Agatha Raisin & the Vicious Vet

'I've a torch in the car' said Agatha, now determined to keep him out as long as possible.

'Oh, well, just a little longer.'

They drove farther up the road and got out again, Agatha taking the torch and James poking aimlessly now in the hedgerow.

When Agatha after half an hour of patient walking and searching suddenly cried, 'Eureka!' James said crossly, 'Look, is it another shoe or something? Freda will be -'

'Come here! Look at this!'

He stumped over. Agatha pointed the torch at some tangled shrubbery and nettles in the ditch. Down in the bottom of the ditch was a little brown pharmacist's bottle.

'Well, I'll be damned,' he said, giving her a hug.

Glad of the darkness, Agatha blushed with pleasure.

'You wait here and guard it' she said excitedly. I'm off to phone Bill Wong.'

James waited and waited. He glanced at his watch, noticing by the luminous dial that it was nearly eight. Then he thought, I don't really need to stand here. He took a stick which he had cut earlier from the hedgerow to help him in poking around, stabbed it down into the ditch beside the bottle and tied his handkerchief like a flag to the top of it. Now he could go safely off to the pub and the police and Agatha would easily find his marker. He strode off down the road.

Agatha waited on her doorstep, biting nails. Bill had said, 'Wait right where you are,' and so she had done just that. But James must be wondering what had happened.

With a sigh of relief, she saw the police car nosing round into the lane and ran out to meet it. Bill and another detective were in the car. 'Hop in' he said, 'and take us to this clue of yours. We couldn't raise Fred Griggs. It's his night off'

Agatha could not believe it as they drove up the road and found no sign of James. Worse than that, she could not remember exactly where they had found the bottle and so they searched up and down the roadside for quite a long time before Bill finally found the stick with the handkerchief on top.

'At least he's marked the spot' said Bill, squatting down. He shone a powerful flashlight down beside the stick.

'There doesn't seem to be anything there, Agatha'

Agatha peered over his shoulder. 'But it was there' she cried. 'Oh, where is James? If he just calmly went off to the pub to meet that tart, I'll kill him'

Bill and the other detective searched slowly and carefully, but there was no sign of that bottle.

He finally straightened up with a sigh. 'Do you think Lacey's in the pub?'

'Oh, I'm quite sure he is' said Agatha viciously.

It was a busy evening at the Red Lion. The whole village seemed to be crammed into the pub. James was surprised when he received a tap on the shoulder and a voice murmured, 'Police. Would you step outside, Mr Lacey?'

He followed the man out and started guiltily as he was confronted with an unusually serious Bill Wong and a baleful Agatha.

'I shouldn't have left, I suppose' he said in a rush, 'but didn't you find the stick with the handkerchief on it?7

'We found that all right, but no bottle' said Bill. 'When did you get to the pub?'

'Just after eight. I was meeting Freda . . . Mrs Huntingdon'

'Did you tell Mrs Huntingdon or anyone else in the pub what you had found?'

'Well . . ' James shifted awkwardly from foot to foot.

The policeman who had summoned him from the pub had gone back in and now emerged again in time to hear Bill's last question.

'If I might have a word with you, sir.' He drew Bill aside. James Lacey stared at the ground.jg^

Bill came back and looked up at James. 'So, I gather you said to Mrs Huntingdon that you and Mrs Raisin had found a clue to Mrs Josephs's death, that there was a pharmacist's bottle in the ditch and you had left your handkerchief as a flag to mark the spot. Mrs Huntingdon had said in a loud voice to a circle of locals, "We've got a sleuth in our midst. Isn't James clever?" And she told about the bottle.'

'Look' said James desperately, 'I'm not a policeman. I've looked on it all as a sort of game. But I may have put the stick in the wrong place. Let's go back and look again'

'Come along, then' said Bill. I'd already thought of that and sent for reinforcements'

Agatha said not a word to James but climbed into the back of Bill's car. 'If you please, sir,' said a policeman and ushered James to another police car.

There seemed to be policemen all over the place when they returned, searching and searching the hedgerows.

Then there was a shout of triumph. One policeman crouching down a few yards from where James had marked the spot waved them excitedly over. And there, as he pulled some long grass aside, lay a small pharmacist's bottle.

It was tenderly lifted up with tweezers and placed on a clean cloth and shown to Agatha.

'I am sure that's a different shape,' said Agatha. 'And it hasn't got any label. I'm sure the one I saw had a bit of a label on it.'

'You may as well go home, Mrs Raisin,' said Bill. 'We'll call on you when we need you'

'I'm awfully sorry.. ' began James miserably.

'You too, Mr Lacey. We'll be in touch with you.'

James faced Agatha. 'You must think I'm all sorts of a fool.'

Agatha opened her mouth to say that, yes, she did think him a fool, but a sharp memory of how he had helped to extricate her over her own foolishness with the hand basin came into her mind and she said instead, 'Let's walk back to my place for some coffee and think about this.'

He fell into step beside her. 'I can't help thinking,' said Agatha, 'that the murderer might have been in the pub and heard Freda. So he or she nips out, up the road, and takes that bottle, hides nearby and sees the police arrive, waits till they've gone to the pub to question you and then puts another bottle there which will prove to have contained something innocuous'

'But a clever murderer would not have thrown the bottle there in the first place' protested James.

They walked on in silence, each buried in thought.

Once in Agatha's kitchen and drinking coffee, Agatha, who had been silent for a very long time for her, suddenly burst out, 'I've been thinking'

'What?'

'Surely clever murderers belong in fiction. To take a life you must be insane, or temporarily insane. What if some woman knew Paul was going to be up at Lord Pendlebury's on that day? Mad with rage, she biffs him on the head, and then jabs the syringe into him without even knowing the contents of the syringe are lethal. He's dead. She runs off. Now she has committed murder, she really is deranged and terribly frightened. She overhears Mrs Josephs talking to me at the vicarage and feels she's got to be silenced and she knows she is a diabetic. She injects her with God knows what, panics again, thinks if the body is found in the bathroom, natural death will be assumed. Again, she's in the pub, and hears Freda. More panic. Take the bottle away. More panic. Replace it with another'

They talked for another hour, writing out lists of the women who were at the vicarage and all the women in the pub that James could remember. Then the phone rang. Agatha went to answer it and then came back and sat down wearily at the table.

'That was Bill. Mrs Josephs was murdered. Someone shot a good dose of Adrenalin into her bloodstream.'

'But where would anyone get Adrenalin?'

'At first I thought of Peter Rice because vets have it, but he was nowhere near the village. Bill said farmers usually have a supply, although their drugs cabinets are checked from time to time to make sure they are safely locked'

'Miss Mabbs!' said James suddenly.

'What about her?'

"That's why I called on you in the first place. I found her address. She's living in Leamington Spa'

'But wait a bit. She wasn't at the vicarage, nor was she in the pub this evening, surely'

'No, but she might have been lurking around somewhere. In any case, surely she would know more about Paul Bladen than most. She worked with him'

Agatha made up her mind.

'We'll go tomorrow'

Chapter Six

Agatha and James were not able to set out for Royal Leamington Spa until late the next day, for another drama had hit Carsely. The veterinary surgery had been broken into and the drugs cabinet smashed open. It had been neatly and efficiently done. A pane of glass on the back door had been broken, allowing the thief to reach in and unlock the door.

'So that's probably where the Adrenalin came from' said a harassed-looking Bill Wong, 'except that PC Griggs says he kept checking the premises on his rounds and there was no sign of a break-in before last night'

'He probably didn't even notice the broken pane of glass' commented James.

'Fred Griggs is a conscientious village bobby' said Bill.

'Then do you think someone meant the police to think the Adrenalin came from there?' asked Agatha.

"That could be the case. But how unnecessarily complicated! And this throws suspicion on the death of Paul Bladen. No one we can think of wanted Mrs Josephs dead'

Then statements were painstakingly taken from Agatha and James about the finding of the bottle.

"They analysed the one we eventually found and it contains traces of a tranquillizer. We have checked with the local doctor and it would amaze you in this enlightened day and age how many women are on tranquillizers' said Bill. 'Now I have something to say to both of you. The police at times seem very slow and plodding, but it's a safer way of doing things than having amateurs running around stirring things up. Please do not interfere again'

'If we had not interfered, as you put it' said Agatha hotly, 'you would have gone on thinking Paul Bladen's death was an accident'

'And Mrs Josephs might still be alive. Leave it to us, Agatha'

After the police had gone, James said reluctantly, 'It seems we're not exactly popular'

'Yes, I suppose we'd better drop it' Agatha looked reluctant. 'Perhaps I should think about some gardening'

'Your lawn at the front could do with treatment' said James. 'Come and I'll show you what I mean'

Agatha was first out of her front door. She glanced down the lane and saw Freda Huntingdon standing on James's doorstep and retreated so quickly she bumped into him.

I've changed my mind' she said, slamming the door and leading the way back to the kitchen. 'Have another cup of coffee and I'll tell you about it'

'Now' she began when they were seated, "the way I look at it is this'

Her doorbell rang, sharp and peremptory.

'Aren't you going to answer that?' he asked.

1 suppose so' Agatha got reluctantly to her feet. She peered through the spyhole. Freda was standing on the step. Agatha returned to the kitchen and sat down.

'Double-glazing salesman' she said. 'They're so pushy. Not worth answering the door'

The bell shrilled again and Agatha winced. Til go' said James, rising.

'No, sit down, please. I think we should go to Leamington and question Miss Mabbs. How can that be called interfering? Just a few questions. If we knew more about what Paul Bladen was like, then we might know what lies behind his death. After all, what makes someone kill?'

'Passion' said James. 'One of his jilted ladies.'

'Or money' said Agatha, thinking of her unfortunate experience in London.

But James, secure in the comfort of a private income and an army pension, shook his head. 'He hadn't much to leave, not by today's standards'

The doorbell rang again.

'No' said Agatha sharply. 'Just wait and whoever it is will go away. Whereabouts in Leamington does Miss Mabbs live?'

He took out a notebook and flipped the pages. 'Here we are. Miss Cheryl Mabbs, aged twenty-three, employed for only the short time the surgery lasted in Carsely, lives at 43, Blackbird Street, Royal Leamington Spa'

Agatha's straining ears could not hear anything from outside, but then the cottage was so insulated, she hardly ever did. Til just go upstairs and put some make-up on,' she said, 'and then we'll go. If that doorbell rings again, ignore it'

Upstairs, she peered out of her bedroom window and saw with satisfaction the slim retreating figure of Freda.

She put on a little make-up, not too much or he might be frightened off again, sprayed some Rive Gauche over herself, and went back downstairs. She fed the cats, and as the day was not particularly cold, let them out into the back garden.

'Why don't you get a cat door?' asked James.

Tve had a few scares before' said Agatha, 'and when I think of a cat door, I think of a small burglar, writhing his way through it like a snake'

'That doesn't happen. Tell you what' said James, feeling obscurely that he had to make amends for deserting his post the night before, 'buy one and I'll fix it for you'

Agatha beamed at him. How domestic they were becoming. A simple wedding in Carsely Church. Too old to wear white. Perhaps a silk suit and a pretty hat. Honeymoon somewhere exotic. "Famous Detective Agatha Raisin Weds' that's what the local headlines would say.

James looked at her uneasily. Her small eyes had an odd glazed look. "Are you feeling all right?7 he asked. 'You look just the way I feel when I have indigestion'

Tm all right' said Agatha, returning to earth with a bump. "Let's go'

Leamington, or Royal Leamington Spa, to give it the full title which few people hardly ever use, was a relatively short drive and they arrived there in under an hour.

The day had become grey and overcast, but unusually mild. Although in the centre of the country, Agatha thought Leamington had the air of a seaside town like Eastbourne or- Brighton and kept expecting to turn a corner and see the sea.

James, to her irritation, said he wanted to view the public gardens before they started any detective work. Agatha stumped along angrily beside him while he enthused over plants and blossom. She was obscurely aware she was jealous of the scenery and wished some of his raptures could be directed at her. She glanced at him sideways. He was strolling easily along with his hands in his pockets, at peace with the world. She wondered what he thought about her. She wondered what he thought about anything. Why wasn't he married? Was he gay? And yet look at the way he had left that splendid clue to go running after a stupid bitch like Freda Huntingdon.

He was staring up in dazed wonder at the cascading blossoms of a cherry tree when Agatha suddenly snapped, 'Are we going to commune with nature all day, or are we going to get on with it?' He gave her a glance, half-rueful, half-amused, and all at once Agatha had a picture of him escorting some woman who would share his enthusiasm for the scenery, who would know all these county names he had talked about at that old manor house, and felt bullying and coarsegrained.

'All right' said James amiably, 'let's go'

He took out a small street map and consulted it. 'We can walk' he said. 'It's not far.'

They set off. 'Where does she work?' asked Agatha. 'Oh, and how did you find out about her?'

'I don't know where she works, but I got her address from Peter Rice in Mircester. She isn't a veterinary nurse, simply a sort of receptionist'

Agatha began to wonder if they were ever going to get there, James's idea of 'not far' not being her own. But they finally arrived at a long street of shops with flats above them. The shops had probably always been shops. The buildings were Georgian and run down, with cracked stucco and grimy fronts dating from the days before the Clean Air Act, when soot fell on everything.

It was six o'clock. Most of the little shops were closed and the street was quiet. Agatha could remember the days when a street such as this would resound with the cries of children: children playing hopscotch, children playing ball, children playing cowboys and Indians. Now they were probably all indoors watching television, videos, or playing computer games.

Sad.

Number 43 turned out to be a staircase between two shops leading to flats above. At the top of the staircase was a battered wooden door and beside it a row of bells with names on cards beside each bell. There was no Mabbs listed.

'Must have the wrong address' said James.

'I didn't walk all this way for nothing' said Agatha impatiently, for her feet were sore. She pressed the nearest bell.

After a few moments the door was opened by a thin, anaemic-looking girl with blonde hair gelled up into spikes. 'Wotyerwant?' she asked.

'Miss Cheryl Mabbs' said Agatha.

'She's on bell 4,' said the girl, 'but you won't find her in. She and Jerry has gone out'

'Where?' asked James.

'How should I know, mate? They usually has fish an' chips and goes to the disco'

'Where is this disco?' James smiled at the girl, who smiled back.

'Not your style' she said. It's down the road. Rave On Disco. Can't miss it. Wait till later and you'll hear the noise'

"Well, that's that' said James as they emerged out into the street again.

'No, it's not' Agatha looked up at him. 'We could have a bite to eat and then go to the disco ourselves'

He shied slightly and looked off into the middle distance. 'I really think I would rather go home, Agatha. As the young lady there pointed out, discos are not my style'

Agatha glared at him. 'Hardly mine either' she said, feeling her feet throb.

He stood there, looking down at her in polite embarrassment and obviously waiting for her to give in.

'Dinner and think about it?' suggested Agatha.

