Agatha Raisin and the Fairies of Fryfam

EIGHT

CHARLES was lying on the sofa with the cats on his lap when Agatha burst into the sitting-room. "I think I've got something," cried Agatha, "but I don't know what it is."

Charles gently placed the cats on the floor and swung his legs down and sat up.

"Sit down, Aggie, take off your coat, and stop your eyes bulging and I'll get you a drink."

Agatha sat down on the sofa. Charles handed her a gin and tonic and then poured a whisky and water for himself. "Begin at the beginning," said Charles. "What did Amy say to get you so excited?"

Agatha carefully recounted everything she had found out. "Now that is interesting," said Charles. "Not about her affair, which doesn't bear thinking about, but about Mrs. Jackson. Let's say Mrs. Jackson is a blackmailer. Who does she blackmail?"

"Lucy," said Agatha. "Back to square one. And yet, I've a feeling we've been looking at things the wrong way round."

"Could be. Mrs. Jackson witnesses the new will. She tells Lucy. Forget for a moment about Lucy's alibi. She subsequently blackmails Lucy."

"So what's that got to do with Paul Redfem?"

"I don't know. Stop asking awkward questions and let me think."

They went over it and over it without getting any farther. At last, they decided to eat and have an early night. But Agatha found she could not sleep. How odd, that affair of Amy's. Agatha began to wonder if she, Agatha, was one of those romantic prudes, always living in dreams. Maybe it wasn't just the young who could indulge in casual sex without conscience. But perhaps Amy was in love with her Cecil.

Her thoughts turned to Lucy. Lucy had suspected her husband was having an affair with Rosie Wilden. Only it wasn't Rosie Wilden, it was Lizzie. But then Lucy had almost seemed to want to forget she had ever mentioned the subject. And why had Lucy asked her, Agatha, to investigate her husband in the first place-a woman, a stranger who only claimed to have had some success as a detective? A blind? Why?

What if, just what if, Lucy was having an affair? Let's turn it on its head. Lucy is having an affair. She wants the money and she wants to get away with her lover. She gets this lover to bump off her husband. First she hears about the will from Mrs. Jackson and steals the Stubbs. Okay, so far, so good. What prompts her to get rid of it when the insurance money would add to what she's going to get? And what about Paul Redfem? He was murdered after the will was found. Maybe he knew something. Maybe he'd decided to try a spot of blackmail himself.

Agatha groaned and got out of bed. She went into Charles's room and shook him awake.

"Agatha," he said, smiling up at her. "I thought you would never ask."

"It's not that, Charles. Look, I'm nearly on to something."

He sighed and got out of bed. "Let's go downstairs and see what we can work out."

In the sitting-room, he piled logs on the red glow of ash in the hearth. "So let's hear it," he said.

Agatha went over her muddled thoughts, ending up with "So you see, if Lucy had a lover, it would all fall into place."

"I never liked that Jackson woman," said Charles. "Now if Lucy had a lover, the trouble is it could be a member of the hunt that we haven't even thought about."

Agatha sat forward in the armchair. "Wait a bit. Hunt members would mostly have money. So Lucy could just divorce Tolly and marry her lover."

"Maybe he's married already."

"Then there would be no point in murdering Tolly."

"True. So is it some village swain?"

They looked at each other.

"What about the gardener, Barry Jones?" exclaimed Agatha. "And he's Mrs. Jackson's son. Mrs. Jackson goes on about how loving Lucy and Tolly were and yet by all accounts Lucy hated her. But if Lucy was having an affair with Barry Jones, her son, she would cover up for her. Barry married to the wealthy Lucy would mean money for Mrs. Jackson. So let's suppose that Paul Redfern knows something and tries to blackmail Lucy and she tells Mrs. Jackson and Barry shoots him to keep him quiet. Should we phone the police?"

"Come on, Aggie. They'd think we were mad. What proof have we that Barry was having an affair with Lucy?"

"Someone must know in this village," said Agatha. "It's such a little world. Barry worked as gardener up at the manor. They could have carried on an affair easily, what with Tolly being away a lot romancing Lizzie. Tolly spent a whole month with Lizzie. What excuse did he give Lucy, or did he just have a fling with Lizzie during the day and return at night?"

Charles sighed. "There's not much more we can do tonight. I tell you what. Let's try to have a word with Rosie Wilden in the morning, before the pub opens. I bet she knows all the gossip."

