Agatha Raisin and the Fairies of Fryfam

FIVE

AGATHA tossed and turned all night, wondering what to do. Part of her longed to rush back to Carsely and get her cottage ready, to visit the beautician, the hairdresser, the dress shops, to prepare for James's arrival. The sensible part of her mind told her that it would be a waste of time. She and James would never be friends again.

Around dawn, she suddenly fell into a heavy sleep and did not wake until ten in the morning. She got out of bed, amazed that the police had not been hammering on the door. She put on a dressing-gown and trailed down to the kitchen.

Charles was sitting at the kitchen table, newspapers spread out in front of him.

"Anything interesting?" asked Agatha.

"Oh, yes. The Radical Voice. Front page. `The Fairies of Fryfam.",

"God. They'll lynch me in this village. I would have thought the other papers would have been beating on the door."

"They were. You were fast asleep. I expected the onslaught, so I drove both our cars at dawn out of the village and hid them in a side road and didn't answer the door. They assumed we had both fled."

"Should I read it?"

"Gerry's precious prose? No, better not."

"Let me see it." Agatha sat down opposite him and seized The Radical Voice. The first awful sight that met her eyes was a coloured photograph of herself and Charles. Charles looked dapper and amused. But she! The camera had cruelly accentuated every line on her face. "Is that grey hairs?" she asked, peering closely at the photograph.

"You've got a few grey roots," said Charles.

Agatha read the article with growing dismay. It would be clear to everyone in the village that Agatha Raisin had babbled about the fairies, and at great length. Now she definitely had a good excuse to go home.

"They'll lynch me," she said. "I was going back to Carsely anyway. Better go home today."

"James home?"

Agatha blushed angrily. His eyes searched her face. "But he's coming home. Last night after that phone call from Mrs. Bloxby, you were elated one minute and fidgety and miserable the next. We've talked about this before. A friend of mind went to a very good therapist in Harley Street for your problem."

"I don't have a problem."

"Oh, yes, you do. You are a grown woman who is obsessing over a cold man. Before you go back to Carsely, which you should not do until we discover a bit more about this murder, you should go to this therapist first. Just think how free you would feel if you didn't care, Agatha. Think of facing James again and not caring. How long is it since you had any fun with James? No, don't yell at me off the top of your head. Think!"

Agatha said, "I don't like to be bullied."

"You don't like a sensible suggestion either. Promise me you'll at least try this therapist."

"Anything to shut you up. Where's Mrs. Jackson?"

"I called her at her cottage and told her not to come until tomorrow."

"We can't hide in here all day."

"No, we'll walk a back route to the cars, take yours and go to Norwich, where you will get your hair done."

"I s'pose," grumbled Agatha. "I'd better have some breakfast."

"By which you mean two cups of coffee and three cigarettes. The coffee's ready in the pot and your cigarettes are on the table."

"What on earth is Hand going to say about these fairies? He'll say I've been holding out on him."

"He'll know about the lights. I can't see Tolly holding back that bit of information when Hand was investigating the theft of the Stubbs."

The day was quiet and misty, a grey, dreamy landscape. They set out looking to right and left to make sure no reporter was lurking in the bushes. Charles had warned her to wear her wellingtons and carry her shoes, for the way he took her led over a stile at the end of Pucks Lane and across a field of stubble.

They climbed over another stile and into a lane to where he had parked the cars at the end of it. Agatha removed her muddy boots and put on her shoes. She drove off slowly through the mist and onto the main road. "We can't hide out forever," she said.

"Give it another day and you won't be the only one to have talked about fairies. In fact, I'll bet you if we watch the news when we get back, some of them will be standing in front of a camera talking happily about the little people. It always amazes me how people will refuse to talk to newspaper reporters and yet welcome a television crew into their homes."

"We'll have lunch in Norwich first," said Agatha, "and then I'll leave you to entertain yourself while I find a hairdresser."

Charles waited by Agatha's car in a parking lot in Norwich. They had arranged to meet at five o'clock. The mist had lifted and a late sun was shining down. Then he saw Agatha coming towards him and smiled. Her thick hair was once more a glossy brown. Her face had been skillfully made up. She was wearing a new jacket and skirt in a soft heathery tweed. He excellent legs were encased in fine tights, ending in a new pair of court shoes. Agatha, reflected Charles, would never be a beauty, but she carried with her a strong aura of sexual magnetism of which she was entirely unaware.

"You clean up a treat," he said. "Let's see if we can get back in time for the six-o'clock news."

"Do I have to struggle across that muddy field again?"

"No, deadline time's over for the newspapers and they'll all be in the pub. Drop me at my car and then we'll both drive home."

Agatha was dying to phone Mrs. Bloxby again, to ask more about James's return. But the cottage was small and Charles would hear her and Charles would start nagging her about that therapist again.

Agatha had a leisurely bath that evening, creamed her face, put on her night-dress and went into her bedroom. Charles was lying on her bed with his hands clasped behind his head.

"What are you doing there?" demanded Agatha.

"I thought we might ..."

"No. Absolutely not."

"Not even a cuddle?"

"No.'

He sighed and swung his legs out of bed and then made for the door. "Saving yourself for James?" he jeered.

"Just go away!" shouted Agatha and slammed the door behind him.