'I suppose I am hungry. It's a bit early for dinner. We'll find a pub'

Over drinks, followed later by a modest dinner in an Indian restaurant, Agatha reflected that the more time she spent with James, the less she seemed to find out about him. He seemed to have an endless fund of impersonal topics to talk about, from politics to gardening, but what he really felt or thought about anything, he did not say.

But he agreed to try the disco.

Back along Blackbird Street they went. They heard the thud, thud, thud of the disco music as they approached.

The disco was called Rave On and was a club, but they got inside easily after paying a modest entrance fee. 'Enjoy yourself, Grandma' said the bouncer to Agatha, who glared at him and said, 'Get stuffed' and then realized that James's face had taken on that shuttered look again.

Inside it was full of bodies writhing under strobe lights. Following closely behind James, Agatha shouldered her way to a black plastic-padded bar in the corner.

James ordered a mineral water for Agatha because she was driving and a whisky and water for himself. 'How much is that?7 he shouted at the barman, a white-faced youth with a pinched, spotty face.

'On the house, officer' said the barman.

'We are not police officers'

'In that case, pay up, guv. Four pound for every drink. Eight quid, squire'

'Do you know Cheryl Mabbs?' asked James. 'We're friends of hers'

He pointed. 'Over there in that booth, her wiff the orange-and-pink 'air'

Through the stabbing strobe lights and shifting gyrating bodies, they could make out a gleam of orange and pink in a far corner.

'Drink up' said James and tossed his back.

Til leave mine' shouted Agatha above the din. 1 never did like gnat's piss anyway'

His eyes had that blank look which Agatha had come to interpret as a sign of disapproval. But he said, 'We'd better dance our way over. Less conspicuous.'

He joined the gyrating figures, cheerfully waving his arms in the air and dancing like a dervish. Agatha tried to follow suit but felt ridiculous. Teenagers were stopping their own dancing to cheer James on.

Inconspicuous, thought Agatha with a groan. The whole damn place is looking at us.

A few more whirls and turns and James came to a stop at Cheryl's booth, wildly applauded by the customers.

It was a different Miss Mabbs from the quiet, pallid girl in the white coat Agatha had first seen at the vet's. Her hair was sprayed pink and orange and arranged in what Agatha could only think of as tufts. She wore a black leather jacket with studs over a yellow T-shirt with some slogan on it that Agatha could not read in the gloom. Beside her was a leather-jacketed young man with a face like a tipsy fox.

'Miss Mabbs!' cried Agatha. 'We've been looking for you.'

'Who the hell are you?' said the girl and picked up her drink, which was of as vile a colour as her hair, nudged aside the little paper umbrella on the top with her nose and took a sip of it through a straw.

'I am Agatha Raisin' said Agatha, thrusting out her hand.

"So what?' mumbled Cheryl.

'I met you at the vet's in Carsely. I came along with my pussy'

Took your pussy along, did you?' demanded Cheryl's escort with a cackle. 'Any luck?'

Cheryl sniggered.

'Look here' said James in the authoritative tones of the upper class, 'can we go somewhere quiet where we can talk?' ^^

'Sod off' said Cheryl, but the young man put a hand on her arm. His foxy eyes glinted up at James. 'What's it worth to us?'

'A tenner and a drink' said James.

'Okay' he said. 'Come on, Cher.'

They were soon all seated in a quiet dingy pub, perhaps one of the few left in Britain without a slot-machine or juke-box or piped music. A few old men sat around in corners. The bar smelt of must and old beer and old menu

'What do you want to know?' asked Cheryl Mabbs.

'About Paul Bladen' said Agatha eagerly. 'It now seems he was murdered.'

Interest showed in her face for the first time. 'And I thought nothing exciting would ever happen in that dump of a village. Me, I prefer the more cosmopolitan life, like' she stated, as if Leamington Spa were Paris. 'Who done it?'

"That's what we want to find out' said James. 'Any ideas?'

She scowled horribly and took a hearty swig at her glass of vodka and Red Bull. 'Could be anyone' she said finally.

'There's Mrs Josephs as well' said Agatha and told of that murder.

'I told him trouble would come when he destroyed her old cat' said Cheryl. 'He didn't like cats, and that's a fact. Hated the beasts. But he sweet-talked those old dears in the village a treat. Always taking one or the other of them out for dinner.'

'Why?' asked Agatha.

'Why else?' countered Cheryl. 'After their money, I suppose. I mean, what other reason could there be?'

'And why would he want their money?' demanded James, flashing a sympathetic look at Agatha, who was now outscowling Cheryl. 'I mean, he left a fair bit.'

'It was an impression, that's all. He was keen on that Freda Huntingdon. I caught them hard at it.'

'Where?' demanded Agatha with a triumphant look at James.

'Right on the examining table. Her skirt was up around her ears and his trousers were down round his ankles. Laugh! I nearly died. But the others? Holding hands and taking them out for dinner was about as far as he got, I reckon. Course he had to soft-soap Mrs Josephs, didn't he? I mean, she was making things hot for him over that cat. Then there was that funny old creature, Webster. That's it'

Agatha's scowl came back. She estimated that Josephine Webster, she who ran the dried-flower shop, was probably younger than herself.

'None of these ladies is really old,' she protested.

Cheryl shrugged. 'All look like a hundred and two to me' she said with all the callousness of youth.

'Did he get up to any of this philandering in Mircester?' asked James.

'Didn't know him then,' replied Cheryl. 'Saw the ad for a vet's receptionist and got the job'

'So what are you doing now?'

'Kennels. Out Warwick way' Cheryl's face suddenly softened. 'I like animals. B'etter'n people any day'

'So all we got out of that unlovely pair,' said James as they drove back to Carsely, 'was much as we supposed. He was charming the ladies of Carsely

'And screwing one,' said Agatha with a grin.

'I must confess I was very surprised to hear that about Freda' he said stiffly. 'Do you think our Miss Mabbs could have been making it up?'

'Not for a moment' said Agatha gleefully.

'Oh, well, I suppose we should now concentrate on Miss Webster. Then there's Mrs Mason to see. Who was the other one you saw at the funeral?'

'Harriet Parr'

'We'll see them all tomorrow' said James. 'But better not let Bill Wong know what we're doing'

'And yet' said Agatha, 'I can't help feeling that the clue to the whole thing lies with his ex-wife. She must know more about him than anyone. And who was the woman who answered the phone that night I called and said she was his wife? I'll bet that was our Mrs Skirt-up-to-Her-Eyeballs, Freda Huntingdon'

'Can we please drop the subject of Freda?' he said. Agatha glanced sideways at him as they approached the orange lights of a roundabout. His face looked grim.

Damn Freda, thought Agatha bitterly, pressed her foot harder on the accelerator and sent the car racing homewards through the night.

'Do you think there is a Mr Parr?' asked James as he and Agatha strolled through the village the next day to renew their investigation.

'I shouldn't think so. There are an awful lot of widows about. Men don't live that long'

'Probably only the married ones' said James.

He put his hands in his pockets and began to whistle something complicated - probably Bach or some old bore like that, thought Agatha.

Mrs Harriet Parr lived in a modern bungalow on the outskirts of the village. When they reached the gate, Agatha said suddenly, "This is a waste of time.'

'Why?'

'I don't remember meeting a Mrs Parr at the vicarage, and if she wasn't there to overhear what Mrs Josephs said to me, how can she have anything to do with it?'

'Perhaps Mrs Josephs was going about saying the same thing earlier'

'Oh, well, let's get on with it'

Mrs Parr answered the door herself. Agatha began by saying they hadn't met, but she and Mr Lacey would like to ask her a few questions, and soon they found themselves in a comfortable living-room. Agatha counted six cats. There was something claustrophobic about seeing so many cats in one room. She felt obscurely that at least some of them ought to be outside.

Mrs Parr was a small woman with curly black hair and an oddly old-fashioned sort of hourglass figure. Agatha decided she was probably wearing a corset. She had hard red cheeks and a small pinched mouth which when she spoke revealed pointed teeth.

It was some time before Agatha could get down to questioning her because she and James had to be introduced to each cat in turn. Then Mrs Parr fussed over James, asking him if he were comfortable, plumping cushions at his back, before rushing off to fetch tea and 'some of my special scones'.

'No Mr Parr' whispered Agatha.

'Might be out at work' said James.

Mrs Parr came back with a loaded tray. After tea had been poured and the lightness of scones admired, Agatha said, 'Actually, we're really interested in finding out about Paul Bladen'

Mrs Parr's cup rattled against the saucer. 'Poor Paul' she said. She put cup and saucer down and dabbed at her eyes with a crumpled tissue. 'So young and so brave'

'Brave?'

'He was going to found a veterinary hospital. He had such dreams. He said he could only talk to me. I was the only one with enough imagination to share his vision'

Then they heard the front door open. 'My husband' whispered Mrs Parr. 'Don't . . '

The door of the living-room opened and a tall thin middle-aged man with a grey face and a prominent Adam's apple bobbing over a rigid shirt collar came in.

'People from the village, dear' said Mrs Parr.

'Mrs Raisin and Mr Lacey. They both live in Lilac Lane. They've just been admiring my scones'

'What brought you here?' asked Mr Parr bluntly.

'We've just started asking a few questions about Paul Bladen - you know, the vet that was found dead.'

'Get out of here' hissed Mr Parr. He held the door wide open. 'Out!'

'We were only -' said Agatha, but that was as far as she got.

'Get out!' he shouted at the top of his voice this time, his thin tired face working with rage. 'Never come here again. Leave us alone'

'I am very sorry we upset you so much' said James politely as he and Agatha edged past the infuriated husband.

Tuck off, you upper-class twat' yelled Mr Parr and spat full in James's face.

There was a horrified silence, punctuated only by the sound of Mrs Parr's weeping. James slowly cleaned his face with a handkerchief. Mr Parr was now trembling and looking appalled at the enormity of his own behaviour.

James put his large hands on Mr Parr's shoulders and shook him backwards and forwards.

He punctuated each shake by saying, 'Don't . . . ever ... do ... that ... to ... me . . . again'

Then he abruptly released him and strode out, with Agatha at his heels.

'We're really stirring up mud, Agatha' he sighed. He looked back at the neat bungalow. 'You know, sometimes when I was coming home on leave, I would look out at little houses like that from the train and imagine secure and cosy lives. What awful emotional dramas lurk behind the facades of all the houses called comfortable names like Mon Repos and Shangri-La, what breeding grounds for murder'

'Oh, it's quite a lively place, the country' said Agatha cheerfully. 'I feel we're getting somewhere. Mrs Parr must have been having a fling with Bladen. Let's try Josephine Webster.'

'Perhaps before we get to her, we should call on Freda Huntingdon.'

'What? That floozy? How can you bear to look at that slut without blushing?' demanded Agatha.

He stopped and looked down at her, leaning back, hands in his pockets and rocking slightly on his heels. A faint gleam of malice shone in his eyes. 'On the contrary, Agatha, I find the idea of a Freda Huntingdon with her skirt around her ears quite delectable.'

Agatha walked on. Well, they would call on Freda because Agatha was suddenly sure, had a sudden gut feeling that Freda was the murderer. She, Agatha Raisin, would prove it. Freda would be dragged off by the police. She would be sentenced to life imprisonment. She would be locked away from society and James would never set eyes on her again.

'Why are you racing along?7 demanded James plaintively from somewhere behind her. 'I thought you weren't all that keen on seeing the woman'

'I've decided that after all I do want to visit dear Freda' snapped Agatha.

Droon's Cottage, which Freda had bought, was at the back of the village on a rise. It was a Georgian cottage with a splendid wisteria hanging over the Regency doorway, its purple blooms just beginning to show.

'The bell doesn't work' said James and Agatha scowled horribly at this sign of his knowledge of the workings of Freda's house.

The door was opened by Doris Simpson, who cleaned for Agatha.

'What are you doing here?' demanded Agatha, who felt that this excellent cleaning woman was her sole property, although Doris only came one day a week now.

'I does for Mrs Huntingdon, Agatha' said Doris, and Agatha thought that Doris should at least have addressed her as 'Mrs Raisin' in front of James.

'Is she in?' asked James.

'No, James, her's up at Lord Pendlebury's. Got a horse and he's keeping it in his stables for her. Oh, and Bert thanks you for the loan of the books.'

'We'll go up to Pendlebury's and have a word with her there' said James.

1 didn't know you knew Bert and Doris Simpson' said Agatha.

'I sometimes have a drink with them in the Red Lion. Should we walk to Pendlebury's? It's a fine day'

'Oh, all right' said Agatha ungraciously, thinking, trust Freda to ingratiate herself with the aristocracy.

She was cursing her middle-aged feet by the time they reached Eastwold Park. She was wearing a low-heeled pair of black suede shoes which up until that day had appeared a miracle of comfort. But shoes which had only been worn around the house and for a short walk from the car to the shops had developed hard ridges and bumps on the inside, of which she had previously been unaware.

As they approached the door of the mansion, Agatha felt her working-class soul cringing.

This was intensified by a smell of baked beans coming from the kitchen, which vividly brought back memories of the shabby streets of Birmingham: squalling babies, large belligerent women, and a small Agatha who nursed a dream of one day having a home in the Cotswolds. The food of the poor, remembered Agatha, had always seemed to be tinned baked beans or fish and chips.

Mrs Arthur opened the door. "He's got company' she said. 'He's over at the stables.'

'We'll find him there' said James.

Agatha limped after him towards the stables.

Freda and Lord Pendlebury were standing outside, talking. Freda was wearing a tweed hacking jacket, jodhpurs and new riding-boots. She looked as if she had stepped out of a glossy advertisement in Country Life.

'James!' she cried when she saw him and she ran forward and kissed him on the cheek. Agatha wished she had not come. Lord Pendlebury sloped over. 'What's this, young man? I was just enjoying the company of this pretty lady before you came along' and he gave Freda a doting look. Then he saw Agatha. 'Good God!' he exclaimed. 'It's that woman back again.'

Freda giggled and hung on James's arm, smiling up at him.

'We've been asking questions about Paul Bladen's death' said Agatha, harshly and loudly. 'We gather you were having it off with him'

'Really!' Freda looked at Agatha with distaste and then her eyes appealed silently to the two gentlemen for help.

'Go away, you horrible woman. Shoo!' said Lord Pendlebury.

'Too blunt, Agatha' murmured James. 'Why don't you go home and leave this to me? I'll call in on you later.'

Face red, Agatha wheeled round and stalked off. She could feel them all looking at her. Why had she been so blunt? Damn Freda!

James would probably drop the investigation and all because of that floozy.

Her feet hurt and her heart hurt and she was glad to get home to the undemanding affections of her cats.

She felt she should forget about James and go and ask Josephine Webster a few questions. The phone rang.

