Agatha Raisin and the Fairies of Fryfam

SIX

LIZZIE Findlay came in, blinking in the light. She looked small and faded and scared.

"Are you going to blackmail me?" she asked.

"Not at all," said Charles. "Take off your coat and come into the sitting-mom."

He helped her out of her coat.

When they were all seated in front of the fire, Charles said, "We've found out you spent some time with Tolly, masquerading as his wife, in Norwich."

Lizzie went white. "You won't tell my husband!"

"No," said Agatha. "We just want to know what it's all about. We won't tell the police either."

"I suppose I'll have to tell you," said Lizzie, looking miserably down at her work-worn hands. "It started last year. Tolly was very nice to me and we talked a lot at those interminable hunt dinners. After a bit, I began to tell him how awful my marriage was and he began to tell me how awful his marriage was and one thing led to another. My husband goes out a lot, and Tolly then came up with this idea of taking the flat in Norwich. My husband was going away to visit relatives in Canada for a month and he said he wouldn't take me. So that really started it, that month together. I was worried about Lucy finding out, but he said she didn't care a rap for him, only his money."

"Could the captain have found out?" asked Agatha. "Could he have killed Tolly?"

"I don't know," she said wretchedly. "I've worried and worried about it."

"We saw you in Norwich this afternoon," said Charles. "You were transformed-different clothes, make-up, all that. Is there someone else?"

"No," said Lizzie, "and there never will be now. I'm trapped for life. Tolly wanted to make out a new will ..." Agatha flashed a triumphant look at Charles. "He wanted to leave everything to me. But I said Lucy would contest the will and there would be such a scandal. He kept saying he would get a divorce and I kept asking him if he'd told Lucy, but he always swore he would tell her soon. Then he said he would make a new will, leaving me the Stubbs, and that way I could sell it and be free of my husband."

"So there was another will!" cried Agatha.

Lizzie shook her head. "I don't think so. He said he'd made a new will on one of those do-it-yourself will forms from the stationer's, but why would he do that when, as far as he knew, he might outlive me?"

"But don't you see," said Agatha, excited. "Say he did make out another will and Lucy found it; she may have stolen the Stubbs herself to make sure you didn't get it."

"You haven't told us yet why you still go to that flat in Norwich and dress up," said Charles.

She gave a pathetic little smile. "The flat's paid up until the end of the year. You know how some transvestites parade around as women and that's all they do. I'm rather like that. Just for a little bit, I feel different, like I did with Tolly."

"You must have been devastated by his death," said Charles.

"At first I was terrified my husband had done it, but he's got such a temper, he would have let me know I had been found out. I was shocked and frightened by the murder, but the truth was that I think Tolly was just using me. I am related to the Earl of Hadshire on my mother's side of the family, and latterly all Tolly wanted was for me to engineer an invitation for him. I think the affair would have ended soon. At first I thought it was love because it's been years since I felt like a woman, but then there were all the excuses about how he couldn't tell Lucy just yet. I think he didn't want a divorce because of the alimony. He really didn't want her to get anything, and of course, he never expected to die so soon. Please don't tell the police any of this."

"We won't," said Charles. "But just suppose we somehow find the new will. Suppose we find the Stubbs. The police will have to know."

"In that case it wouldn't matter. I'd just leave and stay with my sister until the Stubbs was sold at auction. I should have left before, but that money would give me the courage to do it."

"Haven't you any money of your own?" asked Agatha.

"I'm afraid what little I have has nearly got used up secretly buying clothes."

"When we saw you going up to the flat, you were carrying a suitcase. Why didn't you just leave your good clothes at the flat?"

"I keep some at home in an old chest in my bedroom. We have separate bedrooms. He never looks in mine. I like to have some nice things by me."

"Won't he let you wear pretty things?"

"No, he always finds fault with me. I think he likes me to look dowdy." Lizzie flashed a shy smile at Charles. "You men!"

Agatha bristled. Was this Lizzie as downtrodden and innocent as she seemed?

"Do you want a drink?" she asked. Charles raised his eyebrows in surprise because Agatha had barked out the offer.

"Oh, no, I must be getting back. So good of you both not to expose me." She stood up and smiled mistily at Charles, who said gallantly, "I'll get your coat."

He saw Lizzie out and came back into the sitting-room and surveyed Agatha, who was scowling into the flames.