She had slept with Charles before, only to find out that he had gone off romancing some other female the day after. Agatha got into bed and lay staring at the ceiling. To take her mind off the imminent return of James, she began to turn what she knew about Tolly's murder over in her mind, and the more she thought about it, the stranger it seemed. She began to think that the theft of the Stubbs might not have anything to do with the murder. So concentrate of the murder alone. Lucy was the only suspect. Agatha was sure that Lucy had been telling the truth when she had suspected Tolly was having an affair. Based on what? Rose perfume and the fact that Tolly had washed the sheets. But Rosie Wilder, Agatha was sure, had been telling the truth. But surely rose perfume could be used by anyone.

The best thing would be to wait until the fuss died down and then try to see Lucy. Charles had been right about one thing-the evening television news had featured many of the locals, including Harriet, talking about the fairies.

By the next day, Agatha began to wonder if the fuss would ever die down. And for the following week, the village of Fryfam was under a sort of siege. "You did this," Polly shouted at Agatha when she met her crossing the village green. Because of the fairies, not only tourists but weirdos had descended on the village. And then came the New Age travellers, that scourge of the countryside, with their savage dogs and dirty children, their broken-down trailers and trucks camped on the village green. They were finally routed by the police and left in a haze of filthy exhaust, leaving the village green like a tip and not a duck left on the pond because they had eaten the lot.

So it was with something like surprise that Agatha opened the door one morning to Harriet and Polly.

"Can I help you?" she asked nervously.

"Yes, you can," said Polly. "We are all getting together to clean up the village green." She handed Agatha a roll of garbage bags.

Glad to be no longer ostracized, Agatha agreed. She called to Charles to come and help but he appeared to have become suddenly deaf because there was no reply to her calls. She went off with Harriet and Polly. "I'm sorry about that fairy business," said Agatha. "It just slipped out."

"Well, you're no longer the culprit, everyone in the village seems to have spouted off about fairies to the television cameras," said Polly, sour because no one had asked her about them. "Has Mrs. Jackson been cleaning for you?"

"Not yet," said Agatha. "She's been due to call several times but she always says she's poorly. Has anyone seen Lucy?"

They both shook their heads. "We hear she's up at the manor and the lawyers have called," said Polly, "and the police are still there the whole time."

"Oh, dear," murmured Agatha as they came upon the full horror of the village green.

"That's not all," said Harriet with gloomy relish. "Those pesky travellers were using the pond as a toilet, so we're getting some down from the Department of the Environment to advise us how best to purify the water."

Several other villagers were working alongside them. "This is all the fault of that Lucy Trumpington-James," complained a stout countrywoman to Agatha. Agatha straightened up from her rubbish collection. "How's that?" she asked.

"If she hadn't have murdered him, then these dirty folks wouldn't have come here."

"But she was in London."

"So they say, but don't you believe it."

"Was Tolly Trumpington-James having an affair with anyone?" asked Agatha.

"Why shouldn't he?" demanded the woman, her red hands on her broad hips. "Wasn't much fun being married to her."

"So who was he having an affair with?" said Agatha eagerly.

"I never said nothing," retorted the woman angrily and walked quickly away to another part of the green.

I must find out more about this, thought Agatha. She called to Polly and Harriet, who had been joined by Carrie, "When you're ready for a break, we can go back to my place for coffee."

"Right," said Harriet. "We'll let you know."

Agatha was just wondering if she would ever walk straight again when Harriet called, "Wouldn't mind that coffee now."

Agatha straightened up with a groan. Her back was aching. Her fingers were numb because the day was icy cold.

When they were all seated around the kitchen table-still no sign of Charles-Agatha said, "A woman on the green told me Tolly was having an affair."

"Who would that be?" wondered Harriet. "I mean, who told you that?"

"Big, broad woman, rosy cheeks, frizzy grey hair."

"Oh, that would be Daisy Brean. I wonder what she was on about. I never heard anything about Tolly having an affair. I mean, who would want Tolly?"

"We could ask about," suggested Agatha. "I mean, if she knows something, maybe someone else does. And that would mean there might be some angry husband who wanted rid of Tolly."

"I saw Charles the other day," said Carrie, "and he took me for a drink. He said you were thinking of leaving soon but that he might stay on."

Agatha realized that she had been able to put James out of her mind for over a week.

They had played endless games of Scrabble, gone to the cinema in Norwich, gone shopping and had kept away from the villagers as much as possible. Charles had said it was best to keep clear until the fuss died down and the press moved on to juicier stories. So when had he met Came? Then she remembered; she had decided to wash and set her hair and he had said he would go out for a walk. Came was slim and attractive. Damn Charles, and thank God she hadn't gone to bed with him. She was now determined to stay on longer. If Fryfam could take her mind off James, then it was worth hanging on for a bit. Charles's suggestion that she see a therapist still rankled.

"I'll be here for a bit," said Agatha. "By the way, I like that rose scent that Rosie Wilden uses. Is it a commercial one?"

"No, she makes it."

"Does she sell any?"

"I think she'll give you some if you ask her. She says it's from an old recipe," said Carrie. "I suppose I'd better be going."

The others rose as well. As Agatha saw them out, Charles was just returning.

"What now?" she asked.

"Eat something and then we'll go out to the manor to present our condolences to Lucy."

"I'm tired of thinking about meals," said Agatha crossly.

"Doesn't seem to trouble you much. Just bung it in the microwave. Let me see what we've got. I'll make something. Let's see. Eggs, bacon, sausage. That'll do. A nice fry-up."