To her outrage and amazement, she recognized Jack Pomfret's voice. Took, Agatha' he wheedled. 'Okay, I went about things the wrong way. Yes, you guessed it. I went bust in Spain. But I've got a nice little earner lined up and ...'

Agatha dropped the phone. She found she was trembling with outrage. How dare he! She felt almost frightened that he should persist in trying to get money out of her. Think of something else. Think of Josephine Webster. And then there was Mrs Mason. She had been at the funeral.

But somehow she was too upset to think clearly. She thought about pouring herself a drink and then decided against it. She was not going to end up one of those people who poured themselves a drink the minute anything upset them. So she switched on the television and stared blindly at an American soap, gradually feeling herself relax.

An hour later, when her doorbell went, she jumped nervously, almost frightened that Jack Pomfret had pursued her to the country. But it was James who stood on the doorstep. "Sorry about that' he said. 'But you were too blunt. Freda knows you don't like her and so she is not going to take kindly to being questioned by you'

'So did you get anything at all out of her?' asked Agatha.

'When I got rid of the doting Pendlebury, I had a talk with her. She says she had a bit of a fling with Bladen, but that was all. She pointed out, rightly, that she's free and single and can do what she likes. She was quite open about the whole business.'

'But why in the surgery?' demanded Agatha. "They've both got the privacy of homes and beds. Doesn't that suggest passion rather than a casual affair to you?'

'Well,' he said awkwardly, 'Freda's quite a girl.'

'Middle-aged woman, rather.'

'Let's not quarrel about Freda. I don't think there's anything there to worry about. Let's try Josephine Webster.'

Glad of an excuse to be with him again and get away from the phone, Agatha set off with him to Josephine Webster's shop. It was not a proper shop. It was a terraced house on the main street and she used what would normally have been the living-room to display her wares. The shop was dark and heavy with the ginger and cinnamon smells of herbal soaps and perfumes. Bunches of dried flowers hung from the beamed ceiling. Straw hats ornamented with dried flowers hung on the walls.

Neat Miss Webster was sitting at a desk in the corner of this room, doing accounts.

Determined to be more tactful, Agatha bought a cake of sandalwood soap, talked about the Carsely Ladies' Society, the weather, and then finally got around to the subject of Paul Bladen.

'A most unfortunate death' said Miss Webster, peering at Agatha over a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles. 'Such a sad accident'

James stepped in. 'But now, in view of Mrs Josephs' murder, the police are beginning to think that someone might have murdered Paul Bladen.'

'That's ridiculous. I can't believe that'

'There's a mobile police unit being set up outside the village,' said James, 'and I don't think it's all because of Mrs Josephs'

Her face had a pinched, closed look. 1 am very busy. If you do not wish to buy anything else, please leave'

'But you must have been very close to Paul Bladen' pursued Agatha. 'I saw you at his funeral'

'I was there to pay my respects, although I did not like him' she said. 'Us village people went to pay our respects. Outsiders like you no doubt went along out of vulgar curiosity, and if you take my advice, leave investigations to the police'

'So that's us, with a flea in both ears' commented James outside. 'All we seem to be getting are insults. What about Mrs Mason?'

'At least we'll get a welcome there' said Agatha. 'She lives on the council estate.'

'How are your feet?'

'Fine now. I changed my shoes'

Mrs Mason indeed gave them a warm welcome. More tea and scones. Gossip about the village. But Agatha began to shift nervously. A big murder investigation was taking place in the village. Surely it was odd that Mrs Mason should not mention that.

'Lot of police around' ventured Agatha.

'Yes, poor Mrs Josephs. I find it hard to believe. I think she took her own life. She was so upset about her cat'

'That was a wicked thing of Bladen to do' put in James. 'Of course, the police now think he was murdered'

There was a long silence while Mrs Mason stared at him, her matronly figure rigid. 'That's ridiculous' she said at last. 'No one would kill Mr Bladen'

'Why?'

'He wasn't the kind of person who gets murdered. He was a man of purpose and vision. A kind man'

'Not very kind to kill Mrs Josephs' cat'

'That was a mercy killing. He told me the old cat was in agony'

Agatha leaned forward. 'Just think for a moment, Mrs Mason, just suppose someone had murdered Paul Bladen. Can't you think of any reason why?'

'No, I really can't. I wouldn't get involved in all this, Mrs Raisin. I really wouldn't. It's not decent. Perhaps it's the way people go on in the city, but . . '

'But don't you even want to know who killed Mrs Josephs?'

'Yes, but that's a job for the police'

They couldn't get anything else out of her and retreated to Agatha's cottage.

'I would like to have a go at that ex-wife, Mrs Bladen, one more time.' said Agatha. 'But no doubt she would just slam the door in our faces.'

'You know,' said James, 'we could go back and see Bunty Vere-Dedsworth at the manor house. She might help us in getting Greta Bladen to talk.'

'Then let's go' said Agatha eagerly, frightened that if they waited in Carsely any longer, Freda would arrive on the doorstep.

Chapter Seven

They were just about to leave when the phone rang. Agatha started and looked at it as if it were a hissing snake. Was it Freda? Or was it Bill Wong asking them to mind their own business and leave the investigation to the police? He had always had a nasty way of knowing what she was up to.

She picked up the receiver and gave a tentative 'Hello'

"Look here, Agatha' said Jack Pomfret's voice sternly. 'This is ridiculous. I -'

'Go away and leave me alone!' she screamed and banged down the receiver.

Then she stood and wiped her moist palms on her skirt. 'He's mad' she muttered. 'I could kill him'

'Who? Are you all right, Agatha?'

She shook her head as if to clear it and gave a sigh. 'Someone I used to know. He's trying to con money out of me. He starts a new business. I pay. He knows I found out he was trying to cheat me. But he's insane. He keeps phoning. I feel humiliated. I feel threatened'

The phone rang again and Agatha jumped.

'Allow me,' he said. He picked up the receiver and listened. Then he said in glacial tones, 'This is Agatha's husband speaking. I handle all her financial affairs. One more call from you and I will suggest to the police that they take a close look at your business transactions'

James looked at the receiver before putting it down and smiled.

'What did he say?' demanded Agatha.

'He gave a frightened squawk and rang off. You won't be hearing from him again'

'Why are you so sure of that?'

'Because, my dear Agatha, it's an old-fashioned world, however tough and independent women have become. He now thinks he has an irate husband to deal with. Come along. You look too rattled to drive'

As she climbed into his car, Agatha felt a warm glow permeating her body. He had said he was her husband! Oh, somehow she must tell Freda Huntingdon that!

The day was blustery, with great cloud shadows racing across the fields, where new corn rippled in the fleeting sunlight. Agatha's heart sang. And then her voice sang, 'Oh, what a beautiful morning'

'It's afternoon' said James. He switched on the radio, a pointed rebuke, and Agatha sank back into silence.

The manor house looked as it had done before, calm and benign, part of the landscape rather than some building thrust upon it.

'So you're back' said Bunty, looking pleased. 'I was just going to have some coffee'

'We need your help' said James when they were all seated in the comfortable kitchen.

He succinctly outlined all that had happened and explained they were sure that Greta Bladen could help them.

Bunty listened carefully, her eyes bright with interest.

'As I told you before, I know Greta' she said. 'We all know each other in this little village. I'll phone her and ask her to come up'

She went off and came back shortly to say that Greta was on her way. 'You had better let me do the talking' said Bunty. 'She can be prickly'

And prickly was what Greta looked as she entered the kitchen and stopped short at the sight of Agatha and James.

'Now you can't run away from people asking questions about Paul's death' said Bunty firmly 'You didn't like the man, but surely you don't want a murderer to be left to roam the Cotswolds in peace. Sit down, Greta, and have coffee. You see, we all feel that if we knew a bit more about Paul Bladen, then we might be able to guess which of the suspects might have done it'

'Including me' said Greta bitterly, but she sat down and shrugged off her short coat.

'Well, it's a dreary story' she said. 'As you probably realize, I was ten years older than Paul when I met him. He was working as a vet in Leamington Spa where I lived. I had a dog then I was devoted to, the way only the unloved can become devoted to animals.'

Agatha, who had been thinking of her cats, stared down into her coffee cup.

'I took my dog to the vet for some shots. Paul was charming. I could not believe my luck when he asked me out. My parents had died and left me a house and a comfortable amount of money. It was what the romances call a whirlwind courtship. Shortly after we were married, I found my dog dead one morning. The animal had been fit and healthy the day before. Paul was all sympathy and did an autopsy. He said the dog had died of heart failure. Only in later years did I suspect he had poisoned it. Strange in a vet, but he had a hatred of dogs and cats. He told me about his dream of a veterinary hospital. He said he would name it after me. I gave him a considerable amount of money to get started.

'During the following year, he regaled me with stories of the plot of land he had bought and how the builders had started work. I was excited and asked to see it, but he said he wanted it to be a surprise. I said, "At least tell me where it is," and he said Chimley Road on the outskirts of Mircester. He started to come home very late. He said he was always going over to the building site when he finished work. Then he said we were moving to Mircester to be near the new hospital. He did not ask me for money. He said he had a house all ready but I was to promise not to go near Chimley Road until he was ready to surprise me'

Greta sighed. 'I was so much in love with him. That was until I met his partner, Peter Rice, at a party. I had known Peter before, by the way. We were old friends. So I thought it all right to ask him if they would still run the surgery when the new veterinary hospital was opened.

'He asked me, "What veterinary hospital?" I told him. He gave me a pitying look and said why didn't I go out to Chimley Road and have a look. Alarmed, I set off the next day. It was a long row of terraced houses. No building site.

'I taxed Paul with it. He began to say that things hadn't worked out there, so the building site was in Leamington, and when I didn't believe him, he finally came out with the truth. He was a gambler, a dedicated gambler. Not only had he spent all the money I had given him in gambling but he needed more to pay his debts. I refused. He grew ugly. He told me he had only married an old bat like me for my money. Yes, I could have killed him then. But I wanted free of him and so I made him agree to a separation and subsequent divorce. If he did not agree, I said, I would tell Peter Rice all about him'

'So' said James, 'one of his ladies could have murdered him because he conned money out of them'

'Surely that's hardly a reason for murder' protested Bunty.

'Oh, yes, it is' said Agatha, thinking of Jack Pomfret.

'So now you've got what you want from me' said Greta in a tired voice, 'may I go?'

'Of course, my dear' said Bunty 'But you must realize how essential it is to find out who did this terrible thing'

Greta stood up. 'Why? Why is it so important? He died painlessly. He was cruel and useless'

'But there is the murder of Mrs Josephs' said Agatha quietly. 'You must have read about that'

'Yes, but what's that got to do with Paul?'

'She said she was going to tell me all about him' said Agatha, 'and the next day she was dead'

Greta shook her head in bewilderment. 'I cannot bring myself to believe that Paul's death was anything other than an accident. I don't know this Josephs woman - I mean I didn't know her. Possibly her death is unrelated' Her voice shook. 'I've done what I can for you. Please don't trouble me again'

There was a long silence after she had left. Then, 'Poor woman' said Bunty.

'Perhaps' Agatha laced her fingers tightly round the coffee mug. "On the other hand, she surely had the most reason to kill Paul. She would know about Immobilon. Perhaps she would have access to Adrenalin, if he had left any of his drugs behind when he left her'

'You're forgetting about the break-in at the surgery' James pointed out.

"The police seem to think that might have been done after Mrs Josephs's death'

'So many women. So many suspects' mourned James. 'But we have taken up enough of your time, Bunty'

They thanked her and left.

'We've got one thing' said Agatha, as they drove off. 'Money, not passion, seems to be at the bottom of things. Look, Jack Pomfret didn't get any money out of me, right? But the very fact that he tried to trick me, the fact that he has the gall to phone me up makes me want to murder him, gives me a mad hatred and fear of him. Can you understand that?'

'Yes, I think so. If any of these women, I mean any of our suspects, apart from Greta, paid up, there would be a motive. We could go to Mircester and ask Peter Rice what happened to Paul Bladen's deposit book'

Agatha agreed, delighted at an opportunity of more time in his company.

The evening surgery at the vet's in Mircester was just closing. Peter Rice greeted them this time amiably enough but scoffed when they asked if he had any of Paul Bladen's bankbooks.

'I cleared all his papers out and made a bonfire of them' he said. Tve put the house up for sale. I could hardly sell it with all his junk around. I asked Greta if she wanted anything but she didn't, so I gave his clothes to charity and the contents of the house are being sold with it.'

'Which was his bank?' asked James.

'The Cotswold and Gloucester. But bank managers don't reveal anything about their customers' accounts, even when they're dead, as far as I know.'

'You didn't happen to notice if Paul had received any large sums from women recently?' asked Agatha.

He gave a jolly laugh. 'He was hardly young enough to be a toy boy. The lawyers will only pass over to me what is left after their bill and the funeral costs have been settled. I'm afraid his banking affairs have gone to the grave with him. But why do you ask? Hadn't been ripping you off, had he?'

'Just curious' said Agatha. 'I mean it is odd, now that it's turned out someone murdered Mrs Josephs. I mean, it definitely makes Paul Bladen's death look like murder.'

'Not to me' said Peter. 'Pendlebury asked me to do that operation and I said I would never touch Immobilon again'

'Let's get something to eat' suggested James when they had left the surgery.

They chose a nearby pub - but not the one where Agatha had ruined the hand basin - and began to discuss the suspects, or rather, Agatha discussed the suspects while a preoccupied James frowned into his beer.

'I don't believe you've been listening to a word I've been saying,' said Agatha crossly.

'I've been half-listening. The fact is I've been thinking about committing a crime'

'You?'

'Yes. I've been thinking about breaking into the Cots wold and Gloucester Bank'

"But that's impossible. There'll be sophisticated burglar alarms and laser beams and pressure pads and God knows what else'

'Perhaps not. Let's finish our food and drink and go and take a look at it'

The bank was a converted shop in a side street where old Tudor buildings with overhanging eaves crowded out the night sky above.

'Burglar alarm of course' said James. 'We'll take a look round the back if we can get there'

They found a lane which ran along the back of a row of shops and the bank. There were a series of lock-ups, garages, and tall wooden fences, all having a closed, impregnable air.

James counted along. 'This is the back of the bank' he said, 'what used to be the garden. Surely they wouldn't wire up this wooden door in the wall.'

He took a small wallet of credit cards out of his pocket. Agatha bit back the impatient remark she was about to make - that apart from in the movies, she had never seen anyone open a lock with a credit card. He selected one.

Agatha turned away and looked along the lane, which was lit with sodium lamps, making everything look unreal, and, she thought more practically, probably making her lips look purple.

There was a click and she swung round. The door in the wall was standing open. 'Amazing,' said Agatha.

'Let's get inside before someone sees us' whispered James.

Agatha followed him in. He closed the door behind them and took out a pencil torch. 'You've done this before' accused Agatha.

He didn't reply but led the way up a narrow path between two strips of lawn. 'Look' he murmured, 'there's a kitchen at the back'

'What does a bank want a kitchen for?'