"What got into you?" he asked.

"You may not have noticed, but Mrs. Oh-So-Innocent Findlay was beginning to flirt with you."

"Come on, Aggie, she's just a comfortable old-fashioned type of woman."

"Keep on thinking along those lines and you'll soon be getting a closer look at those French knickers she bought."

"So crude! If we all come back as something, Aggie, I swear you'll come back as a squashed fly on someone's windscreen. Stop bitching, and let's have a look at what we've got. Now, say Tolly made that new will-forget about the murderand Lucy pinched the Stubbs. What would she do with it?"

"You forget. She gets the insurance money. She can bum it if she likes."

"Right, so she can. But unless she murdered him, she wouldn't know she was going to inherit anything soon. So where do we go from here? Do you know, I feel guilty about Lizzie."

"Don't tell me you've fallen for her faded charms."

"I mean, I'm feeling guilty about us promising not to tell the police about that other will. Look at all the manpower they've got. Tolly would need to get two people to witness that will. I wonder who they were."

"We've forgotten about Paul Redfem, the gamekeeper."

"That's true. If Tolly was as much in love with all this countryside business as he seems to have been, then we would spend some time talking with the gamekeeper. It's too late to see him now. We'll try tomorrow."

The doorbell rang. "What now?" said Agatha, going to answer it. She came back followed by Hand.

"We found all the stuff hidden in a shed at the back of Mrs. Jackson's cottage. Her kids took it," he said.

"Who are they?" asked Agatha. "I've never seen them."

"There's four of the brats! Wayne, he's four; Terry, six; Sharon, seven, and Harry, eight. They said it was a bit of a joke. They'd hitched up an old set of Christmas-tree lights to a battery. I don't know how they got in your place, but they said a lot of people didn't lock their doors, or there was a window left open."

"What about the Stubbs?"

"They deny ever having been near the manor house. It doesn't help us with the murderer, finding the Stubbs. Taking little objects is one thing, but taking a large painting is another."

He looked at them narrowly. "Have you pair of would-be detectives discovered anything?"

"Nothing," chorused Agatha and Charles.

"I'm warning you. We need every bit of information we can get. I need not remind you of what will happen to the pair of you if I find you have been obstructing the police in a murder investigation by not passing on valuable information."

"Anything else?" asked Agatha sweetly.

"Nothing for the moment," he said grimly.

Agatha saw him out and then returned to Charles, looking uneasy.

"Let's hope Lizzie doesn't suddenly decide to talk to the police after all."

"Just so long as she doesn't say she talked to us first-and I don't see why she should-we'll be in the clear."

Agatha awoke the next morning and the first thought in her head was the forthcoming visit to the gamekeeper. The second thought was of James and she realized she was thinking about him less and less. Instead of being relieved that her obsession was fading, Agatha felt uneasy but did not understand why. The fact was that Agatha Raisin did not like to be left alone in the company of Agatha Raisin, and she obscurely sensed that without her obsession, there would be an emptiness in her brain, a cushion against reality. She rose and peeked round the door of Charles's bedroom. He was fast asleep, lying neat and composed.

Agatha went downstairs and dialled the Carsely vicarage number. The vicar answered. "Oh, it's you, is it?" he said grumpily. "Hang on." Agatha could hear him shouting, "It's that Raisin woman on the phone."

Mrs. Bloxby came on the line. "How are you getting on?" she asked.

"Not getting very far," said Agatha.

"Charles still there?"

"Yes."

"James isn't back yet. He must have been delayed."

"That's not why I was phoning," said Agatha defensively. "I just wondered how you were getting on."

"Pretty much the same as usual, and the pub stays the same as usual, you'll be glad to know. We've got a new woman in the village, a widow, a Mrs. Sheppard, very go-ahead. She headed the pub protest. I think she will be a useful addition to the ladies' society. Very good at organizing things."

Agatha felt a sharp pang of jealousy. "Sounds a bit like a bossy boots to me," she commented sourly. "I can almost picture her. Tweed and support hose and permed hair."

"No, Mrs. Sheppard is in her forties, blond, very smart. Great sense of humour. She's opened a florist's shop in Moreton and does the flowers for the church so beautifully."

I've got to get back, thought Agatha, before this harpy gets her hands on James.

"I thought you would be back by now," she realized Mrs. Bloxby was saying.