Agatha awoke to a white morning. There had been a heavy frost the night before. Everything glittered in weak sunlight. Even the cobwebs on a bush outside the kitchen door were perfectly rimed in frost.

The cottage felt like an icebox. Agatha lit the Calor gas heaters and put on a pot of coffee before waking Charles. She saw no reason why Charles should lie in bed long enough to wake up to a warm house. Agatha Raisin did not like to suffer alone.

"It all seemed so logical last night," mourned Agatha. "Now it seems like a load of old rubbish."

"Never mind. We'll check out Rosie, and we'll eat a proper breakfast before we go."

They set out an hour later. The sun was now a small red eye of a disc high above, behind a thin layer of hazy cloud. "I don't care how many more murders there are," said Charles. "I'm going to be home for Christmas."

"Christmas," echoed Agatha. "It looks like a Christmas card here already."

"I suppose if we knock at the front door of the pub, no one will answer," said Charles. "Rosie might think it's some drunk. We'll try the back."

They went along a passage at the side of the pub, through a gate, and into a back garden dotted with chairs and tables. "She must use the garden in the summer," said Agatha.

There was a clattering of dishes from the kitchen. Charles knocked at the door. Agatha had a brief hope that a messy Rosie would answer with her hair in curlers, but the Rosie who answered the door looked like any man's dream of femininity. Her thick blond hair was in a knot on the top of her head. She wore a frilly apron over a crisp cotton blouse and tailored skirt and held a mixing bowl under one arm.

"Come in," she said. "I was just about to take a break from my baking." The large kitchen was comforting and warm and smelt of baking and spices. An elderly woman rose as they entered. "My mother," said Rosie.

"I'll just go upstairs," she said, gathering up a bundle of knitting.

"Sit down," urged Rosie. "I've got some coffee ready."

"We came to see if you knew any gossip," began Agatha, plunging right in. Charles thought, as he often did, that Agatha Raisin had all the subtlety of a charging rhino.

"Well, I don't know about that, Mrs. Raisin, dear," said Rosie, pouring two cups of coffee into French-type coffee bowls and then lifting a tray of hot scones out of the Aga. "I hear a lot of gossip but I find it safer to forget about it, if you take my meaning."

She put a pat of golden butter on the table, and tilted the scones onto a plate. "Help yourselves," she said. "Let me see, I think a pot of my black-currant jam would go nicely with those."

She sat down with them and smiled slowly and warmly at Charles. Somehow that smile irritated Agatha, so she crashed tactlessly on. "Was Lucy Trumpington-James having an affair with anyone in the village?"

There was a veil over Rosie's blue eyes now, like the cloud veiling the sun. After a little hesitation, she said, "If she was, then it was her business, if you take my meaning."

"Come on, you can tell us," urged Agatha.

"Don't reckon as how I can. I'd have no customers if I talked about folks' private lives."

"But surely Lucy didn't drink in the pub?"

"No, but there's others who do."

"Meaning she had a lover and he drank in the pub," exclaimed Agatha. "That narrows the field. It's really only the ordinary villagers who drink in your pub, not the members of the hunt."

"Now you're going on as if only rich aristocrats hunt," chided Rosie. "Mr. Freemantle, Mr. Dart and Mr. Worth all hunt. So does Mrs. Carrie Smiley. Real attractive she looks in her hunting costume, too."

Agatha leaned forward. "But you know."

"I don't know anything," said Rosie sharply. "You're letting your coffee get cold."

Charles spoke. "I think you left the cats out in the garden, Agatha, and the frost will hurt their paws. You'd better go and let them in." He looked blandly at Agatha and Agatha took it that he meant that as she was getting nowhere, she'd best leave it to him.

She affected a look of dismay and said, "I'm sorry, Rosie. I forgot about the cats. Got to go."

Outside, she wondered what to do. She could not lurk around outside the pub waiting for Charles. Yet, on the other hand, she was reluctant to return to the cottage. She decided to walk out of that village to the lake, to see if she could clear her thoughts and put them in some sort of order.

As she entered the road leading out of the village, she marvelled how quiet the day was and how very still.

The pine trees on either side looked ready for Christmas with their frosting of white. On she went until she crested the hill again and looked out across the great vast flat silence of Norfolk.