'Make tea for the staff. Left over from when it used to be a shop. Now, let me see . . '

The thin beam of the torch flicked up and down the building. 'I don't see any sign of an alarm here' he said. Tm going to have a go. Be prepared to make a run for it.'

'But we might not hear any alarm' said Agatha in an agony of nerves. It might just ring inside the police station'

'Where's your sense of adventure?' he mocked.

He took out the card again. Agatha prayed that he would not be able to get the door open. She imagined police cars swooping up the lane, police with loud-hailers; the reproachful eyes of Bill Wong. But all she heard was James's voice saying softly, 'It's open. Come on'

Now Agatha's heart was hammering so hard, she felt sure it could be heard for miles. The kitchen door closed behind them, the torch beam flickered rapidly to right and left. James opened a door leading out of the kitchen and led the way through.

They found themselves in a square room full of desks and computers. "The office' said James, 'which is all we need. Just as well. Look at that door over there. That's the one into the bank proper, where the money is'

Agatha shivered. There was an alarm box over the door and a steady red light glared down on them like an infuriated eye.

'Now' he said, 'make yourself comfortable. This might take some time. There are no windows in this room except for that one through to the main bank, which is just as well, for the light from the computer screen could have been spotted from outside'

Agatha sat down in a dark corner and waited, too frightened to watch what he was doing, although she was aware of a computer screen flickering into life and the soft sound of drawers being opened and shut.

It had been a long day and extreme fear had the effect of making Agatha feel sleepy. Her eyes closed.

She awoke with him shaking her shoulder and cried, 'We've been caught! The police!'

'Shhh! I've found his account' hissed James.

'Good. Can we get out of here?'

'Yes, I've taken notes. Quietly now.'

As Agatha finally followed him down the garden path, she felt sure there must be people living above the adjoining shops, people who were staring down at the two figures in the garden and reaching for their telephones, but when she shot one frightened look back, everything was as dark and silent as before.

Only when they were safely outside did she realize that fear was affecting her physically. 'I must find a Ladies' . . . quick,' she gasped.

'Are you feeling sick?'

'No, I've got to pee,' said Agatha. "There's a tide of pee rising up to my eyeballs.'

'We'll go back to the pub,' he said. 'It isn't far.'

Agatha cursed her own crudity. But she almost ran back to the pub.

'Now what?' she asked, elated because her fright was over and she had used the services of the pub's toilet.

'Don't you want to know what I found out?'

'Oh, yes.'

'Listen to this. In the short time Paul Bladen was in Carsely, he had deposits in his account: one of twenty thousand pounds, one of fifteen thousand, then nine thousand, one of four thousand, five deposits of five thousand, and one for five hundred. That's apart from his pay.'

'Who paid him?'

'There's the rub. Didn't say. I've been thinking. I would like to get inside that house of his. We could do it tonight.'

'Last orders, please, ladies and gennelmen. If you please,' called the barman.

'As late as that!' exclaimed Agatha. 'Well, we could start out tomorrow early and -'

'No, tonight' He looked at Agatha's cherry-red coat. 'We need some dark clothes.'

What monster is this I have unleashed? thought Agatha, looking at his animated face. She could tell him to go on his own. And yet, there would be all the excitement of the adventure, which might lead to ... They fumbled around in the dark of Paul Bladen's house.

'What's that?' he cried, clutching hold of Agatha. 'Nothing' he murmured, still holding her. 'Your perfume smells divine. Oh, Agatha!' And he bent his lips to hers.

'Agatha! Stop day-dreaming and let's get on' said James sharply and Agatha blinked the rosy vision away, obscurely irritated that he had snapped her out of it before he had kissed her.

Back at her cottage, Agatha changed into a pair of black slacks and a black sweater. She wondered whether he meant her to blacken her face. Better wait and see.

He rang her bell at one in the morning. He too was wearing a black sweater and black trousers. 'We'll be causing no end of a scandal,' he said cheerfully. 'I only hope no one sees me calling on you at this hour of the night,' and Agatha thought of Freda and fervently hoped that someone had.

James, who had been drinking mineral water during their last visit to the pub, elected to drive again. Agatha snuggled down in the passenger seat and dreamt they were racing off on their honeymoon.

'Just to be on the safe side,' said James, 'we'll park a street away and walk.'

Paul Bladen's house stood quiet and shuttered in a road of Victorian villas. Agatha remembered her last visit and was glad now she had run away.

James looked up and down the quiet street, which was lined with cherry trees in full bloom. A breeze blew down the street and blossom cascaded about them. Isn't it sad' mourned James, 'that such beauty should be so fleeting?'

Too true' said Agatha edgily. 'But if you stand here for much longer admiring the blossom, then someone's going to see us.'

He gave a little sigh and Agatha wondered whether he were wishing he was with someone who could share his love of beauty.

'I think as there is no one around, we should go straight up to the front door' he whispered. "There's a dark porch and once we're there, we'll be pretty much shielded.'

'Why bother about dark clothes if we're not going to sneak around the back?' asked Agatha.

'Because it might take me a bit of time to get the door open, and so long as we are dressed in black, there's less chance of us being noticed from the street by any passer-by'

When they were in the shelter of the porch, he flicked the beam of his pencil torch at the door and then switched it off. 'Yale lock' he said with satisfaction. 'Lovely stained-glass panel on the door. I wonder if Peter Rice knows you can get money these days for Victorian stained glass'

'Get on with it' said Agatha, looking nervously over her shoulder.

And then they heard the sound of slow footsteps coming along the street and stiffened.

'Stand very still in the corner and turn your face away from the street and don't move' hissed James.

They froze.

The footsteps came nearer, stopping every once in a while. 'Come on, Spot' said a man's voice irritably. Someone walking the dog.

Agatha could feel sweat trickling down her face.

And then, to her horror, she heard the light patter of paws behind her and then a dog sniffing at her ankles and the sound of the owner walking up the garden path.

'Come out of there' cried the owner sharply. Please God, prayed Agatha, get me out of this one and I'll never be bad again.

The dog pattered off. 'I'm putting you on the leash now' said the owner's voice. This was followed by a metallic click and then those footsteps slowly retreated out of the garden and off down the street.

'Whew!' said Agatha. 'That was close. We should have pretended to be a courting couple' she added hopefully. "Then, if he'd seen us, he would have sheered off.'

'On the contrary' said James, "nothing infuriates the suburbanite more than the sight of a couple snogging on someone else's property.' He took out a bunch of thin metal implements.

'Where did you get those?' asked Agatha. 'You're not a retired burglar, are you?'

'Chap in the regiment. Now, keep quiet while I get to work'

Agatha stood and fidgeted. She hoped the much-advertised deodorant she had put on was working. He tried one implement after the other until there was a soft click.

A moment later, Agatha stood in the hall where she had panicked before Paul Bladen. 'Now' said James in a normal voice, 'there's a good bit of light coming from the street lamps outside and the curtains aren't closed. So we search around for some sort of study or a desk'

Agatha opened a door in the hall. Til try this side,' she said. 'You try the other'

She could dimly see that the windows of the room she found herself in looked out over the back garden to a railway track. She moved cautiously around in the darkness, feeling with her fingers for a desk. It seemed to be the sitting-room - sofa, coffee-table, easy chairs. Suddenly, with a roar, a late-night passenger train heading for Oxford rumbled along the track at the end of the garden and then crawled to a stop. Agatha crouched down on the floor. The lights from the carriages shone straight into the room. There were a few people sitting reading books or just staring out into space. Then, with a wheeze, the train crawled on, slowly gathered speed, and roared off into the night.

Agatha got up and made her way with trembling legs to the door, fell over something and crashed down, swearing loudly.

James came in and said impatiently, 'Try to keep it quiet, Agatha. I've found the study. Follow me. Other side of the hall'

It's all right. I haven't hurt myself,' said Agatha sarcastically. 'I knocked something over'

The torch stabbed down. A canterbury lay on its side, papers and magazines spilled across the floor. 'You'd think Rice would have thrown these away,' complained James, picking them up and putting them back after he had righted the canterbury. 'Hardly add to the value of the house'

They crept across the hall and into the study. James approached a desk by the window and gently slid open the drawers. 'Nothing here,' he mumbled. 'Maybe lower down' He slid out a bottom drawer and then his searching fingers found something at the back of it. He drew out a file. 'Come out to the hall so I can flash the torch on this'

In the hall, the thin beam of light showed bank-books and a deposit book and bank statements tucked into the cardboard file. 'May as well get out of here and take this home' said James.

'Won't it be missed?' asked Agatha.

'No. Rice said he had burnt all the papers. This was jammed at the back of the bottom drawer. He must have missed it'

Agatha, delighted to be outside again and once more in the fresh air, tripped gaily forward down the garden path and fell headlong over something. There was a curse from Agatha, a yelp of canine pain, and then that dratted voice calling, 'Spot!'

The dog pattered off to its master. James helped Agatha to her feet.

'What's going on there?" came the dog owner's voice.

They walked to the garden gate. A man stood under the street light, holding a small white dog, his face pinched with suspicion. "Did you kick my dog?' he demanded wrathfully.

'My wife tripped over your dog in the dark' said James coldly.

'Is that so? And what are you doing in there at this time of night?' asked the dog owner.

T do not see it is any business of yours, but my wife and I were looking at our new home. We have just put in an offer for this house and so I would like to take this opportunity of telling you that you ought to keep that animal of yours on a leash and stop it straying over private property. Come, Agatha'

Agatha, all too conscious of how odd they must look in their black clothes, edged past the dog owner with a weak smile.

She could feel his suspicious eyes boring into their backs at they walked to the car.

'Let's get home' said James. 'I'm dying to have a look at those bank statements. What a horrible man. What sort of man goes wandering around the streets with his dog at this time of night? Probably a sex maniac'

Agatha giggled. "He's probably just a respectable suburban insomniac, or his dog's incontinent and he is now wondering what kind of people decided to view a house in the dead of night'

It's all your fault' said James. "You should look where you're going'

'How was I to know the damn dog would be there?' retorted Agatha

'I don't know. You never seem to have anything sensible on your feet, always limping about and falling over things'

'Are we having our first quarrel?' asked Agatha sweetly.

There was a long silence. Then he said, 1 am sorry. I was a bit strung up. Shouldn't take it out on you. The fact is, I'm not used to burglary'

'You're forgiven'

'It was not an apology,' he said, 'simply an explanation'

'Then why did you say you were sorry?'

They bickered the whole way home but neither of them could bring themselves to stalk off to their respective residences until that file was examined.

They went into James's house. He lit the fire, which was already set. He sat down in an armchair on one side of the fire and Agatha took the armchair opposite.

'Ah, here's the deposit book' he said. 'Good heavens!'

'What? What have you found?'

'A cheque from Freda was paid in - twenty thousand pounds'

'Women's Lib' chortled Agatha maliciously. 'Not often the woman pays the man'

"The others are, let me see: fifteen thousand pounds from Mrs Josephs, nine thousand from Miss Webster, five thousand from Mrs Parr, four more deposits of five thousand, all from Freda, and five hundred from Miss Simms. Oh, and four thousand from Mrs Mason'

'Freda!' Agatha looked triumphant. 'Do you realize the payments to Bladen come to forty thousand pounds? Now any woman cheated out of that amount of money would feel like murder.'

He looked uncomfortable. 'I know Freda pretty well. She seems to be awfully rich . . '

'No one's that rich' put in Agatha.

He stretched and yawned. 'I'm tired. Better leave it for tonight. Should we turn this lot over to the police tomorrow?'

Agatha looked horrified. 'And have to explain how we came by it?'

'We could say we were viewing the house'

'What! At two in the morning? And the estate agents would point out that we never approached them'

'All right' said James, 'we'll tackle these women tomorrow. You had best leave Freda to me'

Agatha thought furiously about how she might be able to dissuade him from seeing Freda alone, but decided to sleep on it.

But as it turned out, she was the one to tackle Freda after all.

She struggled from a deep sleep the following morning with the sound of her own doorbell ringing in her ears.

She pulled on a dressing-gown and thrust her feet into slippers and went to answer the door. Freda stood there, her noisy dog cradled in her arm. "James here?' she asked brightly. 'I can't get any reply at his house'

'No' said Agatha, 'but come in and keep that dog of yours away from my cats'

'Yes, I think I want a word with you' Freda followed Agatha through to the kitchen. Agatha caught a glimpse of herself in the hall mirror: tousled hair, unmade-up face. Freda was as cool and fragile as a figure in a Fragonard painting. She sat down at the kitchen table, put her dog on the floor, and crossed her long legs. Agatha opened the back door and let her cats out into the garden.

'You've been running all over the place with James' said Freda. 'He's a bit of a softy. You shouldn't take advantage of his good nature'

'And just what's that supposed to mean?'

'He has been plagued by every old bat in the village, has he not? I warned him that these frightening menopausal women often get the wrong idea. Give him a break.'

'Listen, you murderess' hissed Agatha, 'just because you let Paul Bladen screw you on the surgery table doesn't make you Cleopatra. Besides, you had to pay for that, did you not? Forty thousand pounds, to be exact.'

The doorbell rang and Freda was up like a shot and running to answer it, her dog yapping at her heels. Agatha followed in time to see Freda throw herself weeping into James's arms, sobbing, 'This dreadful woman. She's accusing me of murder.'

'Now, then' he said, 'no one's accusing you of anything' He detached himself from her grasp. He looked at Agatha. 'Did you ask her about the money?'

Freda let out a gasp. 'You have no right to poke about my private affairs. I shall tell the police' She ran out of the door and down the lane, with her dog scurrying at her heels.

'What did you say, Agatha?' demanded James.

'She started by insulting me. She said . . ' Agatha bit her lip. She did not want to put the idea into James's head that she was one of those menopausal women with fantasies. 'Anyway, she was vile. So I taxed her about the money. Then you rang the bell and she went to answer it'

'Damn. You'd better get dressed, Agatha, and we'd best go and look at that house of Bladen's officially and then take the file along to Bill Wong, as if we've just found it.'

As they drove to Mircester, Agatha said suddenly, 'Was Bladen blackmailing them? I mean, all payments are relative. Five hundred pounds from Miss Simms, well, that's a fortune for her.'

'Yes, but she's single and so is Miss Webster, and Freda is a widow. Freda seemed quite unfazed by the fact we found out she had been having an affair with Bladen, so how could he blackmail her?'

At the estate agent's, instead of giving them the keys, a young girl called Wendy said she would accompany them. She was a cheerful Sloane Ranger type and talked non-stop to Agatha and James as they walked around the rooms of the house wondering how to get rid of her so that they could pretend to find the file. At last James said, 'We would like to be alone to have a private discussion' and to Agatha's relief, Wendy said, 'Right ho, drop the keys back at the office when you're finished,' and shot off.