"I needn't worry about my weight," said Agatha. "I must have lost pounds picking up that garbage."

"Sit there while I make with the frying pan."

"Are you usually so domesticated?"

"Only around you. I'm driven into it."

After lunch, they headed out to the manor, Agatha refusing to walk, saying she had endured enough cold air to last her for the rest of the day. There had been a hard frost during the night and patches of it still lay unmelted on the ground.

"If anyone talks to me about global warming, I'll puke," grumbled Agatha. "It was a rotten summer as well."

"The rest of the world was burning up," said Charles. "Here we are. Gates open. No policeman on duty."

They went up the drive. It all seemed very quiet.

Charles rang the doorbell. They waited for what seemed a long time, until Lucy's voice suddenly sounded from the other side of the door. "Who is it?"

"Charles Fraith and Agatha Raisin."

The door opened. "I thought it might be the press," said Lucy. "Come in."

They followed her into the drawing-room. She was wearing a silky trouser suit and was highly made up, as if about to go on television.

"We were very sorry to hear of Tolly's death," said Agatha.

"Were you?" Lucy raised thin eyebrows. "You barely knew him."

There was an awkward silence. Then Agatha said, "Have you any idea who would murder your husband?"

"No," said Lucy, suddenly looking weary.

"But you wanted me to find out if Tolly had been having an affair."

"Did I?"

"Yes," said Agatha crossly. "You thought he was having an affair with Rosie Wilden. Remember? All about the rose perfume in the bedroom and the fact that Tolly had washed the sheets?"

"Oh, that."

There was a silence.

"Well?" prompted Charles.

"Well, what? Oh, I see. Nothing seems to matter much."

"But don't you see," said Agatha eagerly, "if Tolly was having an affair, then the murder might have been committed by a jealous husband."

"Rosie doesn't have a husband."

"It doesn't need to be her. She might give that perfume of hers to people who ask for it."

"Truth to tell, I've been so shattered by this," said Lucy, "I haven't been able to think clearly. You've got an idea there."

"Didn't you say anything to the police about your suspicions?" asked Charles.

"Them! That man, Hand, went on and on as if I'd done it. I had to have all my wits about me sticking to my alibi."

Agatha wanted to ask her why Mrs. Jackson had said that she and Tolly had been laughing about her suspicions and why they had ridiculed her, Agatha. But Lucy might freeze up. And there was still hope of getting gossip out of Mrs. Jackson-that is, if she ever turned up to clean.

"Did Tolly ever seem to favour any woman?"

"Apart from Rosie, no. He would suck up to wives at hunt dos, ones whose husbands he wanted to ingratiate himself with."

"Like who?" asked Charles.

"Oh, like that dreary old bag, Mrs. Findlay."

"Captain Findlay's wife?"

"Yes, her. I call her the battered bride. She always trembles every time her husband looks at her. He probably beats her."

"And the police have no idea where the Stubbs went to?"

"None at all. It'll probably turn up in some mansion in South America."

"I assume you get everything," said Charles.

"Yes."

"Good solicitors?"

"Old-fashioned and solid. Tomley and Barks in Norwich."

"Tomley," said Charles. "There was a Tristan Tomley in my form at Eton and he came from over here."

"Could be," said Lucy indifferently.

"What will you do now?" asked Agatha.

For the first time, Lucy seemed animated. "I'll sell up here and move to London. Thank God this place and the grounds are worth something. Tolly didn't leave much else. That damn hunt must have been bleeding him dry. I never want to see another horse or hound again."

"We'll do all we can to help," said Agatha.

Lucy gave a little shrug. "I don't see what you can do. But thanks anyway. I'm sorry I haven't offered you anything, but I'm a bit busy at the moment, so ..."

Agatha and Charles rose to their feet. "Find your own way out?" Lucy remained seated.

They said goodbye and walked out to the car.

"What now?" asked Agatha.

"The solicitors in Norwich."

" "They won't tell us anything.

"They might-that is, if the Tomley part of the business is the one I went to school with."

The city of Norwich was shrouded in mist, slowly thickening into fog. "Hope it doesn't get worse than this or we'll need to stay the night here," said Charles. "Do you know, the fairies have disappeared. No more petty theft."

"That's true. Do you think someone stole the petty stuff and flashed lights around to make everyone frightened as a blind, when all the time he really meant to steal the Stubbs?"

"Could be. But there's something about the petty thefts which smacks of the work of children. We never saw Mrs. Jackson's children, apart from the gardener."

"And that's a mystery," said Agatha as Charles eased into the car-park. "How on earth did a woman like that manage to get married two times?"

"No accounting for taste." Charles flashed her a wicked look. "Is there, Aggie?"

"Stop calling me Aggie and let's find this solicitor."

The solicitors' offices were in a pleasant old sixteenth-century flint building in a courtyard off Lower Goat Lane. "Let's hope it's the Tomley I knew and that he's here and not in court," said Charles.

He gave his card to a motherly looking receptionist. She smiled at them, told them to wait, and said she would see if Mr. Tomley was available.

They sat down in comfortable leather armchairs in front of a low table covered in glossy magazines.

The receptionist returned, smiled again, and said, "Mr. Tomley is on the phone. Will you wait? He should only be a few moments."

Agatha picked up a magazine about country houses and flicked through it. The offices were very quiet, protected from the sound of traffic by the courtyard outside. Her eyelids began to droop and soon she was fast asleep.