When she got to the lake, she sat down on a flat rock again. Ice had formed on the edges of the lake. She wondered if people skated on it when it was completely frozen over. What if they had skating parties, with Rosie handing out glasses of mulled wine and mince pies? And what if a visitor like herself should come across such a scene? She would envy them, thinking they all led a safe, typically English sort of life, unaware of all the passions that lurked beneath the surface. A little breeze rippled across the glassy waters of the lake and she shivered and rose to her feet again. She could not go any further in her thoughts without some proof. It was as she approached the gates to the manor that Agatha suddenly remembered the maintenance man. What was his name? Joe something. And would a maintenance man have a cottage on the estate? She turned up the drive and then took the fork which led to Redfern's cottage. As she rounded the bend, she could see police tape fluttering in front of it and Framp on duty outside, stamping his feet and rubbing his arms to keep the cold at bay.

Agatha retreated. She did not want to be caught by Hand talking to the policeman. She reached the fork of the road again when a small truck stopped beside her. She recognized the maintenance man. "Looking for something?" he demanded. "The police don't want any press or trespassers around here. Wait a bit, I saw you when Paul was shot."

"I found the body," said Agatha.

"So what's your business here? Mrs. Trumpington-James is sick of snooping busybodies."

Agatha was about to say she had wanted to ask him a few questions but decided against it, he looked so suspicious and truculent.

"I am a friend of Lucy Trumpington-James," she said haughtily. "I took the wrong road to the house."

"That way," he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. Agatha walked towards the house. She stopped a little way away from the truck and looked back. He was still parked there and watching her in his rear-view mirror. She would need to call on Lucy.

The windows of the house were red in the sunlight, like so many accusing red eyes staring at her.

She rang the bell and the door was immediately opened by Lucy. She was wearing a thick Arran sweater and jeans. Her hair was tied up in a chiffon scarf and her face was clean of makeup, making her look younger and softer.

"I saw you coming up the drive," said Lucy. "I could do with an excuse to stop work and have a drink."

Agatha walked into the hall and looked at the packing cases. "Are you leaving already?"

"I can't," said Lucy. "Not with coppers all over the place refusing to let me until the murder is solved." She walked into the drawing-room and Agatha followed her. "What'll you have to drink?"

"Gin and tonic, please."

"I don't have ice."

"Doesn't matter," said Agatha. "The day's cold enough."

Lucy handed her a drink and then poured herself a large brandy. "You can smoke if you like," said Lucy. "I've started again."

"Great," said Agatha, taking out a packet of cigarettes. "I just called to see how you were getting on."

"Not very well, to tell you the truth. I thought it would all be so simple. Sell up here, get out, move back to London. But the rozzers are hell-bent on making sure I had nothing to do with the murder."

Agatha took a sip of her drink. Then she asked, "Why would they think that?"

"Because I inherit. One detective had the cheek to say it was nearly always the husband or wife. Would you believe it?" Lucy nervously puffed smoke. "It was all setting down nicely and then the fools had to go and shoot Paul."

"The fools?" asked Agatha.

"Poachers. That's what I told the police. Paul's had several of the locals up in court and they don't forgive easily around here."

"Did you know Tolly was having an affair with Lizzie?" Agatha did not feel any longer that she owed Lizzie any loyalty. Besides, Lizzie had left her husband in a police car complete with suitcases, so she must have told them about the affair, or so Agatha justified it to herself.

"No, isn't that a laugh?" said Lucy bitterly. "Lizzie Findlay, of all people, and I'm expected to go on like a nun. I wondered why Tolly had given up sex with me. Now I know. I never thought he was having an affair."

"But you did," protested Agatha. "You asked me to find out."

"Oh, that. I thought he'd been with Rosie. Damn, I could just have divorced the old bastard and taken him to the cleaner's. His sister turned up at the funeral, making a scene."

"I didn't know the funeral had even taken place!"

"The police kept it quiet and so did I. As fed up with the press as they are. Crematorium in Norwich. Have another drink?"

"I haven't quite finished this one." Lucy rose and took the glass from Agatha. "I'll freshen this up. I don't like drinking alone."

"Do you think Lizzie's husband might have murdered your husband?"

Lucy handed Agatha a brimming glass and then topped up her own with more brandy.

She slumped down in her chair again. "Who cares?" she said wearily, her voice now slightly slurred. Agatha guessed that despite Lucy's protestations that she did not like to drink alone, she had been doing just that.

"But don't you want to find out who killed him?"

"I s'pose. It would mean I could get the hell out of here."

"Didn't you love your husband?"