"I'm a bit fed up with things here," said Agatha. "I'll probably be back by tom-"

She broke off and gave a gasp.

"What is it?" demanded Mrs. Bloxby. "Are you all right?"

"Call you back." Agatha slowly replaced the phone. Through the half-open door, she could see the gilt edge of a picture frame.

She walked into the kitchen. Propped against the kitchen table was an oil painting of a man holding a horse.

"Charles!" screamed Agatha.

There was a muffled exclamation from upstairs. Then Charles could be heard hurrying down the stairs. He came into the kitchen. He was stark-naked. "Blimey," he said. "The Stubbs."

"It is. Isn't it?"

He moved forward. "Don't touch anything," yelled Agatha. "We'll need to phone the police. The painting was propped against one of the table legs."

"Just going to look at the back." Charles got down on all fours. The cats, thinking it was a game, weaved about him. He peered at the back of the picture. "There's an envelope taped to the back of it. Wait a bit; it says, `Last Will and Testament of Terence Trumpington-James.' "

"That's Tolly."

"Yes, don't you remember, it said in the papers his name was Terence. He probably thought it was upper-upper to give himself a stupid nickname like Tolly. Call the police, Aggie."

"Get some clothes on, for heaven's sake."

Charles straightened up and went upstairs, as unselfconscious in his nudity as he was when he was dressed. Agatha phoned Framp, who said he would be round as soon as he had called headquarters.

Agatha then phoned Lizzie's number. The captain answered and kept demanding why Agatha wanted to speak to his wife and Agatha kept saying patiently that it was a church matter that only concerned Lizzie. At last the captain surrendered the phone to his wife.

"The will's turned up," said Agatha rapidly, "stuck on the back of the Stubbs. Yes, in our kitchen. I'm phoning to warn you that if that's the will you were talking about, the police will be round to see you. They won't think anything odd about Tolly leaving you the painting if he's still left everything else to his wife. You can just say it was a friendly gesture."

"I'm tired of it all. I'm going to tell the police the truth."

"Here they are now," said Agatha, hearing the doorbell.

She rang off. Charles came down the stairs, dressed, as Agatha opened the door.

It was Hand, Carey and Framp. "I was round at Mrs. Jackson's when I got Framp's call," said Hand. "Where is it?"

"Where I found it." Agatha led the way into the kitchen. "The will is attached to the back of the painting."

"You didn't touch anything?"

"No," said Charles. "I crawled on my hands and knees under the table and had a look at the back."

"Your whole place will need to be gone over again," said Hand. "We'll get the forensic boys over. Damn, I can't wait to see what's in that will, but I daren't touch anything."

It was a long morning for Agatha and Charles. After they had made their statements, they sat watching television, while police and forensic men in boiler suits went over the whole kitchen. "I hate these British schlock TV shows," said Charles, stifling a yawn. "The American ones are bad enough, but the British ones take things a rung lower."

"They're not so rock-bottom as the American ones," protested Agatha.

"It's just so un-British to wash all that dirty linen in public."

"Not anymore, it isn't. We've joined the touchy-feely races. I'm hungry," said Agatha. "I wonder how long they're going to be. I mean, if they don't want us, maybe they'll let us go out for something. I didn't tell you. I phoned Lizzie to warn her."

"Hope her husband doesn't horsewhip her."

"He might. She's going to bare her breast."

"I hope you warned her not to mention us."

"I didn't."

"Then we'll just need to pray she forgets about us or the wrath of Hand will descend on us. Wait here and I'll ask if they need us."

He came back and said, "Hand's on his road out with that will in a plastic envelope. Probably heading straight for Lizzie. The forensic people are going to be here for a few more hours, so we can go. But I would like to be a fly on the wall when Hand speaks to Lizzie!"

"Lizzie!" bellowed the captain. "Police!"

He turned to Detective Chief Inspector Hand and Detective Sergeant Carey and said, "Can't you tell me what all this is about? Come into the study."

They followed him in. The captain positioned himself behind his desk. Hand and Carey remained standing.

There was a long silence and then they could hear Lizzie coming down the stairs. She walked into the study. She was wearing a smart red wool dress, and her hair was arranged in a soft style and her face was made up. The captain glowered at her. "What are you all dolled up like a tart for?"

She ignored him and turned to the detectives. "You wished to see me?"

Hand turned to the captain. "If we could see your wife alone ... T'

"Balderdash. There's nothing you can say to Lizzie you can't say to me."