They decided to have a thorough search of the house in the hope of finding letters or documents, but there was nothing. Out in the back garden there was an old oil drum with holes banged in its sides which had obviously been used for burning garden rubbish. James poked moodily at the contents with a stick. 'This is where Rice burnt the papers' he said, 'but we're out of luck. He did a thorough job. Not even an edge of paper left uncharred and legible. Oh, well, let's go and see Bill Wong.'

At police headquarters, Bill Wong studied the bank papers and deposit book and then looked up at them, his eyes shrewd. 'A man phoned in a report in the middle of the night that two people dressed in black were in Paul Bladen's house and told him they had bought it. That wouldn't have been you pair, now would it?'

'Us?' exclaimed James. 'Had it been us and had we found this file, then we would have brought it straight along.'

'I wonder. You must stop interfering. Yes, I know. I'm grateful for this and these women will all be interviewed - by the police. If I find you have been continuing with your amateur investigations, then I will really have to inquire more closely into the identities of that couple who were seen at Bladen's last night. Do I make myself clear?'

'Yes, very' said Agatha huffily.

'So that's all the thanks we get' she complained as James drove them back to Carsely.

Tm relieved in a way' said James. 'Oh, well, back to that writing'

There was a long silence. Then Agatha said, T have to pay my subscription to the Carsely Ladies' Society and that means calling on Miss Simms. Like to come along? I mean, Bill can't stop us asking a few questions in a neighbourly way. Dammit, he can't stop us talking to the villagers at all!'

'And how's he to know?' said James. 'I mean, everyone calls on everyone else in Carsely.'

'Miss Simms will be at work until this evening' said Agatha. 'Let's try Mrs Mason first.'

Chapter Eight

It was one of those typically English days. Steady rain drummed down and fallen cherry blossom bobbed along in the rivulets running between the old cobbles in Lilac Lane. They had fortified themselves with coffee and sandwiches, and with a lack of enthusiasm that the one would not admit to the other, Agatha and James set out to speak to Mrs Mason again.

Mrs Mason was so welcoming, so obviously thought they had come on a social call, that it was hard to get down to brass tacks. 'And you must have some more of my famous scones, Mr Lacey' said Mrs Mason. 'And that's real strawberry jam, not shop-bought. Soon be strawberry season again. I do hope this nasty weather clears up, don't you?' She looked at James archly. 'You and Mrs Raisin are quite the talk of the village. I was saying to the vicar the other day that we would soon be hearing the banns read.'

James looked at her in blank horror and nearly forgot why they had come. 'Mrs Mason,' began Agatha, 'we really don't want to distress you further, but we would like to know why you gave Mr Bladen such a large sum of money'

Mrs Mason blinked rapidly. 'That is really none of your business' Agatha glanced around the living-room. Four thousand pounds was an awful lot of money for such as Mrs Mason to part with.

'We came to warn you that the police are about to make it their business' said James.

"Then I shall speak to the police when they arrive. But how did you find out?'

'Agatha and I were looking around Paul Bladen's house, which is up for sale, and we happened to come across his old bank statements and deposit book. We did give them to the police'

Mrs Mason studied James, her eyes suddenly sharp. 'So you and Mrs Raisin were looking at a house together. Well, well, romance does seem to be in the air. Quite cheering, really. It shows one is never too old'

And that, as she had planned, had the desired effect of driving James to his feet and towards the door.

Agatha gloomily followed him out. James climbed into the car without holding the door open for her and stared moodily at the rain trickling down the windscreen. Agatha got into the passenger seat.

'Damn all gossiping women' said James, striking the steering wheel. 'You, me, it's bloody ridiculous'

'Yes, a laugh a minute' said Agatha drily, although her heart was sore. 'She only said that to get rid of you, and get rid of you it did'

His face lightened. 'Oh, that was the reason. How naive of me'

'You are really over-sensitive on the subject' said Agatha. 'It's my belief that you think every woman you come across is pursuing you'

He gave an awkward laugh. 'Let's try the Webster female'

Josephine Webster was arguing with a couple of rainwashed American tourists who were trying to haggle over the price of a dried-flower arrangement. "The price is marked on it' said Miss Webster, exasperated. 'This is not a bazaar'

'You can haggle over the price of things in antique shops' said James to the Americans in a kindly voice, l>ut most other places you're expected to pay the price marked'

'Is that a fact?'

The American man and woman fell into amiable conversation with James about their visit, Miss Webster returned to her desk, and Agatha stared out of the window at the main street. She had no desire to tackle Miss Webster while these tourists were in the shop.

'I've no time for Americans' said Miss Webster waspishly when the couple had left. 'Always complaining'

'It's not their fault' said James. "They feel they have to protect themselves. A lot of people think American tourists are made of money. Now that couple saved all their lives for this one trip. They have to budget very carefully, and they've probably been told back home that all foreigners are out to cheat them'

'But we're not foreigners' said Miss Webster. 'We're British'

James smiled. 'Talking about money, we wondered why you had paid such a large sum of money to Paul Bladen'

Miss Webster's face went white and then red. 'Get out of here,' she called shrilly. 'Get out!' She picked up a bunch of assorted dried flowers and waved it at them like a housewife shooing cats out with her broom.

'We're not getting anywhere' said James gloomily after he and Agatha had retreated out of the shop. 'Do you want to see Mrs Parr again?'

'So long as that husband of hers is not around' said Agatha.

But Mrs Parr did not open the door to them. The curtain twitched and they saw the quick blur of a face behind the glass, but the front door stayed resolutely shut.

'We're running out of people' said James. 'Perhaps I should try Freda. If I went on my own -'

'No' said Agatha quickly. 'Why don't we try Miss Mabbs again? Say we know these women were paying him. Ask her some more questions'

'Oh, all right. But I don't want to have to wait until that disco opens up'

'We can find her where she works. She said it was a kennels "out Warwick way". I'll look up the Yellow Pages before we go'

At last, armed with the name of a kennels situated between Leamington Spa and Warwick, they set off.

The rain was slowly easing off, to be replaced with pale-yellow sunlight.

They found the kennels easily enough. Dogs were barking, dogs were howling piteously, and the wet air smelled of damp dog.

They went into the office, which was housed in a timber hut, and asked for Cheryl Mabbs.

The man behind the desk looked up sharply. 'Friends of hers?'

'Yes' said James.

He stood up. He was a small, thickset man with grey hair and rimless spectacles. 'Then you know exactly where to find her' he said. 'Get out.'

'If we knew where to find her' said James, 'we wouldn't be here asking for her. Does she work here, or doesn't she?'

Agatha had a sudden flash of inspiration. She edged in front of James and said mildly, 'I am afraid we have misled you, but we do not like to go around announcing who we are. We are social workers'

'Oh' He sat down suddenly. 'Why didn't you say so? Although you still make me feel angry. I had a recommendation from you lot that she was on the straight'

Agatha affected an air of weariness, although her heart was beating hard. 'What has she done this time?'

'Not told you yet, have they? Pah! That's bureaucracy for you. The whole of England is top-heavy with idiotic pen-pushers. She broke into the drugs cabinet, that's what she did'

'Did you have Adrenalin in there?' asked James eagerly.

'Yes, of course, but the fact is she would have been better off raiding a doctor's or chemist's unless she wants to prevent hard pad and distemper. I called the police right away and they went to her digs and found the stuff. Or what was left of it. She had been flogging pills around some disco in Leamington, claiming they were a new sort of happy pill. I think the youth of Leamington can consider themselves well and truly wormed by now'

James and Agatha were both dying to know what Cheryl Mabbs's record had been, but then, as supposed social workers, they were supposed to know.

'She's a silly girl' said the man. Tm Bob Picks, by the way. She was a wizard with animals. Why did she want to go and smash up her career? Young people these days, I ask you'

They left him, still shaking his head over the iniquities of youth.

'So' said Agatha outside, 'that's where the Adrenalin could have come from. Damn! We can't ask the police, or word might get to Bill Wong that we're still asking questions'

'So many suspects' mourned James. 'Tell you what, let's try her digs. She might be out on bail, or that unlovely boyfriend of hers might be there'

Agatha nodded, although she felt suddenly depressed. She could not help remembering how horrified and shocked he had been at any suggestion of a romance between herself and him. The sun struck down, lighting up the grey patches in his black hair and showing the strong lines down the side of his nose. In that moment, he did not look nearly so handsome as he usually did and Agatha took small comfort from that.

They drove to Blackbird Street and parked outside the door to the flats where Miss Mabbs lived.

They walked up the stairs and pressed the right bell this time. They waited a long time and then heard the sound of someone approaching the door. It opened an inch. 'Oh, it's you' said Jerry, Miss Mabbs's boyfriend. 'Wot you want?'

'Where's Miss Mabbs?'

'In the slammer'

'Can we come in? We'd like to ask you a few questions.'

The door opened wider and his foxy face stared at them. 'Cost you.'

James sighed. 'A tenner, like last time'

'Done. Not here. Meet you down the pub. The Fewers'

'The what?' asked James as they walked down and out into the street.

'He meant the Feathers' said Agatha.

'The old men's pub. That's where we went last time. I'm fed up with mineral water. I'll try tomato juice this time'

The pub looked the same, tired and dusty. Dust motes swam in shafts of sunlight striking through the windows. An old man slumbered over his beer in a corner.

James ordered a tomato juice for himself and a gin and tonic for Agatha.

Time passed while they discussed the suspects in the case in a desultory way. Agatha would have liked to debate the possibility that Freda was the murderess. After all, she had paid out the biggest amount of money. But James's face went rigid at the very mention of Freda's name.

James ordered another round of drinks and carried them back to the table. 1 don't think our young friend is coming' he said. 'Maybe we'd better go back and try again'

At that moment the pub door opened and six youths came in. Black leather and jeans, shaven heads, mean pinched faces. The leader saw them and jerked his head at the others.

Trouble' said James.

1 don't like your face' said the leader. A bicycle chain hung from one tattooed hand. 'And I'm going to rearrange it.' Agatha looked round wildly for help. The barman had disappeared, the old man slept on.

James threw back his head and shouted, 'Help! Help! Murder!' It was a terrible shout, deafening and shocking, a bellow. It was as if he had thrown a hand grenade into the group. They darted for the door and crashed out, colliding with one another, while James's terrible shouts went on and on. The old man woke up and stared at him in amazement.

It's all right' said Agatha, white-faced. "They've gone.'

James smiled at her. 'Nothing like a good scream for help, I always say. Let's go and sort out young Jerry'

'What's it got to do with him? Oh, you think he knows Cheryl Mabbs did the murders and he's sent along his friends to silence us'

"Romantic idea. But I think young Jerry phoned his friends and told them that there was some rich jerk in the pub with a fistful of tenners for the taking. I just can't wait to see him again'

Once more they stood outside the shabby door and once more James pressed the bell. "Who is it?' came Jerry's cautious voice.

'Got the money outer that twat' said James in a gruff voice.

The door opened wide. Jerry saw them and tried to slam the door, but James shouldered his way in. He slapped Jerry hard on one side of his head and then on the other. Then, holding him by the scruff of the neck, he said, 'Your flat. Time we had a talk.'

'Don't hurt me,' squeaked Jerry. 'I ain't done nothink.'

'Where is it? Which door is yours?' demanded James.

Jerry pointed to an open door. James pushed him inside. 'Now, before I really get to work on you, why did you send your friends to beat us up?'

'I dinnet'

There was a one-bar heater burning in front of an empty fireplace. James twisted Jerry's arm behind his back and then thrust his face down towards the bar of the heater. 'Speak up while you've still got a face left.'

'Okay, Til tell you'

James pushed Jerry down into a chair and stood over him. 1 phoned up Sid and said to tell the boys there was good pickings off a couple in the Fewers, that's all. See, I don't know nuffink about Cheryl. No, don't' he shouted as James loomed over him. I'm telling you the truff, s'welp me God. It was her idear to steal the drugs from the kennels. Get a bit of cash. She says them hopheads at the disco would buy any think. Honest'

His voice went on and on, pleading and explaining. It turned out he had not known Cheryl when she was working in Carsely

James finally turned away in disgust.

Outside, Agatha looked nervously up and down the street. 'We should call the cops,' she said.

'I wouldn't do that' James unlocked the car door. 'It might all come out. In fact, we'd better get out of here in case that chap at the kennels has found out we're impostors'

When they got back to Carsely, James said, Til make us a snack and then we'll tackle Miss Simms'

Agatha brightened. Til go to my place, feed the cats and then let them out. They've been locked up most of the day'

The cats gave her a rapturous welcome. Agatha sat down suddenly and watched them while they fed. She felt weak and shaky and on the point of crying. She had had a bad fright in the pub. Bill Wong was right. She should leave this sort of business to the police. But if she dropped the investigations, then James would drop her and go back to his writing.

She let the cats out into the garden and stood for a moment watching them frolicking about and then went along to James's cottage.

I've set our meal in the kitchen' he said when he answered the door. "Come through'

Agatha looked eagerly around the kitchen. It was cheerful and warm. A large bowl of daffodils stood on the windowsill. There was a square scrubbed table in the middle and some elegant ladder-backed chairs. Supper consisted of cold ham and an excellent salad with a cold bottle of white Macon.

Agatha studied him covertly as he ate with the absorbed attention he gave to everything and everyone except herself. It's time' he said finally, pushing away his plate, "for us to separately write down everything we know about everyone. Whoever killed Paul Bladen and Mrs Josephs did both killings in panic or rage and on the spur of the moment. But first, let's see what we can get out of Miss Simms.'

Miss Simms lived on the council estate near Mrs Parr. She answered the door to them and said cheerfully, 'Just finished bathing the kids. I'll be with you in a minute.'

'I didn't know she had children' whispered Agatha when they were alone.

"Must be a single parent' said James. 'Quite common these days'

The living-room was a mess of discarded toys and picture books. An old television set flickered in one corner. The furniture was of the kind bought on the pay-up plan, which grew old and shabby before the final payment was made.

Miss Simms came tittuping back in on the ridiculously high heels she always wore.

'Drink?' she offered.

James and Agatha both shook their heads. Agatha looked at James and James looked at Agatha and it was Agatha who said, 'We happen to know you paid Paul Bladen five hundred pounds. Why?'

'I don't think that's very nice. I don't really' complained Miss Simms. 'What's it got to do with you, anyway?'

Agatha sighed. 'We just want to know who killed Paul Bladen and Mrs Josephs. We feel if we knew why you gave him the money, it might help. The others gave him thousands and thousands, but they won't talk'

Her gaze sharpened. 'There were others?'

Agatha nodded.

Miss Simms sighed and sat back on the low sofa and crossed her legs, her skirt rucked up to show an edge of scarlet lace knicker. How little I really know about the people in this village, thought Agatha. I didn't even know Miss Simms had children. It's the car, that's what. People in villages have become mobile and so they're less curious about their fellows. And television. And yet it's funny how people go on and on about the good old days when they had to make their own entertainment. If it was so great, why did they all rush out to buy television sets as soon as they could?