"I thought I did. I was looking for money and security, and believe it or not, children. But Tolly can't make children, or so it turned out, and Tolly turned out to be a bore when we got down here and he decided his role in life was to be the squire of Fryfam. His name's Terence and he was Terry in London. But down here, he decided to be Tolly to fit in with all the tight- arses in the hunt and their stupid nicknames. I think that lot never grew out of the nursery."

Agatha's drink was very strong. "How long will it be before you can sell the house?"

"Oh, God, I don't know. I hope it's not too long. Christ, it takes a mint to run this place. Another week and I'm going to sell off the livestock. We've got sheep and cows. I've already rented out the shoot. Surely they can't stop me doing that."

"Fryfam's an odd little place," said Agatha. "I mean, first the fairies, .then the murders, all these passions lying just underneath the surface."

Lucy grinned. "Talking about passion, how's the delicious Charles?"

"As usual. Just a friend."

"Might try my luck there. Is he rich?"

"I believe so, but he's the sort of man who conveniently forgets his wallet when it's time to pay the bill in a restaurant."

"Then why do you put up with him?"

"Because I'm not dependent on him."

"Oh, and are you pair detecting?"

"We're trying."

"Getting anywhere?"

"I've a feeling we're nearly there. All sorts of threads being drawn together," said Agatha sententiously. The drink was strong. "I think Paul Redfern knew something and I think he was going to tell the police if he didn't get paid."

"I'd better get on," said Lucy, draining her glass and putting it down.

Agatha left the remains of her own drink and got to her feet. She realized she hadn't taken off her coat and yet had not felt too warm.

"Central heating broken down?" she asked.

"Air in the pipes or something. I'll get someone in tomorrow."

Agatha walked into the hall. "Well, goodbye, Lucy," she said.

"Just don't go around sticking your nose into things or you could get hurt," said Lucy.

Agatha paused with her hand on the doorknob. "That a threat?"

"You're the sort that sees villains under the bed. Only a friendly warning."

Agatha left and walked down the long drive. She took a deep breath of air to clear her head. She went over everything Lucy had said. There wasn't much. But had she really meant poachers when she said the fools had killed Paul? Why would a townie like Lucy think of poachers? Large-scale poachers could be violent. That much she knew from the newspapers. The sort of poachers who dynamited salmon pools. But the sort who snared rabbits, maybe caught the occasional pheasant? Hardly.

She would discuss it with Charles. She wondered whether he had found out anything.

She felt suddenly hungry. The effect of the strong drinks was wearing off.

Agatha reached her cottage at last, took out her massive door key, and put it in the lock. The door was unlocked. Charles must be home. She walked in and called out, "I'm back." She saw two packets with bolts still on the table in the hall. "I see you haven't fixed those bolts yet," she shouted. "Did you get anything out of Rosie? Was Lucy having an affair?"

Her two cats came up to her, their fur erect on their backs. She stooped down and patted them. "There, now," she crooned. "What's frightened you? Where's Charles?"

And then she felt something hard shoved into her back and a man's voice said, "Into the sitting-room, Mrs. Raisin."

Agatha twisted around. Barry Jones was standing there holding a shotgun.

She walked into the sitting-room, her frightened mind racing. Mrs. Jackson was in a chair by the fireplace. "Sit down and shut up," she said.

"You!" Agatha sat down in the chair opposite.

Barry Jones stood behind the sofa, the shotgun levelled at Agatha.

"We're waiting for your friend," said Mrs. Jackson.

"Why?" demanded Agatha through white lips.

"You'll see."

"Lucy said the fools murdered Paul. That was you and your son."

"She phoned and told us she thought you were beginning to figure it out."

Agatha looked at Barry Jones, handsome Barry Jones, although he did not look handsome at that moment, with his eyes as hard as stones.

"You can't murder me and Charles," said Agatha. "You may think you can get away with two murders. But four!"

"There won't be any evidence," said Mrs. Jackson. "You'll just disappear, then we'll pack your stuff and bury it."

Agatha had a sudden desperate desire to pee. But she would not mess herself in front of these killers. She tried to forget the peril she was in and concentrate on why they had done it.

She looked again at Barry Jones, handsome Barry Jones who didn't have the money to support a woman with expensive tastes like Lucy. Unless ...

