Death in Ecstasy Read Free Page B

apparatus had decided to function independently.
    “Has this lady died naturally?” he asked the doctor.
    “As you see, I have only glanced at her.”
    “Is there any doubt?”
    “What do you mean?” demanded the priest suddenly, and then: “Who are you?”
    “I was in the congregation. I am sorry to interfere, but if there is any suspicion of unnatural death I believe no one should—”
    “Unnatural death? Say, where d’you get that idea?” said the American.
    “It’s the mouth and eyes, and — and the smell. I may be wrong.” Nigel still looked at the doctor. “But if there’s a doubt I don’t think anybody should leave.”
    The doctor returned his look calmly.
    “I think you are right,” he said at last.
    They had none of them raised their voices, but something of what they said must have communicated itself to the congregation. A number of people had moved out into the center aisle. A murmur had swelled. Several voices rang out loudly and suddenly a woman screamed. There was a movement, confused and indeterminate, towards the chancel.
    “Tell them to sit down,” said the doctor.
    The priest seemed to pull himself together. He turned and walked quickly to the steps into the pulpit. Nigel felt that he was making a deliberate effort to collect and control the congregation and to bend the full weight of his personality upon it.
    “My friends,” — the magnificent voice rang out firmly — “will you all return to your seats and remain quiet? I believe, that the great rushing powers of endless space have chosen this moment to manifest themselves. Their choice has fallen upon our beloved sister in ecstasy, Cara Quayne.” The voice wavered a little, then dropped a tone. “We must strengthen our souls with the power of the Word. I call upon you to meditate upon the word “Unity.” Let there be silence among you.”
    He was at once obeyed. A stillness fell upon the hall. The rustle of his vestments sounded loudly as he came down the steps from the pulpit. To Nigel he seemed a fabulous, a monstrous creature.
    He turned to the two acolytes, who stood, the one mechanically swinging his censer, the other holding the jug of wine.
    “Draw the chancel curtains,” whispered Father Garnette.
    “Yes, Father,” lisped the red-headed acolyte.
    “Yes, Father,” minced the dark acolyte.
    A rattle of brass, the sweep of heavy fabric, and they were swiftly shut away from the congregation by a wall of thick brocade. The chancel became a room, torch-lit and rather horribly cosy.
    “If we speak low,” said Father Garnette, “they cannot hear. The curtains are interlined and very thick.”
    “For Gard’s sake!” said the American. “This is surely a turrible affair. Doctor, are you quite certain she’s gone?”
    “Quite,” answered the doctor, who had again knelt down by the body.
    “Yes, but there’s more in it than that,” began the young man. “What’s this about no one leaving? What does it mean?” He swung round to Nigel. “Why do you talk about unnatural death, and who the hell are you?”
    “Maurice,” said Father Garnette. “Maurice, my dear fellow!”
    “This woman,” the boy went on doggedly, “had no business here. She had no right to the Cup. She was evil. I know you — Father Garnette, I
know
.”
    “Maurice, be quiet.”
    “Can it, Pringle,” said the American.
    “I tell you I
know
— ” The boy broke off and stared at the priest with a sort of frantic devotion. Father Garnette looked fixedly at him. If there was some sort of conflict between them the priest won, for the boy suddenly turned aside and walked away from them.
    “What is it?” Nigel asked the doctor. “Is it poison?”
    “It looks like it, certainly. Death was instantaneous. We must inform the police.”
    “Is there a telephone anywhere near?”
    “I believe there’s one in Father Garnette’s rooms.”
    “His rooms?”
    “Behind the altar,” said the doctor.
    “Then — may I use it?”
    “Is