Miss Simms's voice broke into her thoughts. 'I may as well tell you, only it makes me so mad; like when I think of the way that bastard tricked me. He took me out to a posh restaurant in Broadway. He told me all about this veterinary hospital he hoped to start. He said if I gave him some money, he would call it after me. He said he would get Prince Charles to open it. I drank too much and well, things got a bit passionate that night and before I knew what was what, I'd written him out a cheque for everything I'd got in the Post Office savings. After a bit when he didn't come round again, I got worried. Not nice to be dropped like that. I asked him about the hospital and he said he was too busy to talk about it. I asked for my money back and he got nasty and said I had given it to him of my own free will. I felt such a fool. I work over at a computer place in Evesham. I pay a chunk out of my wages to pay for child care for the kids. I told Mrs Bloxby. She said I should pray to God for guidance and so I did and do you know what?'

"No, what?' asked James.

'The very next day God sent me a new gentleman friend with a nice job in soft furnishings and he pays me an allowance, like'

'You'll be getting married soon' said James.

She laughed. 'He's married, which suits me. Don't like having a man underfoot all the time'

'Does Mrs Bloxby know the outcome of your prayers?' asked Agatha curiously.

'Ooh, yes. She said as how God moves in mysterious ways'

The vicar's wife, reflected Agatha, was always the soul of tact.

'I was so mad with that Paul Bladen, I could've killed him' said Miss Simms. 'But I didn't, and so good luck to whoever did'

'But there's Mrs Josephs'

Miss Simms looked sad. 'Forgot about her. Old duck she was. What about a drink now?'

Both cheerfully accepted now that there was no danger of their being thrown out and Miss Simms produced an excellent bottle of malt whisky supplied by her gentleman friend. Agatha paid her membership fee for the Carsely Ladies' Society and Miss Simms entered it carefully in a ledger.

'So are you pair going to get spliced?' she said cheerfully.

James put down his glass. 'No danger of that' he said evenly. 'I am a confirmed bachelor'

Miss Simms laughed. "Wouldn't be too sure about that. When our Mrs Raisin sets her mind to something, there's no stopping her. Mrs Harvey in the shop was only saying the other day that we would be hearing wedding bells soon'

'She must have been talking about someone else' said Agatha, pink with embarrassment.

When they had said goodbye to Miss Simms and walked outside, there was a constraint between them. Agatha felt quite tired and weepy.

'I think I'd better go home to bed' she said in a small voice quite unlike her usual robust tones.

'Don't look so upset' he said in a kind voice. 'They'll go on talking about us, and when nothing happens, the gossip will die away'

But I want something to happen, wailed Agatha's heart, and to her horror a large tear slipped out of one eye and ran down her nose.

'You've had a rotten day' said James. Tell you what, we'll walk to the Red Lion and I'll get you a stiff nightcap'

Agatha gave him a watery smile.

The pub was blessedly quiet, only a few of the regulars standing at the bar. They carried their drinks over to a table by the fire.

And then Freda walked into the pub with a man. She was wearing a pale-green tailored suit and a white silk blouse and looked as cool and fresh as a salad. Her companion was a florid-faced middle-aged man with silver hair, dressed in a blazer and flannels. They ordered drinks. Freda half-turned her head and saw James and Agatha. She whispered something to her escort, who let out a great braying haw-haw-haw of a laugh and stared at them insolently.

Agatha noticed James's face was wearing a blank look and that his body was tense. Please God, let him not be jealous, she prayed, at the same time wondering why she kept praying to a God in whom she did not quite believe.

'I think I am tired' said James abruptly.

They left together and walked silently home Agatha gave him a sad goodnight and went to her own cottage. At least the cats would be glad to see her.

She unlocked the door and stepped inside, switching on the hall light as she did so.

There was a square white envelope lying on the doormat. She opened it up. It contained one sheet of paper with a simple typed message.

'Stop poking your nose into things that don't concern you or you will never see your cats again'

Agatha let out a whimper of fear. She ran through to the kitchen and opened the back door. 'Hodge, Boswell,' she called, but all was darkness and silence. She switched on the back outside lights. The square of garden lay before her. No cats.

She went inside and picked up the telephone and phoned the police.

The windows of James's bedroom overlooked the front of his cottage. He undressed and climbed into bed and switched out the light. Just as he was about to close his eyes, a blue light flickered up and over his ceiling and he could hear the sound of a car sweeping past in the lane outside.

He switched on the light again and scrambled back into his clothes. As he stepped out of his own front door, another police car arrived.

He ran to Agatha's cottage, hoping she was all right, worried that by encouraging her to go on this murder hunt, he might have endangered her.

PC Griggs was standing on duty on the doorstep. 'You can step inside, Mr Lacey,' he said. 'She'll need some help.'

'What happened?'

'Someone stole her cats'

James was so relieved that Agatha was not hurt that he nearly said, 'Is that all?' but bit the remark back in time.

Agatha's sitting-room seemed full of policemen, plainclothes and uniformed.

Bill Wong looked up as James came in. He had an arm around Agatha's shoulders, an Agatha who was sobbing quietly. Agatha had never thought of herself as a cat lover. In fact, she sometimes regretted the responsibility of looking after the pair. But now all she could think of was that they had either been slaughtered or were locked up somewhere, being mistreated and frightened.

'You'd best sit down and tell us everything you did today' said Bill. 'Agatha's in no state to give us a coherent account. Begin at the beginning and go on to the end and don't leave anything out'

The only thing that James left out was that they had both pretended to be social workers. In a flat voice, he described the interviews they had conducted, the trip to Leamington, the finding out about Cheryl Mabbs's theft of the drugs including Adrenalin, and the attacks in the pub.

He then fell silent, waiting for a lecture, but Bill said, 'We'll have this all typed up and get you to sign it tomorrow. We'll need to interview everyone in Lilac Lane and see if they saw anyone or heard a car while you were both in the pub'

He turned to Agatha and gently questioned her again, taking notes of his own while she confirmed James's story.

James ambled off to the kitchen and made some coffee. Men were dusting Agatha's front door for fingerprints, examining the road outside for tyre tracks, picking over the front garden. He sat down at the kitchen table, listening to the murmur of voices in the other room and reflecting that he had initially retired to the country for peace and quiet.

At last he rose and went back to his own house and dug out a sleeping-bag, put his pyjamas, toothbrush, and shaving-kit in a bag and returned to Agatha's cottage.

Bill and the others were just leaving. Til sleep downstairs here tonight' said James, and Bill nodded.

Mrs Bloxby, the vicar's wife, was sitting with Agatha when he went into the sitting-room. 'That nice Mr Wong phoned me' said Mrs Bloxby. 'What a terrible business. Agatha should not be left alone'

'She won't be' said James. Tm sleeping down here. Don't cry, Agatha. Cats are great survivors'

'If they're still alive' sobbed Agatha.

'I'm glad you are staying, Mr Lacey' said Mrs Bloxby. 'But phone me if you need any help.'

James saw her out and then returned to Agatha. 'Off to bed with you' he said gently, 'and I'll bring you something to make you sleep'

Agatha scrubbed her eyes and trailed up the stairs. Part of her mind told her that such a short time ago she would have believed any sacrifice was worth getting James to stay under her roof and look after her, but the rest of her mind cried out for her lost pets.

After she was in bed, the door opened and James came in carrying a tray. 'Whisky and hot water and a couple of aspirin' he said. Til be downstairs. Drink up' He sat on the edge of the bed and held the glass to her lips and waited until she had swallowed the aspirin.

After he had left, Agatha lay awake, tears trickling out of the corners of her eyes. Everyone seemed sinister to her now, even James. What did she know of him? A man arrived in a village and claimed to be a retired colonel and everyone took him at face value. And yet, Bunty knew his family, and she, Agatha, had met his sister a year ago. But how formidable, how terrifying he had been when he had been slapping the miserable Jerry around. Ruthless, that was the word for it.

Slowly she drifted off to sleep, plagued with nightmares. Freda was torturing the cats and laughing while James looked on; Bill Wong invited her to dinner and served up the cats, roasted on a tray; and Miss Webster was sitting efficiently at her desk, with Agatha's two cats, stuffed and mounted, in front of her.

Agatha awoke in the morning. Sunlight was streaming into the room, there was a smell of coffee and the hum of voices from downstairs. She looked at the clock beside the bed. Ten in the morning!

She washed and dressed and went downstairs. Her kitchen was full of women: most of them members of the Carsely Ladies' Society, Mrs Harvey from the general store, and Mrs Dunbridge, the butcher's wife, all being served coffee by James.

They surrounded her as she came in, murmuring sympathy. Her kitchen counter was loaded with gifts of cake and jam and flowers. Even Miss Simms was there. 'Took the day off from work' she said.

'That's very kind of you' said Agatha, l>ut I don't know what you can do'

'Mr Lacey has had a very good idea' said Mrs Bloxby. 'We're organizing a search. Your cats may have been dumped off somewhere in the village, so we are all going out on a house-to-house hunt. You sit quietly here with Mr Lacey and we'll report if we find anything'

Agatha abruptly left the room and went up to the bathroom and cried her eyes out. All her life she had forged on, pushy and determined to get to the top of the public relations profession, all her life she had been alone. All this friendship and help made her feel weak.

When she went back downstairs, red-eyed but composed, only James and Mrs Parr were left.

'Mrs Parr has just been telling me much the same story as Miss Simms' said James. 'Bladen told her about the veterinary hospital and said he would name it after her. Her husband found out about the missing money and hit the roof'

'I suppose I might have done the same thing' said Agatha slowly, remembering that dinner at the Greek restaurant. 'He told me about his plans and I said I would contribute something, but I was thinking of a cheque for twenty pounds. And he was all ready to go to bed with me but I panicked and ran away. Did you have an affair with him, Mrs Parr?'

She shook her head. 'I wouldn't have done. That wasn't how he tricked me. I was so flattered by him because he said I was the only woman who understood him. I am not very happy in my marriage and he made me feel attractive. I should have told you before, but I felt such a fool. I was still a bit in love with him when he died, but after the funeral my mind cleared up and I could see what he had done.'

'Mrs Mason was telling me the same thing while you were upstairs, Agatha,' said James, 'He was a compulsive gambler, Mrs Parr, and that's why he needed the money.'

'That's odd' said Agatha. 'He didn't spend any of it. I mean, what he got out of the ladies of Carsely was still in his account.'

'I'll go off and join the search' said Mrs Parr. "The least I can do.'

'Thanks for all this, James' said Agatha, when they were alone. Her eyes filled with tears again.

'Now, now, the time for crying is over. Let's sit down and discuss what we know. Instead of thinking that, say, Freda must have done it because she paid out the most money, what we should be looking for is someone with the character to do such a thing.'

'Who can say what anyone will do when they're goaded?'

'You wouldn't kill anyone, Agatha, now would you?'

Except Freda, thought Agatha.

'What we should do,' he went on, 'is make a list of suspects and then divide it up and follow each one and see what she does during the day and who she sees and if there is anything suspicious about her behaviour. Now, the women who gave money to Bladen were Mrs Parr, Mrs Mason, Freda, Miss Webster, Mrs Josephs and Miss Simms. Then we have to take into account Paul's ex-wife, Greta. Also, there is one side of the case we have not been looking at. Bladen was killed up at Lord Pendlebury's stables. Bob Arthur found the body and came running out, saying, "Looks like someone's done fer him'' Why should he say that? Why not think it a heart attack or something? There's another interesting thing I noticed about Bladen's bank statements. There were no major withdrawals, so he must have had cash to pay for all his food and entertaining. How did he pay the bill at the Greek restaurant?'

'Cash'

'Right. So what about Mrs Arthur? There's a thought'

'It gets worse and worse' said Agatha. 'Where do we begin?'

Til begin with Freda. No, don't scowl. My motives are pure detection. You start by watching Mrs Parr'

'Oh, come on! That woman couldn't hurt a fly.'

'She's terrified of that husband of hers. Bladen might have known that. She may yet not be telling us all. He could have been blackmailing her. Give you something to do. You want your cats back, don't you?'

Agatha winced.

'Anyway, I'll get moving on my side and we'll meet up here, say, at six o'clock this evening. Nothing like action to beat the blues, Agatha'

Agatha went numbly about the kitchen after he had left, stacking away the various gifts in cupboards. Apart from cakes and pots of jam there was a large bunch of dried flowers, but they could hardly be from Miss Webster. Agatha shoved them in a vase and went upstairs to put on the make-up she had wept off.

She was on her way out when she stopped in the hall. The back of the front door was still covered in fingerprint dust. A gleam of sunlight lit up a tiny coloured object sticking among the coarse coconut matting of the doormat. She bent down and looked at it and then picked it out. Puzzled, she turned it this way and that. Then her face cleared. It was a tiny dried petal. It must have fallen off that bouquet of flowers that someone had brought. She flicked it from her fingers and then opened the door.

Then she froze.

Suddenly it was the night before and she was lifting the envelope from the doormat and opening it, taking out the letter, smoothing it out. Surely a flicker of something small and bright had drifted down.

Chapter Nine

Agatha felt weird and strange as she walked numbly out into the bright sunlight. Two police- | men were asking questions at the other cottages in Lilac Lane. People waved and called to her as she went past but she did not hear them. i

Agatha Raisin was no longer thinking about I who had murdered the vet or Mrs Josephs, all ' she wanted was her cats back.

As she approached Josephine Webster's shop, she saw a white hand twisting the card on the I door round from 'Open' to 'Closed'. Of course, half-day in the village. With such a search going on, if Miss Webster had the cats, then she wouldn't have them in the shop or in her flat above it.

Agatha returned home and got into her car. She parked a little way away from the shop and waited, not noticing people passing up and down the main street, intent only on Josephine Webster.

And then Miss Webster came out, neat and trim as ever, and got into her car, which was parked outside the shop. She drove off. Grimly, Agatha followed. Miss Webster drove down into Moreton-in-Marsh and turned along the Fosse. Agatha let a car get between her and her quarry and followed. Miss Webster headed for Mir-cester, her little red car sailing up and over the Cotswold hills on the old Roman road which ran straight as an arrow.

Agatha followed her into a multi-storey carpark, parked a little bit away and waited until Miss Webster got out and locked her car, then got out of her own.

Josephine Webster went first to Boots, the chemist's, tried various perfume samples, and then bought a bottle. From there, she went to a dress boutique. The day was unseasonably chilly and Agatha shivered as she waited outside. At last, she risked a peek through the shop window. Miss Webster was turning this way and that before a mirror, wearing a low-cut red dress. She said something to the assistant and disappeared back into a changing room. After ten minutes, she came out of the shop, carrying a carrier-bag. From there, she went to a lingerie shop and Agatha again froze and fidgeted outside until Miss Webster appeared carrying a carrier-bag with the lingerie shop's name on it.