"Let him stay," said Lizzie. All her terror of her husband had left her. She did not know if that will had been found, if there had even been such a will, but she had made up her mind that very morning to leave her husband.

"Very well," said Hand. "Please sit down." Lizzie sat neatly on the edge of a leather armchair by the fire and the detectives sat down on an old horsehair sofa.

"The Stubbs has been recovered," he began. He went on to describe how it had been found in Agatha's kitchen and of the contents of the will. "The new will," he said, "was witnessed by Paul Redfern, gamekeeper, and Mrs. Elizabeth Jackson, cleaner, and I will be asking them why they told me nothing of this. As I said, it is pretty much the same as the old one except the Stubbs had been left to you, Mrs. Findlay."

"I must say that was jolly good of Tolly," said the captain.

Lizzie looked straight at him. "The Stubbs was left to me, not you. How soon can I get it, Inspector?"

"It will take some time. We need to get further ahead with this case and make sure no one is profiting from the murder. Where were you on the night Mr. Trumpington-James was killed, Mrs. Findlay?"

"I was here. I have no witnesses other than my husband and I do not know whether he was at home or not, for we have separate bedrooms."

"We will be speaking to your husband in a little while. Why would Mr. Trumpington-James leave you such an expensive painting?"

"That's easy," said the captain from behind his deak. "Tolly was mad about the hunt. Probably meant it for both of us."

"We were having an affair," said Lizzie, her carefully enunciated words dropping like stones into the gloomy study.

"Have you gone raving mad?" spluttered the captain.

"As I said," went on Lizzie with that deadly calm, "we were having an affair. He was going to get a divorce and I was going to get a divorce, but I don't think he ever really meant to divorce Lucy. He did not want to pay her alimony, you know."

"And how long had this been going on?"

"Over a year."

"And where did ... er ... you ... where did your liaison take place?"

"Here and there," said Lizzie vaguely. She looked directly at her husband. "It really got going when you went to Canada. If you remember, you wouldn't take me. You said it wasn't worth the extra expense."

The questioning went on. Did she know anyone with a cutthroat razor? Had Mr. Trumpington-James mentioned any enemies?

And Lizzie answered every question with that same calm. When the questioning was finally over, she rose to her feet and said, "I am going upstairs to get my belongings and I would be grateful if you two gentlemen could wait here until I leave. I will tell you where I am going but I do not want my husband to have the address. He is a violent man."

"Violent enough to kill?" asked Hand.

Lizzie gave a little smile and sank the final metaphorical dagger right into her husband's breast. "Oh, yes," she said, and then she left the room.

"Now, sir," said Hand to the captain, "where were you the night Mr. Trumpington-James was murdered?"

The captain began to answer the questions in a dull voice. His colour was muddy and his voice flat and expressionless.

When they had finished questioning him, they went out into the hall, where Lizzie was sitting with two large suitcases. "Are we ready to go?" she asked brightly. "I've written my address down for you."

"I think you should accompany us to headquarters first," said Hand. "Detective Sergeant Carey will travel in your car with you."

"Too kind," murmured Lizzie. "Mr. Carey, if you could help me to my car with the cases? Thank you."

Agatha and Charles had spent a frustrating day. They had gone to call on the gamekeeper, only to find he had been taken off in a police car. "So maddening not to know anything," mourned Agatha. "Maybe the gamekeeper did it. Maybe Lucy was having an affair with the gamekeeper."

"How Lady Chatterley of her if she was," said Charles. "What about les girls?"

"You mean Harriet et al?"

"Exactly. Gossip runs round this village like wildfire."

"I know where she lives. Let's go."

Hariett was at home and her friends were with her, their husbands being, as usual, in the pub.

"Come in," said Harriet eagerly. "I was just thinking of phoning you. Such news! Fancy the Stubbs turning up in your kitchen!"

"How did you hear?" asked Agatha, following Harriet into her sitting-room, where Polly, Amy and Carrie were quilting.

"One of the policemen went into the pub for a pint and got talking to Rosie, and Carrie met Rosie on the village green and she told her. And guess what? Mrs. Jackson and Paul Redfern have been taken off in police cars. Do you think they did it?"

"No," said Agatha. "What reason would they have? Gosh, I know. I bet they witnessed that will."