She looked at him. "I think you were having an affair with Lucy. I think she got you to kill Tolly. Wait a bit. You, Betty Jackson, told her about that will. So she stole the Stubbs and gave it to one of you to hide. Then what? A row with Tolly? Going to change his will again and leave everything to Lizzie? Or had he found out about Lucy and Barry? Anyway, Barry here slits his throat while Lucy goes to London to get an alibi. But why then dump the Stubbs on me? If you had burnt it, say, she would have got the insurance money."

"No harm in you knowing," said Mrs. Jackson. "Lucy thought if we dumped it on you, police attention would switch to you and Lizzie. She said it was worth it. She said she'd get enough from selling the estate."

"You think you've been very clever," said Agatha, "but you can't get away with making the pair of us disappear, as you put it. Charles is a baronet and the newspapers will have a field day. The case will go on and on. Lucy will have to wait a hell of a long time for her money, which means you will, too. And you've been silly. What made you think I knew anything?"

"Lucy phoned us and said you'd figured out Paul was blackmailing us and she said you would soon work it all out and tell the police."

Agatha heard the cats patter into the hall, heard them purring and mewing. That'll be Charles, she thought. If only I could warn him. But then the cats fell silent.

Agatha clasped her hands tightly together to stop their trembling. They were going to kill her. Was there any way she could make a dash for it?

She got to her feet. "I've got to go to the bathroom."

"Sit down!" barked Mrs. Jackson. "The only place you're going is the grave."

"You can't shoot both of us," pleaded Agatha. "The blast of the shotgun will be heard."

"Who by?" asked Barry Jones with a grin. "You're at the end of the lane. Nothing nearby except the church."

Agatha closed her eyes and prayed. Fright had made her deaf. She could only hear a roaring in her ears. Get me out of this and I'll give up smoking and I'll be a nicer person and I'll do good works. I know I haven't been very nice in the past, 0 Lord, but just get me out of this one and I'll be a saint. She suddenly knew she was going to pee herself and let out a low groan and opened her eyes. Then she blinked and stared again at the tableau in front of her.

The sitting-room was full of policemen. Barry Jones slowly dropped the shotgun onto the sofa. Detective Chief Inspector Hand stepped to the front as Jones and his mother were handcuffed.

"Where are you going, Mrs. Raisin?" he shouted as Agatha began to frantically push her way through to the door of the sitting-room.

"The bathroom!" shouted Agatha and fled up the stairs.

At two o'clock the following morning, Charles and Agatha returned from police headquarters. "So that's that," said Charles, walking into the sitting-room and beginning to put fire-lighters and logs on the fire. "I couldn't believe it. You'd left the door open. I knew something was up because the cats' fur was standing on end. I backed out and took a peek into the sitting-room. I knew Hand and the police were at the pub, and we all came round."

"Yes, you've told me all that, but you haven't told me why Rosie should tell you that she knew Lucy and Barry were having an affair, that she'd once spotted them out in the woods. Why tell you when she hadn't told the police?"

"We got friendly," said Charles, his back to Agatha as he struck a match and lit the fire.

"Pillow talk?"

"You could say that."

"You are amoral," said Agatha.

"Come on, Agatha. I sussed she must know something. You didn't think I was going to clear off for Christmas and leave you here on your own? I did it for you."

"The next thing is you'll be saying you did it for England!"

"That, too. Don't get mad at me, Aggie. Just think. The minute she told me about Barry Jones, I called on the police at the pub. Rosie was furious with me. She tried to claw my eyes out and called me a bastard."

Agatha sat down and put her hands out to the blaze. "But you weren't even going to wait to tell me first. You wanted all the glory for yourself."

"I didn't know where you were. I came back looking for you."

"I don't think I really know you, Charles."

"Who ever knows anyone?" he said lightly. "It's all solved. Just the way you told the police. So the glory is yours. Lucy worked Barry up to murdering Tolly. You're tired. Let's go to bed. You've had a bad fright."

Tired as she was, Agatha lay awake for quite a long time. James. Her mind was full of James Lacey again. He was strong man, not a lightweight philanderer like Charles, thought Agatha, forgetting that James was just as capable of philandering as Charles. She could see James in her mind's eye-his strong face, his bright blue eyes, his tall rangy figure, his thick black hair going grey at the sides. She was suddenly desperate to get back to Carsely, to get him out of the clutches of the mysterious Mrs. Sheppard.

She was awakened at nine o'clock the following morning by Charles, shouting to her that a police car had arrived to take them to headquarters to make more statements. She hurriedly washed and dressed and went downstairs to join him, grumbling, "I feel I talked to them all of last night."

