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whitish strip of the stretcher. One of the men pulled a sheet up. Curtis spoke to them. They lifted the stretcher and came slowly down the aisle, black silhouettes now against the lighted chancel. They passed Nigel heavily and went out of the open door. The constable stayed in the entrance, so Nigel did not relock the doors. He returned to the chancel.
    “I’m glad that part is over,” he said to Alleyn.
    “What? Oh, the body.”
    “You appear to be lost in the folds of your professional abstraction,” remarked Nigel tartly. “Pray, what are you going to do next?”
    “Your style is an unconvincing mixture of George Moore and Lewis Carroll, my dear Bathgate. I am about to interview the ladies and gentleman. I dislike it very much. This is a beastly place. Why did you come to it?”
    “I really can’t tell you. I was bored and I saw the sign swinging in the rain. I came in search of adventure.”
    “And I suppose, with your habitual naïveté, you consider that you have found it. Fox, have you made your plan?”
    “Not quite finished, sir, but I’ll carry on quietly.”
    “Well, give an ear to the conversation. When we get to M. de Ravigne, you may like to conduct the examination in French.”
    Fox smiled blandly. He had taken a course of gramophone lessons in French and now followed closely an intermediate course on the radio.
    “I’m not quite up to it as yet, sir,” he said, “but I’d be glad to listen if you feel like doing it yourself.”
    “Bless you, Fox, I should make a complete ass of myself. Got your prints, Bailey?”
    “I’ve been over the ground,” said Detective-Sergeant Bailey guardedly.
    “Then call in the first witness. Find out if any of them are particularly anxious to get away, and I’ll take them in order of urgency.”
    “Very good, sir.”
    Bailey, with an air of mulish indifference, disappeared through the altar door. In a moment he came back.
    “Gentleman just fainted,” he grumbled.
    “Oh, Lord!” apostrophised Alleyn. “Have a look, will you, Curtis? Which is it, Bailey?”
    “One of those affairs in purple shirts, the dark one.”
    “My oath,” said Alleyn.
    Dr. Curtis uttered a brief, “Tsss!” and disappeared. Bailey emerged with Father Garnette.
    “I’m extremely sorry to have kept you waiting, sir,” said Alleyn, “but you will understand that there were several matters to deal with. Shall we go down into the chairs there?”
    Garnette inclined his head and led the way. He seated himself unhurriedly and hid his hands in his wide sleeves. Fox, all bland detachment, strolled to a near-by pew and seemed to be absorbed in his sketch-plan of the chancel and sanctuary. Nigel, at a glance from Alleyn joined Inspector Fox and took out his notebook. A shorthand report of the interviews would do no harm. Father Garnette did not so much as glance at Nigel and Fox. Alleyn pulled forward a large faldstool and sat on it with his back to the flickering torch. The priest and the policeman regarded each other steadily.
    “I am appalled,” said Father Garnette loudly. His voice was mellifluous and impossibly sorrowful. “Ap-PALL-ed.”
    “Unpleasant business, isn’t it?” remarked Alleyn.
    “I am bewildered. I do not understand as yet, what has happened. What unseen power has struck down this dear soul in the very moment of spiritual ecstasah?”
    “Cyanide of potassium I
think
,” said Alleyn coolly, “but of course that’s not official.”
    The embroidery on the wide sleeves quivered slightly.
    “But that is a poison,” said Father Garnette.
    “One of the deadliest,” said Alleyn.
    “I am appalled,” said Father Garnette.
    “The possibility of suicide will have to be explored, of course.”
    “Suicide!”
    “It does not seem likely, certainly. Accident is even more improbable, I should say.”
    “You mean, then, that she — that she — that murder has been done!”
    “That will be for a jury to decide. There will be an inquest, of course. In the