Agatha Raisin and the Witch of Wyckhadden

SEVEN

THE next few days were quiet for Agatha. With the exception of Daisy, the others seemed to be avoiding her. By Saturday, she found she was eagerly looking forward to Sunday, when she would see Jimmy again. She had phoned Mrs. Bloxby and had asked if James had shown any signs of missing her. Mrs. Bloxby had hesitated. She had heard from an angry James how he had driven to Wyckhadden, only to learn that Agatha had gone out with her inspector. Mrs. Bloxby knew from Agatha's query that somehow the hotel had failed to tell her of James's call. She thought Agatha's inspector sounded nice and she had always thought James Lacey a dead loss, and so she begged the question by saying "Well, you know what James is like," which Agatha had interpreted to mean that James had shown no interest in her at all.

It would be nice to be Mrs. Jessop, to be a married woman, one of a pair. She did not want to live out the rest of her life alone with her cats. So, instead of dashing back to Carsely, she stayed on. She could simply have told the police she was going home. They had her home address and number. They could contact her any time they wanted.

On the Saturday, she went out for a walk. The day was bitter cold. The morning's frost had not melted. It glittered on the iron railings outside the hotel under a small red sun which stared down on the glassy sea behind a haze of cloud.

Agatha walked along the pier past the kiosks, closed for winter. Did Wyckhadden ever come to life in the summer, when a warm sun shone down and all the kiosks were open, selling buckets and spades, postcards and candy-floss? It was hard to imagine on such a day when the biting cold seemed to have frozen everything into silence.

She saw the tall figure of the colonel standing by the rail where Janine had gone over, looking down into the water.

"Morning, Colonel."

He turned round. "Morning, Agatha. Snow forecast."

Agatha stopped beside him. "Odd place, Wyckhadden. Seems to get every sort of weather but warm sunshine."

"We had a grand summer last year. I had to buy a fan for my room, it was so hot."

"Hard to imagine."

"You know," said the colonel, "I often imagine the summers of my youth when I'm standing here. Different world, a safer world."

"No murders?"

"I suppose there were. Of course there were. But they didn't happen to people like us."

I was once one of them, thought Agatha, and deep down inside I still am, but she remained silent, looking at the sea.

"I see you've rented a car," said the colonel.

"Yes, I'm used to having one. Got a bit tired of walking everywhere."

"Do you know, there's a place on the road between here and Hadderton that serves hot scones and butter,". Just the day for hot scones and butter," said the colonel wistfully.

"I'm not doing anything," said Agatha. "Let's go."

"Splendid!" He took her arm and they walked back along the pier. Agatha looked at the hotel. A brief flash of red sun on glass. She was sure again they were being watched through binoculars.

"Should we take any of the others?" she asked.

"Let's not bother," said the colonel. "I'll see them at lunch-time."

They got into Agatha's car. Following the colonel's directions, she headed out on the Hadderton road. "It's not far from here," said the colonel at last. "There it is up on the crest."

"It's a farmhouse," said Agatha.

"They serve teas and things."

Agatha's small car lurched up the track leading to the farm. "There seems to be more frost here than in Wyckhadden," she said, looking at the white fields.

"Bit warmer down by the water, but not much."

"And is there really snow in the forecast?" asked Agatha, stopping in front of the farmhouse.

"Cold front from Siberia."

"There's always a cold front from Siberia," grumbled Agatha. "I wish they'd keep their cold fronts."

"The reason they send them down to us," said the colonel, "is because they know we like to grumble about the weather. It's the favourite British topic of conversation."

"Safer than murder, anyway," said Agatha.

They got out of the car. An elderly lady answered the door to their knock. "Why, Colonel. It's a while since we've seen you," she said.

"Mrs. Raisin, may I present Mrs. Dunwiddy. Mrs. Dun-widdy, Mrs. Raisin."

Agatha shook hands with her. Mrs. Dunwiddy had neatly permed grey hair, a wrinkled face and bright, unusually blue eyes, very blue, sapphire-blue.

"Take Mrs. Raisin straight through to the parlour. You know the way," said Mrs. Dunwiddy. "There's a good fire."

Agatha followed the colonel into a cosy room which was like something out of a tourist brochure: low beamed ceiling, horse brasses, chintz, Welsh dresser with blue-and-white plates, log fire crackling in an ancient ingle-nook fireplace. The room was obviously used as a small restaurant. There were five tables surrounded by Windsor chairs. They hung up their coats on pegs in the corner.