She awoke with a jerk half an hour later. Charles was shaking her by the shoulder. "Come along, Aggie. We're going for a drink. This is Tommers."

Agatha stood up and blinked blearily and focused on a plump, well-tailored man with a red shiny face and thick grey hair. "You should have woken me, Charles," she admonished.

"You haven't missed anything," said Charles cheerfully, "and you look so beautiful when you sleep, snoring gently and with your mouth hanging open."

"And you make noises like a dog hunting rabbits in your sleep. Whoop, whoop, shiver, whoop," said Agatha nastily.

Then she blushed as Tristan Tomley surveyed both of them with bright-eyed interest.

"Let's go," said Charles, his good humour unabated. "Where's the pub, Tommers?"

"Round the corner. The Goat and Boots."

As they walked out into the freezing, foggy air, Tommers said, "I doubt if the pair of you will get back tonight. Fog's bad. I feel in my bones it's going to be a bad winter."

The pub was relatively quiet. They took their drinks to a corner table. "Well, Charles," said Tommers, "what's this all about? Or did you come the whole way here to reminisce about our school-days?"

"Not quite. You see, I'm staying with Agg-Agatha in Fryfam."

"Aha. The Trumpington-James murder. Why should you be interested?"

"We like to solve mysteries," said Charles. "Wanted to ask you about the will."

"I don't mind telling you about that. All straightforward. Everything goes to the wife."

Agatha had then what she considered as being a sudden flash of intuition. "Aha," she said, her bearlike eyes boring into the lawyer's. "But what about the other will?"

"What other will?"

Agatha leaned forward eagerly. "The one Tolly was threatening to make just before he was killed. The one in which he cut out his wife and left the money to ... someone else!"

Tommers surveyed her with amusement. "You mean like in books?" He burst out laughing. "Nothing so sinister. Only one will and no threats of cutting the wife out. I say, Charles. Do you remember old Stuffy?"

Agatha relapsed into gloom as the reminiscence went on. What a waste of a journey! What a foggy freezing place to land up in, only to be made to feel ridiculous.

At last, after what seemed an age, Tommers said he had to be getting home. "Would invite you," he said, "but my motherin-law is in residence and she's a bit crotchety, to say the least."

After he had left, Charles said, "Did you really think there might have been another will?"

"I hoped there might be the threat of one, or even some mysterious woman who got something in the real will. Now I feel stupid."

"I must admit I was hoping for the same thing. So what do you want to do? Shall we find a hotel?"

"Let's at least try to get back. We can always stop somewhere on the way home. In fact, we can at least stop somewhere for dinner. I don't like to leave the cats on their own. I left some hard food for them and they've got plenty of water, but they will worry about me."

"I think Hodge and Boswell keep each other amused, Aggie."

"But the cottage will be cold."

"Then they'll probably end up under your duvet."

Agatha grabbed his arm. "Look!"

"Look at what?"

"Oh, she's gone."

"What are you talking about?"

"It was there at the end of the street, just in front of that shop window," said Agatha. "I thought I saw the captain's wife, Lizzie Findlay."

"Well, what's so exciting about that?"

"She looked different, all smartened up, heels and trouser suit and make-up."

"How could you see anything in this fog?"

"It parted a bit and the shop window's brightly lit. A bus passed and sent the fog swirling. It probably wasn't her. It was someone who looked the way she would look if she were smartened up. I suppose I'm seeing things because I don't want this nasty cold outing to be entirely wasted. And, damn, I am worrying about those cats."

The rush-hour was building up. Charles eased out into a lane of traffic. "Maybe we should stop somewhere for a bite soon," he said, "and then we can have a clearer road."

"Anywhere you like," said Agatha. "And put the heater on. I'm freezing."

As they eased out of Norwich, the commuter traffic grew less, and the surrounding countryside, blacker and foggier. "I need a break," muttered Charles. "There's a lit-up sort of building ahead, I think, but with this fog I don't know if it's a factory or a pub. Ah, a pub."

He turned right into a car-park. He got out of the car and held up one finger. "I think there's a breeze, Aggie. Just like a faint breath of air. Do you know what the forecast is?"

"Oh, well, let's see what they've got in the way of food."

The pub turned out to have a small dining-room. The food was of the chicken-in-a-basket-, scampi-in-a-basket-type of meal, along with various sandwiches and baked potatoes with different fillings.

They both ordered chicken and chips. The chicken turned out to be hard and dry and coated in orange breadcrumbs, and the chips were of the nasty frozen variety. But food was food. They washed it down with mineral water, Charles saying that he didn't want to be charged with being over the limit, and as he couldn't drink, he didn't see why Agatha should have that pleasure. "Besides," he said, "people who drink on their own are terribly suspect."

They ate in silence. Charles, to Agatha's amazement, paid the bill. Outside, the fog was as bad as ever. "Going to be pretty hopeless getting back," commented Charles as damp fog swirled about them. "We should try to get back to Norwich for the night."

"I'll drive," said Agatha grimly. "My cats."

"Damn your pesky cats," said Charles in a rare fit of bad temper. "You're turning into an old maid."

"I'm turning into a caring human being," snapped Agatha, "which is more than I can say for you."

"Get in the car. I'll do my best."

"Where's that precious wind of yours?" asked Agatha, as she fastened her seat-belt.

"God knows. Well, here we go into the black nothingness of Norfolk."

They made their way along the road at a steady thirty miles an hour.

