilated.
    “Of course you may go, Miss Jenkins,” said Alleyn very quietly. “You have had a wretched experience and it’s unnerved you. Believe me, you need not reproach yourself for anything you have told me. Really. If only people would understand that in these cases they are under a moral obligation to help the police, that by keeping things back they may actually place an innocent man or woman in the gravest danger! However, I grow pompous and in a minute I might become facetious. Save yourself, Miss Jenkins, and go home.”
    Janey managed a smile and brushed her hand across her face.
    “Oh dear,” she whispered.
    “You’re done up,” said Alleyn quickly. “Bathgate, dodge out and get a taxi for Miss Jenkins, will you?”
    “I think I’d better wait for Maurice, please.”
    “Do you? Would you like some of Mr. Garnette’s brandy?”
    “No thank you. I’ll just wait in the back pews if I may.”
    “Of course you may. If it wouldn’t bother you too much the wardress will run over you. Have you ever been searched?”
    “Never. It sounds beastly, but I suppose I must.”
    “That’s very sensible. Inspector Fox will take you to the wardress. I’ll see your young man now.”
    Janey walked firmly down the aisle with Fox and disappeared into the shadows. Fox returned and Bailey produced Maurice Pringle.
    Maurice looked quickly about him, and stopped like a pointer when he saw Alleyn. At the inspector’s suggestion he came into the hall but refused to sit down. He thrust his hands into his pockets and seemed unable to stand still.
    “Now then, Mr. Pringle,” began Alleyn cheerfully.
    “Where’s Janey? Miss Jenkins?” demanded Maurice.
    “Waiting for you.”
    “What do you want to know?”
    “Anything you can tell me that’s to the purpose.”
    Maurice was silent. Alleyn asked about the smell and heard about the incense. He read Maurice’s previous statement from his notebook.
    “What were you going to say when I came in?”
    “Nothing.”
    “Do you usually speak in half-phrases, Mr. Pringle?”
    “What d’you mean?”
    “You said: ‘I’m going to tell them that—’ and then you know I walked in and you stopped.”
    Maurice snatched his left hand out of his pocket and bit at one of his fingers.
    “Come. What did you mean by retribution? What would Mrs. Candour have had so willingly from Miss Quayne? What had Mr. Garnette kept quiet? What were you going to tell them?”
    “I refuse to answer. It’s my affair.”
    “Very good. Fox!”
    “Sir?”
    “Will you tell Miss Jenkins that Mr. Pringle does not wish to make any statements at present and that I think she need not wait? See that she gets a taxi, will you? She’s a bit done up.”
    “Very good, sir.”
    “What do you mean?” said Maurice angrily. “I’m taking her home.” Fox paused.
    “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to stay a little longer,” said Alleyn.
    “My God, how I hate officials! Sadism at its worst.”
    “Off you go, Fox.”
    “Stay where you are,” said Maurice. “I’ll — what’s the damn’ phrase — I’ll talk.”
    Alleyn smiled and Fox blandly returned to his pew.
    “You are interested in psychoanalysis, Mr. Pringle?” asked Alleyn