Four pairs of eyes goggled at her. Charles tried to give Agatha a warning kick but she was off in full gossipy flight. "There was a will attached to the back of the painting. I believe it leaves the Stubbs to Lizzie Findlay."

"That figures," said Polly.

"Why?"

"Well, I always said there was something going on there, didn't I? Last hunt dinner, I said to Peter I could swear they had been playing footsie under the table and he said, `Don't be disgusting.' Wait till I tell him this."

"Oh, I don't think anything was going on," said Agatha.

"So loyal, so late," murmured Charles.

"I think the police have arrested Lizzie," said Amy.

"Why would they do that?" asked Charles.

"Sloppy Melton, who works on the farm the other side of the road from the captain's land, said he went up to see the man who runs the captain's farm, that's Joe Hardwick, and while they were talking, Lizzie comes out with suitcases and gets in her car, but there was a detective beside her and another following."

"If they'd arrested her," said Agatha, "she wouldn't have been allowed to leave in her own car and with suitcases. I think she's left the captain."

"She wouldn't dare," breathed Carrie. "She was terrified of him."

"What if the captain thought his wife was having an affair with Tolly," said Agatha, and then coloured as Charles glared at her. "I mean, the whole idea's ridiculous, but he might have believed she was and gone and murdered Tolly."

"You don't know hunting," said Polly. "It's not a sport, it's a religion. The captain would have given Tolly his wife if it kept the funds coming in."

"But why on earth would Mrs. Jackson and the gamekeeper keep quiet about the will?" asked Agatha.

"That's easy," said Carrie. She smiled. She was wearing an attractive shade of pink lipstick and her eyes kept drifting to Charles.

"What's easy?" demanded Agatha crossly.

"It stands to reason that when it transpired, the solicitors had a will leaving everything to Lucy, and no mention was made of any other will, they would assume that was the only will."

"Or," said Harriet, "it could be because they were just told to put their signatures down at the bottom of the will and didn't bother reading it. Why would they? Tolly would simply say he wanted their signatures, and they would sign, because he was the boss."

"What do you think of your fairies now?" asked Agatha, keeping her eyes on Carrie. "I mean, don't you feel rather silly finding out that it was only Mrs. Jackson's children?"

"There're strange things go on in old parts of Britain like this, but you wouldn't understand," said Polly dismissively. "Now you're here, Agatha, would you like to do some quilting?"

"We've got to get going," said Agatha. "Come along, Charles." She marched to the door of the sitting-room. She heard a burst of laughter and whipped round. Charles was creeping after her, touching his forelock. When he saw her glaring he said meekly, "Coming, missus. Don't beat me."

"Clown!" said Agatha, when they got outside.

"Don't order me around like a dog, Agatha. If you go on like that, they really will think I'm your toy boy."

"You can't be a toy boy," said Agatha nastily. "You're too old and you haven't got muscles."

"Let's go to the pub and see if we can pick up any gossip." Charles set off rapidly across the village green, leaving Agatha to follow him.

When Agatha went into the pub, Charles was already at the bar, smiling at Rosie and ordering drinks. Agatha joined him. "There you are," said Charles. "One large gin and tonic for you. Oh, look, there's Framp over there. Let's join him."

The policeman was sitting alone at a corner table. As they walked to join him, Agatha was aware of three pairs of hostile eyes. While the wives were quilting, the husbands were back in the pub. She wondered about Henry Freemantle. He had threatened her and seemed to have a filthy temper. She must find out more about him.

Framp's glass was nearly empty, so Charles offered to buy him another. "Don't tell her anything until I get back with your drink," said Charles.

"I'm not allowed to tell anyone anything," said Framp moodily.

When Charles returned with the policeman's pint of beer, Agatha said, "I cannot understand why Mrs. Jackson and Redfern signed a will and didn't tell you about the new will."

"I can tell you that," said Framp, mellowed by the sight of the large pint. "It's simple. They said they didn't read the will, and as far as they were concerned that was the only will."

"Oh." Agatha was disappointed.

"Why do you think the Stubbs landed up in your house?" asked Framp. "And how did they get in?"

"Everyone seems to have keys to everywhere in this village," said Agatha.

Charles looked guilty. "I forgot to tell you, Aggie. I didn't lock up."

"What?"

"Fact. I meant to, but it slipped my mind. You'd gone up to bed first and I thought I'd watch a bit of television and then lock up, but I didn't."