"Can't you go faster?" complained Agatha.

"No. Shut up."

After several miles, Charles said, "The wind is rising at last, and just for the moment, it's making things worse."

Odd pillars of fog danced in the headlights in front of his tired eyes, like grey ghosts. He crested the top of a small hill and suddenly they were out into a clear starry night.

"Amazing," muttered Charles, accelerating.

At last they reached Fryfam and turned into Pucks Lane. "A large brandy, I think, is called for," said Charles, parking alongside the hedge. Agatha fished in her handbag for the enormous door key.

She stopped short on the threshold. "Charles," she said, "the door's open. Did we leave it like that?"

"Of course not. Don't go in, Aggie. There may be someone still there. I said don't go-"

But with a cry of "My cats!" Agatha went straight inside.

Then Charles heard a scream of dismay from Agatha and darted in after her. She was standing in the sitting-room. Everything had been turned over. The drawers in the desk were hanging open. "Hodge and Boswell?" asked Agatha through white lips.

"Wait here. I'll look upstairs."

Charles went upstairs and into both bedrooms. Someone had gone through everything.

He came back down. "I'm phoning the police. Where are you going?"

"To look for the cats."

Agatha went into the kitchen. Cupboards opened, drawers opened. What had they been searching for?

She went down the garden, calling desperately for her cats. But there was no welcome glint of green eyes in the darkness.

Agatha searched and searched, until Charles came up behind her. "The police are here, Aggie. I'm sure the cats are all right. They're great survivors. Come in out of the cold."

"I should never have left them." Agatha began to sob.

"Here, now." He put an arm round her. "Where's my brave Aggie? It's only old Framp. The heavy mob will be along shortly."

He coaxed her into the sitting-room, where Framp was standing in front of the fireplace.

"Just a few preliminary questions," said Framp, opening his notebook.

"Sit down," said Charles, pressing Agatha down onto the sofa. "Wait a moment and I'll answer all your questions. She's in no fit state. I'll get her a brandy." Charles went over to the cupboard where Agatha kept the drinks, pulled out a brandy bottle and poured her a stiff measure. "I don't suppose you drink on duty," he said to Framp.

"It's a cold night, sir, and a beer wouldn't go amiss."

"We haven't got beer. Here, Aggie. You drink that. We've got whisky, gin, vodka, and a bottle of elderberry wine."

"I wouldn't mind a whisky, sir."

"Right you are. Soda?"

"No, just straight."

Charles gave Framp a glass of whisky and poured himself a brandy. "Sit down," he said to Framp. "It's going to be a long night."

After half an hour, Hand and Carey arrived. "You're lucky," said Hand. "They got us when we were out on another case not far away." Framp deftly slid his glass behind the television set.

Charles answered all the questions over again. Again he simply said they had been shopping in Norwich and had been late arriving home because of the fog. No, he didn't know what anyone could possibly be looking for, or who could have got in without forcing the door. Agatha was roused to go upstairs with Carey to see if all her jewellery was still there. She moved like an automaton, fretting all the while about her lost cats. Then she returned to the sitting-room with Carey.

"Nothing missing, sir," said Carey.

"We'll have the fingerprint boys along soon," said Hand with a sigh. "Now, you," he said to Agatha. "Have you been going in for any detecting?"

Charles threw Agatha a warning look. "No," lied Agatha. "What about my cats?"

"I'm sure they are somewhere about."

But Agatha was sure they were dead. She should never have brought them here. She should never have run away from Carsely. She promised God she would do anything if only those cats came back. A forensic team arrived and dusted the place for fingerprints. Despite her misery about her cats, Agatha could not help comparing Fryfam to Carsely. Had this happened in Carsely, all the villagers would have gathered to offer sympathy and support. But the fairy-believers of Fryfam stayed in their burrows like hobbits.

By three in the morning, police and forensics packed up and left. Agatha and Charles sat side by side on the sofa. Agatha shivered. "It's so cold," she said.

"Tell you what," said Charles. "You stay there for a bit and I'll light this fire and get us warm and then I'll light the fires in the rooms."

Agatha watched dully as he put fire-lighters, paper and logs on the fire and sat back on his heels, watching it blaze up. Then he picked up the empty log basket. "I'll go out to the shed and get some more logs. You be all right?"

Agatha nodded. She stared at the dancing flames. I'm a silly woman, she thought. Why didn't I mind my own business? Why did I come to his hell-hole just to destroy my cats? Who cares who killed Tolly?

She heard the kitchen door crash open. She heard Charles come in and then he said gleefully, "Look what I've got, Aggie."

She twisted her head around and then jumped to her feet. For Charles was carrying Hodge and Boswell.

"Oh, thank God," cried Agatha, the tears of relief running down her face. She patted both cats. "Bring them into the kitchen, Charles, and I'll give them something special."

Charles waited in the kitchen, amused, as Agatha proceeded to open a tin of pate de foie gras and then one of salmon.

"Don't kill them with kindness," he said, and then went back down the garden, whistling, to get the logs.

Agatha was awakened by the ringing of the doorbell downstairs. She looked at her bedside clock and groaned. Eight in the morning! She struggled into her dressing-gown and hurried downstairs and the bell rang and rang. She opened the door to confront the unlovely features of Mrs. Jackson.

"Came to do yer house," said Betty Jackson, pushing past Agatha. Agatha collected her wits. She wanted to tell this woman to get lost, but there was all that fingerprint dust.

