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of each is mingled in the cup. It’s a kind of popular pantheism.”
    “Oh, Lord!” said Alleyn. “Now then. The cup went round the circle. When it got to the last man, what happened?”
    “He handed it to the acolyte, who passed it on to the priest, who gave it to Miss Quayne.”
    “Who drank it.”
    “Yes,” said Dr. Kasbek, “who drank it, poor thing.”
    They were silent for a moment.
    “I said ‘when it got to the last man’ — it
was
a man you said? Yes, I know we’ve been over this before, but I want to be positive.”
    “I’m sure it was,” said Nigel. “I remember that Mr. Ogden knelt at the top of the circle, as it were, and I seem- to remember him giving the cup to the acolyte.”
    “I believe you’re right,” agreed the doctor.
    “That agrees with the positions they took up just now.”
    “Was there any chance of Miss Quayne herself dropping anything into the cup?”
    “I don’t think so,” Nigel said slowly. “It so happens that I remember distinctly she took it in both hands, holding it by the stem. I’ve got a very clear mental picture of her, standing there, lit by the torch. She had rings on both hands and I remember I noticed that they reflected the light in the same way as the jewels on the cup. I feel quite certain she held it like that until she drank.”
    “I’ve no such recollection,” declared the doctor.
    “Quite sure, Bathgate?”
    “Yes, quite sure. I–I’d swear to it.”
    “You may have to,” said Alleyn. “Dr. Kasbek, you say you are not one of the elect. Perhaps, in that case, you would not object to telling me a little more about this place. It is an extremely unusual sort of church.”
    He glanced round apologetically. “All this intellectual sculpture. Who is the lowering gentleman with the battle-ax? He makes one feel quite shy.”
    “I fancy he is Wotan, which is the same as Odin. Perhaps Thor. I really don’t know. I imagine the general idea owes something to some cult in Germany, and is based partly on Scandinavian mythology, though as you see it does not limit itself to one, or even a dozen, doctrines. It’s a veritable
olla podrida
with Garnette to stir the pot. The statues were commissioned by a very rich old lady in the congregation.”
    “An old lady!” murmured Alleyn. “Fancy!”
    “It is rather overwhelming,” agreed Kasbek. “Shall we move into the hall? I should like to sit down.”
    “Certainly,” said Alleyn. “Fox, will you make a sketch-plan of the chancel? I won’t be more than two minutes and then we’ll start on the others. Run a line of chalk round the body and get the bluebottle in there to ring for the mortuary-van. Come along with us, won’t you, Bathgate?”
    Nigel and Dr. Kasbek followed the inspector down to the front row of chairs. These were sumptuously upholstered in red embossed velvet.
    “Front stalls,” said Alleyn, sitting down.
    “There are seven of them, as you see. They are for the six Initiates and the Chosen Vessel. These are selected from a sort of inner circle among the congregation, or so I understand.”
    Dr. Kasbek settled himself comfortably in his velvet pew.
    He was a solid shortish man of about fifty-five with dark hair worn
en brosse
, a rather fleshy and pale face, and small, intelligent eyes.
    “It was founded by Garnette two years ago. I first heard of it from an old patient of mine who lives nearby. She was always raving about the ceremonies and begging me to go. I was called in to see her one Sunday evening just before the service began and she made me promise I’d attend it. I’ve been several times since. I am attracted by curious places and interested in — how shall I put it? — in the incalculable vagaries of human faith. Garnette’s doctrine of dramatised pantheism, if that’s what it is, amused and intrigued me. So did the man himself. Where he got the money to buy the place — it was originally a nonconformist clubroom, I think — and furnish it and keep it going,