"Still, he's got a point," said Agatha. "Why leave it with us?"

"I shouldn't be telling you this." Framp drained his pint and looked at the empty glass soulfully. "I'll get you another," said Charles quickly. He returned with a brimming pint and asked eagerly, "What aren't you supposed to tell us?"

"It's like this. Hand thinks it's odd that Mrs. Raisin here should have been writing a book called Death at the Manor in which a chap gets his throat cut with a razor, and bingo, we've got Mr. Trumpington-James with his throat cut. So he's beginning to think that no one put that Stubbs in your kitchen. You pair stole it and got rattled and decided to concoct a story about someone having left it there."

"That's ridiculous!" Agatha was pink in the face with outrage.

"He's looking into your finances to see if you were badly in need of money."

"This gets better," said Charles, looking amused. "So after we steal the painting, Tolly guesses it's us, and phones us up or something and we panic and nip up there and slit his throat with a safety razor which we just happen to have with us."

"Well, Hand says that county types like you, Sir Charles, often use an old-fashioned open razor."

"You know what I think," said Agatha. "I think someone panicked-not us-but knew the way Hand's mind was working and decided to get rid of a painting they didn't have the knowhow to sell and make us look guilty."

"Far-fetched, that," said Framp.

"Thinking we're murderers is a damn sight more farfetched," raged Agatha.

"Calm down," admonished Charles. "It's a hoot."

But Agatha was suddenly thinking of James. Was he back? And how could she leave this village now that she was a murder suspect? She had not thought of him much, but now she did not have the freedom to leave Fryfam any time she wanted, he came rushing back into her mind.

"I've left my cigarettes," said Agatha, getting to her feet. "I'll nip home and get them."

"I'll get you some at the bar. Sit down," said Charles.

Amazement at this new generous Charles momentarily diverted Agatha, but as he returned with her cigarettes, she remembered she had her mobile phone in her handbag.

"Got to go to the ladies' room," she said brightly. "Where is it, I wonder?"

"Over there, under that sign saying `Ladies' " replied Charles, looking at her suspiciously. Why was Agatha such a mixture of excitement and guilt?

Agatha went into the old-fashion ladies' room with its giant Victorian wash-basin, brass taps, and toilet with the huge brass pull-chain hanging down beside it.

She dialled Mrs. Bloxby's number. The vicar's wife answered. "Oh," she said, her voice a little distant. "How are you?"

Agatha told her about the finding of the Stubbs and then asked, "James back?"

"Well, yes, he came back today."

"Have you seen him?"

"As a matter of fact, he's just left."

"Did he ask for me?"

"He asked about the murder. He'd read about it in the newspaper."

Agatha clutched the phone tightly. "Nothing James likes more than a mystery. He'll be coming here, I suppose."

"He said he wouldn't be."

"What? Just like that? He said, `I will not be going to Norfolk to see Agatha'?"

"I can't remember the exact words. I've got to go. Alf is calling me. 'Bye."

Agatha was so miserable that she joined Charles and Framp still holding the mobile phone in one hand. Charles stared at it, and Agatha blushed and thrust it into her handbag.

Mrs. Bloxby went into her sitting-room and sat staring at the fire. Was it a sin to lie when that lie was for someone's good? James Lacey had actually said, "I miss Agatha. I think I'll take a trip to this Fryfam place."

And Mrs. Bloxby remembered herself saying, "She's with Sir Charles." And the way James's face had gone a bit set and grim and how he had gone on to talk of other things.

But Mrs. Bloxby was fond of Agatha and she felt that James Lacey would destroy Agatha's independent spirit. But, she thought miserably, she should not have told James about Charles. James would have gone to Fryfam and it would be obvious there was really nothing going on between Charles and Agatha. Anyway, there was an age difference of about ten years between them, thought Mrs. Bloxby naively, and that meant there would could not possibly be any affair. Mrs. Bloxby sighed. Telling James about Charles had been interference in Agatha's life and she had no right at all to interfere. If she had said, "Charles is over there with her," then that would have been all right because James must have seen Charles's name in the newspapers. But to say, "She's with Sir Charles," abruptly and in that warning way. That was lying. She heard her husband come in.

"What's up?" asked the vicar. "You look gloomy."

But she could no longer confide in him about Agatha. Alf did not like Agatha and would not understand her motives.