"We had a break-in last night," said Agatha, "and the police were here, so there's fingerprint dust everywhere. I must go back to bed. Don't bother about the bedrooms. Just clean downstairs. Oh, and do the windows."

"I don't do windows."

"Do what you can," said Agatha crossly. "And don't bother my cats. In fact, I'll take them with me." She looked at the cleaner curiously. "You don't seem over-surprised."

"It's incomers," said Mrs. Jackson, taking off her coat. "Never had nothing like this afore the incomers came."

And coming from a woman who was married to a jailbird, that was a bit thick, thought Agatha. But she was too weary to argue. She scooped up her cats and went upstairs with them and plunked them on the end of the bed, climbed in herself and drifted back into sleep.

When she awoke again, it was eleven o'clock. She hurriedly washed and dressed and went downstairs, followed by the cats. She could heard Charles's voice coming from the kitchen and guessed he was talking to Mrs. Jackson. She took a look in the sitting-room. It was polished and gleaming and free of dust and the fireplace had been cleaned out and the fire reset. At least she can clean, thought Agatha.

She went into the kitchen. The conversation stopped abruptly when she opened the kitchen door. Mrs. Jackson was rinsing out a cloth at the sink and Charles had the morning papers spread out in front of him.

"Nearly finished here," said Mrs. Jackson. "Want me to do upstairs?"

"Yes, if you please," said Agatha.

Charles rose. "We're going out, Betty. Just let yourself out and lock the door."

"How can she do that?" asked Agatha. "I've got the key."

"I went down to the estate agent's and got another," said Charles. "I've paid Betty. Come along, Aggie. You can eat later."

"So it's Betty now," said Agatha. "What did you get out of her?"

"Get in the car and I'll tell you."

"Wait a bit. Will the cats be all right?"

"I let them into the garden. They'll be fine."

"What does she do with her children when she starts so early?"

"They get the early school bus. The school supplies free breakfasts to the children of working mothers provided they're poor enough."

"So what did you get out of her?"

Charles pulled into a lay-by and switched off the engine. "It's what I didn't get out of her that fascinated me. She says Lucy was a good employer."

"Was? Isn't she working for her anymore?"

"No, she says that Lucy paid her off and very generously, too. Seems as if our Lucy is going to put the house on the market as soon as she can and says she'll get a commercial firm in to do the whole place over. But you would think that someone like Lucy would want someone in the meantime to wash the dirty dishes and Hoover. Mrs. Jackson doesn't talk much about Tolly but sticks to her story that they were a devoted couple."

"Maybe we're wrong. Maybe they were."

"Come on. You don't believe that."

"No, I suppose not. Where are we going?"

"A little of Betty Jackson goes a long way. There's something about that woman that makes my flesh creep. I've been thinking about Lizzie Findlay."

"The captain's wife? Because I thought I saw her all glammed up?"

"I suppose it's because I'm restless and can't think of anything else. Remember Lucy said something to the effect that Tolly was crawling to Lizzie."

"Yes, but surely that was only to ingratiate himself with the captain."

"I don't know. Take Lucy, for instance. She must spend a fortune on her appearance and she's as hard as nails. There's downtrodden Lizzie, everything that Lucy is not."

"But she's so dowdy and faded!"

"We don't know how she shapes up if she takes a bit of care with her appearance."

Agatha thought about Lizzie. She had not really noticed her. Myopic, wispy hair, figure hidden in shapeless garments. She shook her head. "Not possible."

"Let's go for a long shot. Let's drive to the captain's house and hide the car somewhere and keep an eye on things."

The sun was shining but there was a stiff breeze blowing. "Not for long, then," said Agatha cautiously.

They set off again. Charles turned off a country lane near the captain's house.

"I don't know how we're going to spy on her," complained Agatha. "There's that long drive past the farmhouse before you even get to the captain's house."

"Don't be defeatist. We'll think of something. Look," said Charles, "if we trespass on the captain's property and cross that field, we can hide in that stand of pine and get a good view of the entrance to the house."

"What if someone sees us! We'll be awfully exposed crossing that field."

"We'll risk it."

"What about the dogs?"

"They like me."

"What excuse are we going to give if we're caught?"

"We'll say we saw a rough-looking trespasser or one of those New Age travellers, and inspired by neighbourly duty we set across the field to clear them off."

"But-"

"Come on, Aggie!"

Reluctantly, Agatha set out next to him. Charles opened a gate into the field and shut the gate behind them. "We'll take the path around the edge of the field," he said. "No harm in that. It's when people walk across fields that the owners get mad."

They walked on, Agatha looking nervously all about her. She heaved a sigh of relief when they reached the stand of pine. Pine trees, thought Agatha; why couldn't they have been some thicker variety of tree? They stood in the shelter of one of the sturdier pines.

The entrance to the house was clearly visible. "Can I have a cigarette?" asked Agatha after half an hour.

"No," said Charles sharply. "Someone might see smoke rising from the trees and come to investigate."

"So how long are we going to stand here, freezing our assets?"

"Shhh! Someone's leaving."

As they watched, the tall figure of the captain emerged. He got into a dusty Land Rover, after, to Agatha's relief, putting the dogs in the back. They watched as he drove off down the drive and disappeared along the road, leaving only a black cloud of filthy exhaust to mark his going.

"Now what?" muttered Agatha. "Is that the exciting event of the day?"