Agatha was interviewed by Chief Detective Inspector Hand. He took her all through the events of the previous day again. Then he said, "You are lucky Sir Charles had the good sense to contact us. You put yourself at grave risk by keeping information to yourself."

"I didn't know anything!" howled Agatha. "How could I tell you when I didn't know?"

"You nearly got killed because you told Mrs. TrumpingtonJames that you thought Paul Redfern was a blackmailer, which happened to be the truth."

"It only just occurred to me," said Agatha huffily. "How could I tell you anything when it only had just occurred to me?"

"Remember in the future to keep your nose out of police business."

"If we had kept our noses out of police business," snapped Agatha, "then you would still be looking for a murderer. If you want any more damn statements, you'll find me in Carsely. I'm going home."

Agatha was still raging when she was joined by Charles. "Never mind," he said, seeing her furious face. "I had a rotten time of it as well. You would think they might at least have been grateful. Let's get something to eat and then go and see Lizzie."

"Why the hell should we see Lizzie?"

"Come on, Aggie, it would be a nice thing to do."

Agatha bitched and grumbled her way through lunch about the iniquities of the ungrateful police.

Then, after lunch, as they were approaching Lizzie's flat, Agatha saw Mrs. Tite, the woman she had given twenty pounds to during her fictitious market-research survey into coffee. "Coming to see me again?" asked Mrs. Tite.

"I was actually going to call on Mrs. Findlay."

"Oh, nice little Mrs. Findlay has left."

"Do you know where she's gone?"

"She said something about going to relatives in the country."

They thanked her and walked away.

"I bet she's gone home," said Charles suddenly.

"Why on earth should she?"

"I always thought she would."

"But she'd escaped. A new life."

"She's been in chains too long," said Charles. "It's the Stockholm syndrome. The hostage gets to love the hostage taker."

"You think you're so right about everything. I bet you a fiver she hasn't gone anywhere near the captain."

"You're on.,,

Sure enough, at Breakham, Lizzie answered the door to them. She was wearing an apron and there was a dab of flour on one cheek. "Come into the kitchen," she said. "I'm baking for the church sale."

"Where's the captain?" asked Agatha nervously.

"Oh, somewhere round the farm."

"Why on earth did you return to him?" asked Agatha.

Lizzie bent down and took a tray of little sponge cakes out of the oven. "I knew Tommy couldn't do without me." She was wearing a pair of bright blue contact lenses and her hair was done in a soft, pretty style. "It's done him the world of good."

"So you're not going to sell the Stubbs and leave?"

"Oh, no. We're going to sell the Stubbs, yes, but the roof needs repairing and then maybe we'll go on a cruise. Do you want coffee or something? Although I'm actually very busy."

Outside, Agatha took out a five-pound note and handed it to Charles. "I still don't believe it," she said.

"They'll never go on that cruise, you know," said Charles. "He'll gradually get control of her again and there won't be a next time for Lizzie."

"Serves her right," said Agatha. "I never liked her anyway."

In Fryfam, Agatha called the estate agent and said she would be leaving in the morning and that she wanted her deposit and the remainder of the rent refunded. Mr. Bryman said the deposit could be refunded but not the remainder of the rent. But by the time Agatha, glad to vent her spleen on someone, had told him what she thought of Fryfam and its murders and that she would take him to the small-claims court, he caved in and said he would send her a cheque.

Agatha was still cross with Charles. She felt the fact that he'd taken Rosie to bed diminished her own night with him. She thought constantly of James.

That evening, Charles was asleep in front of the dying fire. Agatha decided to go down to the garden shed to get more logs.

She went into the frosty back garden. Then she stood and stared. Little multi-coloured lights were dancing around at the bottom of the garden. She thought she could hear faint laughter, which seemed to be half inside and half outside her head.

She went back inside and phoned Harriet. "Those Jackson children are up to their tricks again," she complained. "Shining lights at the bottom of my garden."

"It can't be them," said Harriet. "The children have been taken off to Mrs. Jackson's sister in Kent. Must be the fairies. I say, what do you think about Lucy being guilty after all?"

But Agatha answered automatically. She could somehow still hear that strange elfin laughter.

When she finally replaced the receiver and looked down the garden, there was nothing there.

But Agatha Raisin found she was too frightened to get any logs. She left Charles asleep in front of the dying fire and went to bed.