When she walked on, followed by Agatha, and turned in at the tall Georgian portico of the public library, Agatha was beginning to despair. It was all so innocent. Fear for her cats had tricked her memory. That little petal had probably fallen off the bouquet that morning. But the dogged-ness, the single-mindedness, and the tenacity that had made her successful in business took over. She waited outside for half an hour and then cautiously walked inside. No sign of Miss Webster.

Had she seen her and escaped out of a back door? In her frantic search to find a way out of the back of the library, Agatha nearly ran into Josephine Webster, who was sitting in a leather chair in one of the bays, calmly reading, her shopping bags beside her.

Agatha picked the next bay, took a book at random from the shelves and pretended to read. Her stomach rumbled. She should eat something, but she dare not risk leaving the library.

After two hours, a rustle of bags in the next bay warned her that her quarry was about to depart.

She waited a few moments and then cautiously got up and poked her head round the bay. Josephine Webster was disappearing in the direction of the exit. Agatha followed, heart beating hard again now that the pursuit was back on.

Miss Webster tripped gaily along, as if she hadn't a care in the world. She turned in at the door of Mircester's Palace Hotel.

Agatha, hovering at the entrance, saw her head up a passage at the side of the reception under a sign which said 'Rest Rooms'.

She bought a newspaper from a kiosk in the foyer, sat down in an armchair and barricaded herself behind it, lowering it from time to time to make sure Miss Webster had not escaped.

After a full hour, Agatha saw Miss Webster emerge. She was wearing the new dress and was heavily made up. She had obviously left her bags and coat in the cloakroom. Agatha jerked up the newspaper as Miss Webster crossed the foyer in a cloud of scent and lowered it again in time to see her going into the bar.

Feeling stiff and hungry, Agatha threw aside the newspaper and looked cautiously round the door of the bar and then jerked her head back.

Miss Webster was sitting talking to Peter Rice, ugly red-haired Peter Rice, Bladen's partner. He must have entered the hotel and gone into the bar when Agatha's whole attention was focused on watching for Josephine Webster.

She sat down again in the foyer, her mind working furiously. It could be an innocent meeting. Yes, wait a bit. Miss Webster had a cat. She could have taken the cat for treatment to Mircester and struck up a friendship with Peter Rice. No harm in that. But. . . Greta Bladen had said something about Peter Rice being an old friend.

She looked about her. There was a sign pointing to the hotel restaurant. She walked along to it. The staff were just setting up the tables for the evening meal, but the maitre d'hotel was there. Agatha asked him if a Mr Rice had made a booking for dinner. He checked. Yes, Mr Rice had booked a table for two. For eight o'clock. Agatha glanced at her watch. Only six thirty. They wouldn't leave the hotel. Somehow, she had to see Greta Bladen before returning to the hotel to keep a watch on them.

She stopped at a phone-box on the road to the car-park and phoned James, but there was no reply. She drove off, praying that Greta would be at home.

Greta answered the door and frowned when she saw her visitor was Agatha.

T must speak to you' pleaded Agatha. "You see, I've been threatened. Someone stole my cats to stop me investigating and I think I might know who that someone might be'

Greta sighed but held open the door. 'Come in. I don't quite grasp what you are saying. Do you mean someone is trying to stop you investigating Paul's death?'

'Yes'

'Well, I haven't got your cats'

'Could you tell me what you know about Peter Rice?'

'Peter? Oh, he can't have anything to do with it. I've known Peter for ages'

Tell me about him anyway'

'I don't know very much. He lived a couple of doors away from me in Leamington in the old days. We were friends, played tennis together, but never anything romantic. I mean, I never thought any man would look at me that way, and so I was glad of Peter's company. Then Paul came along.

'I thought Peter would be delighted that I had found happiness at last, but he threw a very ugly scene. He said he had been going to ask me to marry him. I was so much in love with Paul that somehow that made me callous. It was only old Peter behaving in a most odd way. The next time I saw him he apologized for his behaviour and said he was moving to Mircester'

'And you never saw him again?' prompted Agatha.

'Well, I did, of course. I met him when Paul went into partnership with him and, as I told you, it was Peter who suggested I check out the site of this supposed veterinary hospital. I told him long afterwards how I had been cheated. After my divorce, we went out for dinner a couple of times, but there was nothing there and I really don't think there ever was anything there'

'Then how do you explain the scene when you told him you were going to marry Paul?'

'Oh, that. I think Peter is the kind who would have been jealous if any close friend, male or female, got married. He was a very solitary man. Come to think of it, I suppose I was the only friend he had in Leamington.'

"Why did he decide to open the surgery in Carsely?' asked Agatha. 'I mean, there are lots of villages closer to Mircester, and larger ones, too'

'Let me think. He said something about that when I met him one day in the square. He said, "I'm finding that ex of yours something useful to do. I think it's better we work apart. I've told him to start up a surgery in Carsely. Keep him out of my hair." I said, "Why Carsely?" and he said that some friend of his who had a shop there said it was a good place for business.'

"Josephine Webster' said Agatha. 'So that's the connection. And I think I know where my cats are'

She got up to leave. She looked wild-eyed and her face was working.

'If you suspect anyone of anything,' said Greta, 'go to the police'

Agatha merely snorted and went out to her car.

She thought furiously on the road to Mircester. Josephine Webster could have tipped off Peter Rice about Mrs Josephs. She could have been in the pub to hear Freda telling everyone about the discovery of that bottle and warned Rice, or she could have removed the bottle herself.

Agatha flicked a glance at the dashboard of her car. Eight o'clock. Peter Rice would just be sitting down to dinner.

She drove straight to the veterinary surgery and parked outside. She got out and took a tyre iron out of the car. The surgery was a low building set at the back of a small car-park. A light was burning over the door. Agatha moved to the side of the building, which was in darkness but with enough light for her to make out a glass-paned side door. She had no time or expertise to emulate James Lacey's burglary techniques. She smashed a pane of glass in the door with the tyre-iron. A volley of hysterical barks greeted her ears. Grimly ignoring them, she tugged out the remaining glass with her gloved hands, reached in and unlocked the door.

Eyes glittered at her in the darkness and somewhere among the barks and yelps she heard several plaintive miaows.

'In for a penny, in for a pound' muttered Agatha and switched on the light.

'Shhh!' she whispered desperately to the cages of animals. Her eyes ranged along them. And there, together in a cage, were Hodge and Boswell.

With a glad cry, she undid the latch and opened the cage.

The barking and yowling suddenly died abruptly. Agatha, reaching in to get her cats, was aware of a heavy air of menace. She heard a soft footfall and turned around.

Josephine Webster smiled up at the waiter as he pulled out her chair for her in the restaurant.

Peter Rice sat down opposite. The maitre d' bowed over them and presented menus and made suggestions.

When their order had been taken by one of his minions, he gathered up the huge leather-bound menus and then suddenly said, 'Will the other lady be joining you?'

'What other lady?' demanded Peter Rice, and Miss Webster giggled and said, 'One of your harem, Peter?'

'A lady came in earlier and asked if you had booked a table for this evening.'

'What did she look like?' asked the vet.

'Middle-aged, straight brown hair, expensively cut, quite smart clothes.'

'No, she won't be joining us,' said Peter. 'Hold my order. I've got to do something in the surgery. Give Miss Webster a drink and look after her until I get back'

James Lacey was worried. He had called at Agatha's cottage several times without getting a reply. He had not been able to get much more out of Freda. Her friend with the silver hair stayed with her all the time, and James could not manage to get a word with her in private.

He decided to pass the time until Agatha's return trying to write his book, but instead he found himself writing about the case. He wrote on and then gave an exclamation, took out one character and tried to fit the evidence he had to it.

He was roused from his efforts by the doorbell. Bill Wong stood there with Inspector Wilkes. 'Where's Agatha?' asked Bill.

'Isn't she back? We were supposed to meet at six. Isn't her car there?'

'No, I'm getting worried. We'll need to ask around and see if anyone saw her leaving the village'

Til go out and try to find her myself' said James. 'Here, take a look at my notes, Bill, and see if you come to the same conclusion'

James went straight to Josephine Webster's shop. It was in darkness, as was the flat above, and he got no reply to his banging and knocking. A head popped out of a window next to the flat above the shop and a man's voice said, 'Ain't no use you ringing and banging, fit to wake the dead. Her goes to Mircester on half-day'

James went back and got his car and told Bill he thought Agatha might be in Mircester. He suddenly knew where Agatha had gone and prayed he would not be too late.

Agatha slowly straightened up.

Peter Rice stood in the doorway, looking at her. She was aware again of the strength of that body which supported the disproportionately small head. She had left the tyre-iron lying beside the shattered door. Her eyes flew this way and that, seeking a weapon.

'Don't even think of it' he said. He produced a small automatic pistol from his pocket. 'Through to the examining room, Mrs Raisin' he said. 'We won't be disturbed there'

Even though she felt weak with fear, even though she felt her bladder was about to give, Agatha gave the door of the cage with her cats in it a kick as she passed and tried to send them telepathic messages to escape. Rice switched off the lights in the room with Agatha's cats and the other animals and switched on the lights in the small examining room.

Keeping the pistol trained on Agatha, he asked, 'How did you know it was me?'

'I didn't really' said Agatha. 'But I guessed Josephine Webster had been the one to take the cats and leave that note. I followed her and saw her with you. You can't shoot me. The police will find my body and they'll know it was you'

'Mrs Raisin, you broke into my surgery. I saw the light and a figure inside who rose, I thought, as if to attack me. I shot you. I was defending my life and property'

'I left a note, saying where I would be' said Agatha.

He studied her for a few moments and then smiled. 'No, you didn't, or that Lacey fellow would be here. Anyway . . .' He raised the pistol an inch.

It was because of Greta, wasn't it?' said Agatha.

'In a way. But I didn't think of killing him then. I didn't even think of it when she told me how he had been cheating her. No, it was when he started cheating me, ah, then I began to get really angry. That famous veterinary hospital of his. So good for conning gullible women. We had a receptionist here, a nice girl. Paul got his claws into her. She was to persuade the customers to pay cash as much as possible and pass the money to him. Did she get a cut of it? Of course not. All was to go to that hospital which, of course, was to be named after the receptionist. I had taken a long fishing holiday. This is a wealthy practice. I had hired a young vet to stand in for me when I was away and to work with Paul because Paul mostly handled all the cases of horses and farm animals. When I came back, I remarked that trade had dropped by a considerable amount. I suspected the temporary vet, but then one day I was talking to one of the customers in the square and we were complaining about taxes and business taxes in general. "I suppose," says she, "that's why you want so much money in cash. To avoid tax. The girl always asks for it." Of course I got hold of the girl and she broke down and said she had only been stealing for the greater good, namely the founding of that fictitious hospital. I sacked the girl but not Paul. Oh, no. He was going to have to pay me back. But I wanted him out of my hair. Josephine said Carsely was a good place, and so I told him to set up a business there and trick the ladies with his stories if he liked, but every penny was to come to me, and just in case anything happened to him, I got him to make out his will in my favour. I said unless he paid me back in full, I would go to the police'

Agatha stayed rigid, seeing out of the corner of her eye that her cats had slid into the room beside her.

1 still wouldn't have killed him. But one of the women he tricked was Miss Josephine Webster, whom I had come to love. She came to me, crying and sobbing, and told me the whole story. I knew he was up at Pendlebury's. I was going to curse him, sack him, punch him on the nose, that was all. The stables were empty apart from Paul. I saw him with the syringe, I knew what was in it, what the operation was and something took over and the next thing I knew he was dead. I slipped off without anyone seeing me. I thought I was safe. I was furious when I realized he had taken a double mortgage out on that house, so instead of gaining by his death, I lost. Josephine and I were going to announce our engagement after the fuss had died down. She knew what I had done. Then that Josephs woman came here. She said Paul had tricked her and she was going to tell the police the truth. She said Paul had told her that I had encouraged him to dupe the women out of money. I promised to pay her back. Then I panicked when Josephine phoned me and told me that you, you Nosy-Parking bitch, were about to hear all from Mrs Josephs. Josephine told me she suffered from diabetes. But still I didn't mean to do it if she saw sense. I tried to give her the money back, but the silly old bat wouldn't take it. She said she was going to the police after talking to you. I jabbed the Adrenalin into her. The minute she was dead, I went into a blind panic. I dragged her upstairs in the hope that when she was found dead in the bathroom, they would think it suicide or accident. I chucked the empty bottle out of the car window, as if by getting rid of it, I had got rid of the stain of murder. But you had to interfere again, you and that Lacey. 'Take her cats," said Josephine. "That'll shut her up." What a mess. What a bloody mess. But I'm going to marry Josephine, and nothing's going to stop me.'

Hodge jumped up on the examining table and sat looking from one to the other.

Agatha could suddenly smell her own fear, rank and bitter, and so could the cat. Its tail puffed up like a squirrel's.

'So, Mrs Raisin, I need to get this over with. I advise you to stand still and take what's coming to you.'

His finger began to squeeze the trigger. Agatha dived under the table as a shot rang harmlessly above her head.

One beefy hand dragged her out from under the table. Panting, he threw her against the wall. Hodge flew straight into his face, clawing and spitting. In his panic, the vet tried to shoot the cat off his face but the shot went wild, smashing into a cabinet of bottles.

Agatha tried to drive the examining table into his stomach as he tore the cat from his face and flung it across the room. She had seen people in films doing that, but it was bolted to the floor. She dived to the side as he fired again, wrenched her ankle and fell on the floor.

She shut her eyes. This was it. Death at last. And suddenly Bill Wong's voice like a voice from heaven said, "Give me the gun, Mr Rice'

There was another shot and a cry from Bill. Agatha screamed, 'Oh, no!' and then felt strong hands tugging at her and James Lacey's voice in her ear, saying, 'It's all right, Agatha. Don't look. Rice has shot himself. Don't look. Come with me. Keep your head turned away.'

Agatha rose, clinging to him, and buried her face in the rough tweed of his jacket.

Three hours later Agatha, bathed and wrapped in her dressing-gown, sat in her sitting-room with the cats on her lap, being fussed over by James.

'Bill Wong will be calling on us' he said. 'Is he grateful to us for having solved two murders for him? Not a bit of it'

'Us?' demanded Agatha. 'I was the one who found out about Rice'

1 had more or less come to the same conclusion' said James, 'although it took me some time to guess Josephine Webster was involved. What put you on to her?'

Agatha told him about finding that shred of dried petal on the doormat.

'But you should have come to me' exclaimed James, 'or told Bill Wong'

'I only thought of the cats' said Agatha. 'Funny, isn't it? I thought my heart would break when they were taken, but here they are, purring away, two animals to be cared for and fed, and now they just seem like an everyday nuisance'

'Though from what you say, Hodge saved your life' James pointed out. 'I wonder if they got Josephine Webster. I wonder if she was still sitting there in the hotel restaurant waiting. Bill and his boss went right there while we had to go to the police station and make endless statements'

'So you had worked it all out yourself?' said Agatha.