"We wait to see if Lizzie Findlay makes a move."

Agatha craved a cigarette. If only she could quit and not be a slave to the beastly things. She peered up at the sky through the tops of the pines. "It's getting darker, Charles. Sun's gone in. Don't you think we should get out of here before it rains?"

"We waited this long. May as well wait a bit more."

After another three-quarters of an hour, Agatha felt cold and miserable. A sudden gust of wind rustled through the pines and she felt a drop of rain on her cheek.

"That's it," she said. "I'm off. I'm not waiting here to get pneumonia."

"Here she comes," whispered Charles.

Lizzie Findlay emerged wearing an old wax coat and with a scarf over her head. She got into a battered Ford Escort carrying a small case, which she put on the seat beside her, and after fumbling around a bit, put on a pair of driving glasses.

"Let her get down the drive," said Charles, excited, "and we'll follow her."

As soon as the Ford had disappeared, Charles grabbed Agatha's hand and forced her to run towards the car. Cold rain stung their faces, and as Charles had run straight across the ploughed field this time, Agatha's shoes were thick with wet mud by the time they got to the car.

"Which way did she go?" asked Agatha, climbing into the car and fastening her seat-belt.

"Don't know, but let's guess the Norwich road."

Charles drove off at great speed, and Agatha hung on as he screeched round the bends on the twisting road.

"Got her!" exclaimed Charles in triumph.

"Where?"

"Up ahead."

"I can't see."

"Three cars in front. I'll keep some cars between us in case she spots us."

They drove on steadily. "Yes, she must be going to Norwich. Let's hope we don't lose her in the city. At least it's not foggy."

Agatha was feeling depressed. Her feet were wet and muddy. Lizzie would probably go shopping and head straight home.

Lizzie drove straight into the centre of town, to the same car-park where Charles had stopped the night before. They found a space two rows behind where she was parking, and then got out. Lizzie was hurrying out of the car-park carrying the suitcase. They followed her along several streets until she stopped outside a betting shop, took out a key, unlocked a door next to the betting shop, which they guessed led to the flats above, and disappeared from view.

" `Curiouser and curiouser,' " quoted Charles. "Look, there's a cafe opposite with a free table at the window. We can sit there and keep watch."

The cafe owner cast a reproving look at Agatha's muddy shoes as they walked in. They ordered coffee and sat down at the table by the window. Time dragged on. They ordered more coffee.

Then they saw the door opposite open. "You were right!" said Charles excitedly. For the Lizzie who emerged was transformed. She was wearing a smart white raincoat and silk scarf. She was wearing sheer stockings and high heels. Her face was cleverly made up. She was by no means a beauty, but she looked a chic middle-aged woman instead of a downtrodden housekeeper. They paid for the coffee and followed her. She walked about, looking at the shops. She went into a department store. They followed. Lizzie bought some cosmetics. Then she went through to the lingerie department and bought a lacy bra and French knickers.

Carrying her purchases, and with Charles and Agatha in discreet pursuit, Lizzie returned to the door beside the betting shop and let herself in.

Once more Agatha and Charles took up watch in the cafe. The table at the window had been taken and so they took turns to stand up, craning their necks.

It was an hour before Lizzie emerged again as her old self, carrying the suitcase.

"Quick, we'll follow her," said Agatha, getting to her feet.

"No, sit down!"

Agatha reluctantly did as she was bid. "Why?"

"Because I think she's going home. I want to find out who rents that flat, if it's rented, and under what name."

They finished their coffee. Agatha was beginning to wish they had ordered some food, but at least, with all the waiting around, her feet were dry.

"We don't want the neighbours, if there are any neighbours, to report our visit," said Charles.

"I've done this sort of thing before," said Agatha eagerly. "I'll get a clipboard from a stationer's and some lined paper and say I am doing market research. Can you see from here? Are there any belts on the door?"

"Four, and an intercom."

"You wait here. Let's just hope there's someone at home."

She bought a clipboard at a nearby stationer's and then made her way back to the flats. Who should she be? Just vaguely market research. That would do.

There were no names on the bells, just flat numbers. Only the fourth replied, an old woman's voice demanding shrilly, "Who is it? What d'ye want? If it's you kids again, I'll call the police."

"Market research," said Agatha into the intercom.

"Haven't got the time to answer a lot of damn-fool questions," came the reply.

"I'll pay for your time," said Agatha.

"How much?" Sharp and eager.

"Twenty pounds."

The buzzer went and Agatha pushed open the door and climbed up to flat 2. An elderly woman stood at the door, leaning on two sticks. "What's it about?" she asked.

She had an untidy, uncombed thatch of hair and two sharp beady eyes in a wrinkled face.

"Coffee," said Agatha.

"Coffee? I don't drink coffee."

I won't get far with this one, thought Agatha. Better go back to the cafe and wait to see if someone more amenable comes home to one of the other flats.

"Sorry to trouble you," said Agatha.

"Wait! Did you say twenty pounds?"

"Yes."

"Well, come in. I haven't got all day."

Agatha followed her into a neat living-room. A canary chirped in a cage at the window and two cats lay in front of a two-bar electric fire. Agatha repressed a shudder. In this old woman, she felt for a moment, she was looking at her future. "I'm Mrs. Tite. T-I-T-E."

Agatha dutifully wrote it down. "I don't drink coffee," said Mrs. Tire, "but my son does. Sit down." She lowered herself slowly and painfully into an armchair in front of the fire and Agatha took the one opposite.

