“Sacred Flame indeed! Bad, wicked, heathen humbug. And that Mr. Garnette with his smooth ways and silly dangerous talk. I’ve never forgiven Mr. Ravigne and he knows it. It changed Miss Cara. Changed her whole nature. She was always one of the high-strung, nervous sort. Over-excitable as a child and over-excitable as a woman. I recollect the time we went through when she was fourteen. Wanted to turn Papist. I showed her the rights of that. I’d always brought her up strict Anglican. I’m Chapel myself. Primitive Methodist. But it was the parent’s wish and I saw it was carried out.”

“That was very honourable of you, Nannie. I’m sorry, the ‘Nannie’ slipped out.”

“You’re very welcome, sir. I’ve always been Nannie, ever since — she could talk.”

She bit her lip and then went on:

“From the time she went into that wicked place everything went badly. And I couldn’t do anything to stop it. I couldn’t do anything. I had to stand by and watch my — my — Miss Cara turn her back on the Lord and go down the way of damnation. She took me with her once,” added Nannie, ambiguously. “The sight of the place, full of naked heathen idols and all the baubles of Satan — it was worse than Rome. There! And when I found out she was going to be the leader in that lewd mockery of her own Church I wished she had died when she was an innocent baby. I wished—”

She broke off abruptly. She was shaking from head to foot. The whole of her last speech had been reeled off in a high key as though she was giving an oration. Nigel was reminded of a woman he had heard preaching at the Marble Arch. Here was a real revivalist fervour, pig-headed, stupid, arrogant. After last night it seemed blessedly straightforward and clean.

“Steady, Nannie,” said Alleyn.

“Yes, sir. Thank you. But I don’t feel steady when I think of my poor lamb cut off in the midst of her silly wickedness, like as not with heathenish words on her lips. As the Lord’s my judge, sir, I’d have rather she’d gone over to Rome that time when she was still an innocent baby, that I would.”

“Was it entirely through M. de Ravigne that she became interested in this Church?”

“He started it. He took her off there one evening. Said he thought it would ‘amuse’ her. Amuse! Not much amusement in any respectable sense of the word. And that Mr. Garnette — Reverend I will not call him — he made what was bad enough, goodness knows, ten thousand times worse. If it had been Satan himself speaking straight out of hell, he couldn’t have spoke wickeder. And the goings on! She thought I didn’t know. I knew.”

“How did you know?”

Nannie looked slightly taken aback at this question.

“I heard remarks passed when that lot came here to see her. That Mrs. Candour. You could tell at a glance. Not a nice woman, and not a lady either. And Miss Wade, who ought to know better at her age, always talking, talking, talking about ‘Dear Father Garnette.’ Father! Father of lies! And I had to stand aside and watch my baby drawing nearer and nearer to hell fire—”

She broke off again. Her lips trembled. She passed her hand over them and fell silent.

“What were Miss Quayne’s movements yesterday?” asked Alleyn.

She had spent the morning in her room, it appeared, engaged in meditation. She had not lunched. At about two o’clock she had sent for her car and the chauffeur had told Nannie that he had driven her to the church. He remembered glancing at his watch a second or two before she came out. It was then ten to three. He had said to the other servants that Miss Quayne seemed very upset when she came out. He drove her straight home.

“One more question,” said Alleyn. “Where were you last night when we tried to get you on the telephone?”

“I was out for a walk.”

“Out for a walk! In that weather?”

“Yes, sir. She’d told me that it was her first evening as Chosen whatever-it-was, and I was that upset and wretched! I tried to talk her out of it but she hardly listened. She just went away as if she didn’t hear me. When the door shut and I was left by myself I couldn’t endure it. I’d meant to go to chapel but I couldn’t. I put on my hat and jacket and I followed her.”

“To the hall?”

“Yes, sir. Miss Cara had taken the car, of course, so I knew I wouldn’t catch her up, but somehow I felt I’d walk. I was desperate, sir.”

“I think I understand. What did you mean to do when you got there?”

“I hardly know. I think I’d have gone in and — and stood up for the Lord in the midst of His enemies. I think I meant to do that, but when I got there the doors were shut and a young pimply-faced fellow said I couldn’t get in. He said he’d been had once already that evening. I don’t know what he meant. So I went away and as I went I heard them caterwauling inside, and it drove me nearly demented. I walked in the rain a long way and it was late when I got in. The others were back and in bed. I waited for her. I was still waiting when the police rang up. Morning it was then.”

“Oh, yes. By the way, when did you write to Mr. Garnette to warn him off Miss Cara?”

It would be difficult to say which looked the more astounded at this, Nigel or Nannie. Nannie stared into the mirror over Alleyn’s head for some seconds, and then said with a snap:

“Friday night.”

“He got it on Saturday?”

“Yes.”

“And you went to the hall to see if he had taken heed?”

“Yes.”

“I see. Thank you, Nannie.”

The old woman hesitated and when she spoke again it was more haltingly.

“There’s more to it than that. When I got there and the door was shut in my face, I couldn’t rest till I knew — knew if she was doing it. I walked round the block to the back of the building. I came to a sort of yard, I could still hear the noise inside. There was a door. I stood by it listening. There was one voice, louder than the others. Then I saw the door was not quite shut — and — and—”

“You walked in.”

“Yes, sir, I did. I felt I had to. I had to know. It was that man’s rooms I’d got into. There was a light in the sitting-room. The voice got louder all the time. I–I went in. Miss Cara had told me about him living on the premises in that hole-and-corner fashion, so I knew about the other door — the one into the hall. I opened it a little way. There’s a curtain, but I pulled it aside.”

A dark flush crept into the pale face. She looked defiantly at Alleyn.

“I tell you I could not help myself.”

“I know. What did you see?”

“They were moving. I could see the front row. I saw her. Miss Cara. She came running up the steps toward me. That man was quite close. His back was turned to me. Her face. Her pretty face — it looked dreadful. Then she turned and faced them. She was calling out. Screaming. I tried to go in and stop it. I couldn’t. I couldn’t move. Only watch. I might have saved her. No, don’t say anything — I might. Then I saw that lot coming up after her. Skirmishing round.”

“Yes. Go on,” said Alleyn quickly. “Tell me exactly—”

“I’ll remember to my dying day. First that American gentleman, Ogden. Then one or two of them together, then the young man and Miss Jenkins. The only one of the lot I’d care to have anything to do with. Led astray like my poor child. Mrs. Candour and old Miss Wade were trying to get one on each side of that man. I saw Mrs. Candour push in by him. Miss Wade tried to get in on the other side. She was in a great-taking-on. In the end she didn’t get there. Collided with the American gentleman and nearly fell over. It’s my belief he stopped her on purpose, having some sense of decency.”

“Oh. What did she do then?”

“He put her next to Mr. Ravigne and went next to that man himself. Then my poor child began again. Don’t ask me. I can’t — I couldn’t watch. Something seemed to break in me. I turned and — and somehow I got out into the street.”

She turned her head aside, gave a harsh sob and then blew her nose defiantly.