He threw another log on the fire and sat down. 'Once I had written down what everyone had done and said, Peter Rice seemed the obvious suspect. He was strong enough to have dragged Mrs Josephs up the stairs, he knew where Bladen would be on the day he was murdered, he knew about the operation on that horse. One always thinks of murderers as planning everything scientifically, but in Rice's case it was all panic and then luck. All he had to do was sit tight and let Mrs Josephs make her accusations to the police. The police wouldn't have thought the philandering and conning tactics of Paul Bladen had anything to do with Peter Rice. I think it was our nosing around that rattled him so badly'

'Don't say that,' pleaded Agatha. "That means we are both directly responsible for Mrs Josephs's death.'

"Well, he would probably have panicked anyway'

The doorbell rang. "That'll be Bill,' said James, 'come to read us the riot act'

Bill was on his own. 'An off-duty call' he said, sinking down wearily on the sofa beside Agatha. 'Yes, we got Webster. It must have seemed a lifetime to you, Agatha, when he was trying to kill you, but there she was, drinking martinis, just where he had left her.

'She denied the whole thing, but when we took her to the station and then told her that Rice had confessed everything to you, she broke down. Cruel thing to say, but we hadn't yet told her he was dead.

'She had been having an affair with Rice for a few months, up until Paul Bladen arrived in Carsely. Before her affair with Rice, she had been a virgin. Think of that, in this day and age. I think her affair with Rice made her feel like a femme fatale, and so, when it seemed that Bladen was courting her as well, it went right to her silly head. That snowy evening you were supposed to meet him in Evesham, that was the evening she went to his house and gave him the cheque. So the grateful Bladen took her to bed. Even if it hadn't been snowing, he probably wouldn't have turned up to meet you, Agatha. She was the one who answered the phone to you.

'But Bladen was up to his old tricks. He asked her for more money and she grew alarmed and said she could not afford any more. So he lost interest in her, and the repentant Miss Webster went back to the arms of Peter Rice and told him all about Bladen. So, to Rice, history was repeating itself. He had, I gather from what you said in your statement, Agatha, been deeply in love with Greta. Paul had taken her away. Now Paul was doing the same thing with Josephine. But what put you on to them?'

'I found a dried-up flower petal on the doormat,' said Agatha proudly, 'and realized it had probably fallen out of the note about the cats, and so I knew dried flowers meant Josephine Webster.'

Bill looked puzzled. 'We wouldn't have missed anything like that.'

'That's what I thought' said James. 'Someone brought you a bouquet of dried flowers, Agatha, the morning after, so it probably fell from that'

'Why should you be looking closely at the doormat?' exclaimed Agatha, exasperated. 'Your men were searching outside, where whoever delivered the letter had stood, as well as all over the back garden, because whoever took the cats must have got into the garden by the lane which runs between mine and James's garden. They wouldn't bother about the doormat'

'I think you'll find it came from the bouquet after all, Agatha. You made a lucky guess, and a near-fatal one for you. I'm not going to lecture you tonight on the folly of amateurs interfering. Goodness' he laughed, 'I suppose it's a case of rank amateurs setting out to catch a rank amateur'

Agatha glared.

'Anyway, I'm glad it's all over. I'm off on a special training course, so I won't see you for a few weeks' Bill stood up. 'Has the doctor seen you, Agatha?'

She shook her head.

'You'd best see him tomorrow. You're going to be a wreck when reaction sets in'

Til be all right' said Agatha, giving James an adoring look.

He returned it with a startled one and then stood up and said, 'Do you want me to get Mrs Bloxby to stay with you, Agatha?'

'No' she said, disappointed that he was not volunteering to fetch his sleeping-bag. Til be all right after a good night's sleep'

After they had left, Agatha rose and went up to bed, the two cats trotting after her. She smiled before she drifted off to sleep. It was all over. She had survived. She felt great. No need to see any doctor. It would take more than one murderer to get Agatha Raisin down!

Chapter Ten

The next few days were glorious for Agatha, despite the fact that James had sent her a note saying he was shutting himself up to write for a few weeks.

So many people came to call to hear about how Agatha had solved the murders of Paul Bladen and Mrs Josephs, and Agatha stitched away at her story, embroidering the details, so that by the time she gave a talk to the Carsely Ladies' Society, it had become a real blood-and-thunder adventure.

'How exciting you make it all seem' said Mrs Bloxby after Agatha's talk. 'But do be careful. It can take a little time for reality to set in, and then you might suffer badly'

'I was not lying' said Agatha hotly.

'No, of course you weren't' said Mrs Bloxby. 'I particularly liked that bit when you said to Peter Rice, "Shoot me if you dare, you evil fiend."'

'Oh, well' muttered Agatha, shuffling her feet and avoiding the steady gaze of the vicar's wife, 'a bit of poetic licence is allowed, I think'

Mrs Bloxby smiled and held out a plate. 'Have a slice of seed cake'

From that moment, Agatha began to feel extremely uncomfortable. Her version of events, which had become a highly coloured adventure story, had indeed come to seem like reality. As she walked back from the vicarage, she noticed how dark the village seemed and how the light near the bus shelter had gone out again.

The lilac trees were all out in Lilac Lane, whispering in the night wind, nodding their plumed heads as if gossiping about Agatha as she scurried homewards underneath, thinking that the smell of their flowers reminded her of funerals.

She went inside. The cats did not come to meet her and she let out a whimper of fear and ran to the kitchen. They were curled up together in their basket in front of the stove, happy in each other's company, fast asleep and not caring about one frightened mistress who wanted them to wake up and keep her company.

She reached out a hand to switch on the electric kettle and all the lights went out.

In blind terror, she stumbled round the kitchen, searching for a torch, until some sane voice in her mind told her it was only another of the village's frequent power cuts. Forcing herself to be calm, she remembered she had candles in the kitchen drawer, found one and lit it with her cigarette lighter. She held it up and found a candlestick. May as well go to bed, she thought.

This was how they had gone to bed in the old days when the cottage was built, people walking up this very staircase with the shadows leaping before them in the wavering candle-flame. So many generations. So many dead. Just think how many had gasped out their last breath in this very bedroom. Her dressing-gown at the back of the door looked like a hanged man. Faces stared at her out of the pretty flowered wallpaper. She was in a cold sweat.

She forced herself to make her way downstairs to the phone in the hall. She put the candle on the floor, sat down on the floor herself, cradled the phone in her lap and dialled James Lacey's number.

His voice when he answered sounded brisk and efficient. 'James' said Agatha, 'can you come along?'

'I'm writing hard. Is it important?'

'James, I'm frightened'

'What's happened?'

'Nothing. It's just that that reaction everyone's been warning me about has set in'

'Don't worry' he said. 'Help is on its way'

Agatha stayed where she was. Her fear had gone now that he was coming, but she decided she had better remain looking as frightened as she had been. Perhaps she might throw herself into his arms. Perhaps he would hold her close, and say, 'Agatha, let's give all those gossips a treat and get married' Perhaps he would kiss her. What would that be like?

This rosy fantasy went on until she realized that a considerable amount of time had passed. Of course, he was probably packing his pyjamas and shaving-kit, but still . . .

The doorbell rang, making her jump. Yes, she would throw herself into his arms.

Mrs Bloxby said gently, 'Now, now, Mrs Raisin. I knew this would happen'

Agatha opened her eyes and backed off in confusion.

She had seen a dark figure on the step and had taken it to be James.

The vicar's wife was carrying an overnight bag. 'Mr Lacey phoned me and I came as quick as I could. The doctor's on his way'

Feeling almost ill with disappointment, Agatha allowed Mrs Bloxby to lead her to the kitchen. The lights came on again. Everything was normal.

By the time a sedated Agatha was in bed, the doctor had left, and Mrs Bloxby was sleeping in the spare room, she could only reflect woozily that James was a beast and a bastard.

Agatha spent a long and miserable time of panics and nightmares, glad of callers during the day, glad of the members of the Carsely Ladies' Society, who took it in turns to sleep in her spare room during the night. Not one woman mentioned James Lacey and Agatha's heart was sore with rejection.

And then her fears ebbed away and her mood was improved with long sunny days.

In such a small village it was inevitable that she should meet James again. He smiled at her in a kindly way and asked after her health, he said writing was coming easily and he was working hard. He said they must have lunch sometime, that very English remark which usually means absolutely nothing. Agatha looked at him with bitter hurt in her bearlike eyes but replied politely and coolly, thinking they were almost like a couple who had once had an affair, regretted now on one side.

And then one morning, as lunchtime was approaching, Agatha's doorbell rang. She no longer rushed to it expecting to see James. Bill Wong stood on the step.

'Oh, it's you' said Agatha. 'You must have been back from that course ages ago.'

'I was' said Bill, 'but another case came up which involved liaising with the Yorkshire police, so I've been travelling a bit. Aren't you going to ask me in?'

'Of course. We can have coffee in the garden.'

'Lacey around?' he asked as he followed her through the house.

'No' said Agatha bleakly. 'In fact, apart from little talks like "How are you" and "Isn't the weather great" over the grocery counter, I haven't really seen him'

'Odd, that. I thought the pair of you were as thick as thieves'

'Well, we're not' snapped Agatha. She had bought a new garden table and chairs. 'Sit down, Bill. I was just going to get a bite to eat. Cold chicken and salad suit you?'

'Anything. Your garden could do with some flowers. Give you an interest'

'I suppose. I'll get the food'

Over lunch, Bill told her about the case he was working on and then they finally got around to discussing the case of Peter Rice.

'It's odd' said Bill, 'when you think of the pair of them, Rice and Webster. Hardly Romeo and Juliet to look at, but there was passion there, real passion. Take one man who feels he's too ugly to get a woman and one virgin and that's an explosive mixture. When Rice found out she'd been sleeping with Bladen, it must have nearly broken his heart. History repeating itself. First Greta, then Josephine. But Josephine is back in his arms again. She's not shocked he's killed Bladen. Now they are bound even more closely by the crime and still more after the death of poor Mrs Josephs'

He looked about him. 'You wouldn't think when you drive through one of these pretty Cotswold villages how much terror and passion and anger can lurk beneath the beams of these old cottages. You know, Agatha, Lacey's an odd bird. Some of these army chaps are. He's only in his fifties, not dead old for these days'

'Thank you' said Agatha drily.

If he'd been married, he might be an easier mark, but these army bachelors, well, it's as if they've come out of the monastery. Play it cool and he'll come around'

1 have no interest in him' said Agatha evenly.

'I think you have too much interest in him and that's what frightened him off' said Bill.

'Oh, really, so young and so wise. What's your love life like?'

'Pretty good. You know the Safeways supermarket in Mircester?'

'Yes'

"There's a pretty girl called Sandra works at the check-out. We've been dating'

"That's nice' said Agatha, who felt obscurely jealous.

'So I'd better go. Keep away from murders, Agatha!'

After he had left, Agatha drove down to the Batsford Garden Centre at the bottom of Bourton-on-the-Hill and looked at flowers and plants. They also had full-grown trees. Instant garden, that was the answer. But just a little to start. Something for the borders round the grass at the back and a hanging basket of flowers for the front of the cottage. She bought some Busy Lizzies and pansies and decided she would get started by planting them.

The work was relaxing and the cats played about her in the sunlight and she was so absorbed in her work that it took her some time to realize her doorbell was ringing.

If only it would be ...

But Agatha recoiled a step when she opened the door. Freda Huntingdon stood there.

"What do you want?' asked Agatha crossly.

To bury the hatchet' said Freda. 'Come along to the pub. I feel like getting plastered. I'm sick of men'

Curiosity warred with distaste in Agatha's mind and curiosity won.

'What's happened?'

'Come to the pub and I'll tell you.'

Only the idea that it might have something to do with James drove Agatha into accompanying Freda.

Freda bought them both large gins and they 1 sat down.

| 'I'm thinking of selling up' said Freda. 'Nothing's gone right since I came here.' ' 'You mean Bladen?'

'That and other things. You see, George, my husband, was much older than me, but oodles of money. We used to travel a lot, go to exotic places. But George kept a strict eye on me and I used to think of all the freedom I'd have if he dropped dead and left me the money.

'Well, he did. I had a couple of unfortunate affairs, and so I thought to hell with it; I'll move to the Cotswolds, get myself a dinky cottage and look around for another husband. I got my eye on Lacey. Sorry I was such a bitch, but I really fancied him, but not a hope there. That business with Bladen threw me. I really believed he was head over heels in love with me. I really believed all that rubbish about that hospital. When George was alive, I thought I was the clever, worldly, shrewd one, but it was George who had the brains. Then Tony came along. That chap you saw me with in the pub. No Adonis, but good business, Gloucester way. His wife called on me yesterday. His wife! And he swore he was a widower' Freda snivelled dismally. 'I'm just a stupid old tart'

'You need another big gin' said Agatha, ever practical.

James Lacey read over again what he had written and groaned. Thanks to his experiences in the Bladen case, he had thought he would write a mystery story. How easily the words had come. How rapidly the thousands of little green words had built up on the screen of his computer. But it was as if a mist had cleared. He was looking down at pages of total rubbish.

The windows of his cottage were all open because it was a hot day. From next door, he could hear the sound of voices and the clink of glasses and china. He went out into his garden and peered over the hedge. Bill Wong and Agatha were sitting having lunch and absorbed in conversation. He wished he could go and join them, but he had been cool to Agatha, had snubbed her, and now he had cut himself off.

He returned to the house and pottered about miserably. Later he heard Bill leave and shortly after that, he saw Agatha driving off.

He went back out into his garden in the afternoon and began to weed the flower-beds. He heard movement from Agatha's garden and once more looked over. She was planting a row of pansies. He was sure she didn't know anything about gardening. If he hadn't been so stupid, he could have strolled over for a chat. But really! All those women expecting him to propose! And Agatha herself, the way she had looked at him.

But on the other hand, she had nearly been killed. He had misread her looks before. It was all the fault of that bloody captain's wife in Cyprus. He should never have had an affair with her. What a scandal that had been. She had pursued him, flirted with him, but when the scandal had broken, he was the guilty party, the beast that had seduced her and tried to take her away from her noble and gallant husband.

He settled down to read a detective story by Reginald Hill and found it depressingly good.

In the evening, he heard the sound of noisy singing coming along the lane.

Puzzled, he went out and stood in the evening air on his doorstep.

Lurching along the lane, arms about each other, singing, 'I Did It My Way', came Agatha and Freda Huntingdon.

When they came abreast of him, they stopped singing. Freda hiccuped and said, "Men!' and Agatha Raisin grinned and gave James Lacey the victory sign, but the wrong way round.

James retreated inside and banged the door as, laughing and shouting, the unlikely pair went on their way.