"How many cups a day?" asked Agatha.

"About four or five."

Agatha dutifully wrote it down and then proceeded to ask a lot of questions about Mrs. Tire's son's coffee-drinking. "Now," said Agatha, "is there anyone else in these flats who would be prepared to answer questions?"

"There's George Harris and old Mr. Black-"

"I would prefer a woman. They're better at answering questions."

"Well, there's Mrs. Findlay, but I haven't seen much of her lately, or her husband, for that matter."

Agatha felt a pang of disappointment. This was just a flat the Findlays had bought or rented in town. She fished out a twenty-pound note and handed it over.

She rose to her feet. Mrs. Tite stroked and folded the note and then tucked it in the pocket of her old woollen cardigan. "I'll see myself out," said Agatha. "Don't bother to get up."

"It's nice to see that," said Mrs. Tite, almost as if speaking to herself. "Love like that in middle age, and them married so long."

Agatha swung round, her hand on the door-handle. "You mean Captain and Mrs. Findlay?"

"Is he a captain? I didn't know that. Never used the title."

"I knew some Findlays," said Agatha slowly. "I must be confusing this Mr. Findlay with Captain Findlay. What does he look like?"

"Small, tubby man. High colour. Wore sporty clotheshacking jacket, cravat with a horse-head pin in it."

"Thank you," said Agatha. She scampered down the stairs and across the road to the cafe, where she told Charles what she had found out, ending with "It couldn't have been Tolly, could it?"

"Sounds like it."

"But that's impossible! Why would a rich man like Tolly want to philander with someone like Lizzie Findlay?"

"Think about it. He's married to a hard blonde who made it clear she only married him for his money. He chats up Lizzie, at first with the simple view in mind of ingratiating himself with her husband. What if it dawns on him that Lizzie finds him attractive? He's in love with the whole image of country life, and here's a real-live country lady who bakes cakes and makes jam-anyway, I'll bet she does. Maybe they meet by chance in Norwich one day and it takes off from there."

"And maybe she got a bottle of rose perfume from Rosie," said Agatha, "and that's what Lucy smelt in the bedroom." She shook her head. "It's too far-fetched."

"We can ask her."

"What?"

"We can just ask her. We'll try to get her on her own. Let's try this evening. I bet the captain goes out somewhere with his hunting cronies. Worth a try."

"I can't bear the idea of hiding out in those pines again."

"We'll go home and wait until after seven and then phone."

"But," said Agatha, as they walked to the car-park, "why on earth would she keep on the flat, continue to dress up, buy sexy underwear, if Tolly was the man. Tolly's dead."

"Maybe she found someone else."

"Highly unlikely."

"All will be revealed if we can get her alone."

When they got home, Agatha ate a hurried meal of sandwiches and phoned Rosie Wilden and asked her if she could buy some of her rose perfume.

"You're welcome to a bottle," said Rosie. "Next time you're in the pub, just ask."

"Thank you very much. I smelt some of your perfume just recently. Let me see, who was it? Ah, I believe it was Mrs. Findlay, Captain Findlay's wife."

"That'd be right," " said Rosie. "Very partial to my perfume is Mrs. Findlay. I can't tell you how to make it because it's a family secret, but you just drop by and I'll let you have it."

Agatha thanked her and rang off. She went into the sittingroom, her face pink with excitement. She told Charles about the perfume.

"So," he said, "all we need to do is find Lizzie on her own."

Charles waited until seven-thirty that evening before dialling Lizzie's number. She answered the phone and when she said nervously that her husband was not at home, Charles said, "It's you I want to speak to. Can I come round?"

"I'm afraid it's not convenient."

"It's about your flat in Norwich."

There was a little frightened gasp, and then Lizzie said breathlessly, "I'll see you, but not here."

"Come here, then," said Charles. "It's Lavender Cottage, along Pucks Lane. Do you know it?"

"Yes."

"We'll expect you soon."

"You know what's bothering me," said Charles after he had told Agatha that Lizzie was going to call on them. "The fairies. I mean, the fairies have been totally forgotten in all this murder and mayhem."

"True. But if it was connected to the murder, why would anyone go to such elaborate lengths? Think of the risk, taking cheap bits of this and that."

"You forget about the Stubbs."

"I don't think the theft of the Stubbs had anything to do with it. Oh, there's the doorbell. Lizzie's quick."

But when Agatha opened the door, it was Hand who stood on the doorstep.

"Thought you would like to know," he said, stepping past her into the hall, "that whoever turned over your place wore gloves. Except for a set over near the fireplace. Had any children round here?"

"No, none at all. In fact, I don't think there are any in the village other than Mrs. Jackson's."

"So we believe. My men have gone to see her with Detective Sergeant Carey. Just thought I'd check with you first."

"No, no children that I know have been round here," said Agatha, almost nudging him towards the door, desperate to get him to leave before Mrs. Findlay arrived.

"Right, then," he said, looking at her suspiciously. "I'll let you know how we get on."

"Good, good," said Agatha. "Many thanks."

How slowly he seemed to leave! Walking slowly along the side path past the hedge to where his car was parked.

Agatha waited nervously until she heard him drive off and then shot back into the house. "Phone Lizzie," she said to Charles. "She may have come round when Hand was here and got frightened off."

Behind her, the doorbell rang again, making her jump.

"That'll be Lizzie," said Charles.