"Splendid!" said the colonel, rubbing his hands. "You can even smoke here, Agatha."

And before she knew quite how it had happened, Agatha had taken out a packet of cigarettes and lit one up.

Rats, she thought, here I go again. But she did not stub the cigarette out.

Mrs. Dunwiddy came in and placed a covered dish on the table along with a plate of strawberry jam, a dish of butter and a bowl of thick yellow Devon cream. "I'll bring the tea," she said.

"How did you find this dream of a place?" asked Agatha.

"One summer. That's when I really go for long walks. Got to keep fit. Just happened on it."

Mrs. Dunwiddy brought the tea in, a fat china teapot decorated with roses, smiled at them and left.

"I'll never eat lunch after this," said Agatha, lifting the dish and looking down at a pile of warm scones.

"It's nice to get away from the hotel once in a while," said the colonel.

Agatha looked at him curiously. "Don't you lot ever get fed up with each other?"

"Us at the hotel? I suppose we do. But no one wants to be alone in their old age and I suppose we've formed ourselves into a sort of family."

"It's a strange set-up, or maybe it's these murders that make it seem strange. Did you enjoy your evening at the theatre?"

"Yes, very much. Jolly kind of Daisy to ask me."

"She's good company," said Agatha, determined to put in a good word for Daisy.

The colonel laughed. "Daisy agrees with anything I say, which a lot of men would like, but my wife was a woman of very independent mind, rather like you, Agatha. I prefer the company of that sort."

Damn, thought Agatha. Poor Daisy.

"I think Daisy is actually very shy and unsure of herself. I think she probably has a strong mind."

"But clinging. She leaned on me all through the performance and she was wearing one of those sort of cloying perfumes. Quite claustrophobic."

Agatha wondered if she could let Daisy have some of that love potion,

"I'm very fond of Gilbert and Sullivan," said the colonel. "They're doing the Pirates of Penzance tonight. Care to go?"

"Just you and me?"

"Yes, if you would care to."

Agatha hesitated. Then she said, "Me being the visitor and outsider might upset some of the others. They might feel, well, excluded."

"So they don't need to know." The colonel buttered another scone.

"So how do we manage it?"

"I get the tickets ... you want more of this cream?" Agatha shook her head. "The show's at eight o'clock. You drive there. I take a cab and meet you outside."

Agatha thought of another evening in the hotel. "Okay, you're on," she said.

Agatha put on a warm sweater, wool skirt and boots that evening. She felt that to really dress up for the colonel would, in a way, be another treacherous knife in Daisy's bosom.

Scrabble, the cat, had demolished two cans of cat food and was lying on he bed, purring sleepily.

"Be a good cat until I get back," said Agatha. Scrabble opened one green eye and stared at her and then closed it again.

Agatha picked up her coat and went downstairs. Daisy was pacing up and down the reception area.

"Where are you going, Agatha?" she asked sharply.

"Out to meet Jimmy," lied Agatha.

"The colonel has just gone out," fretted Daisy. "I asked him where he was going and he said he was going for a walk. I offered to accompany him but he said he was meeting an old army friend."

"Nice for him," said Agatha casually and made her escape.

She got in her car, switched on the engine and let in the clutch. She saw to her irritation that Daisy had come out on the hotel steps and was watching her. Agatha drove off as if she were going into town, then she circled back and drove past the hotel. She swore under her breath. Daisy was still standing on the steps, and she stared at the car.

The colonel was waiting outside the theatre. They went in together. "I got good seats. I think the cold has kept most people away," he said.

The performance began. Agatha forgot about Daisy, forgot about murder and settled back to enjoy herself. But at the second interval, she turned and looked around the theatre. As she looked up at the dress circle, her eye was caught by the flash of blonde hair but the woman moved her head behind one of the gilt pillars. That's Daisy, thought Agatha, all her enjoyment in the evening leaving her. I'm sure that was Daisy.

During the last act, she turned and looked up but the seat next to the pillar was empty.

I must have imagined it. And why should I feel guilty? thought Agatha angrily.

When the colonel suggested they go for a drink after the performance, she agreed.

"This is fun," said the colonel. "Nice to have different company for a change."

Agatha would have liked to discuss the murders but knew she would not get anything out of the colonel, so she told him about her life in the village and he told her army stories and they sat there amicably chatting until after closing time.

There are men in this world who find me good company, thought Agatha rebelliously. To hell with James Lacey.

She drove the colonel back and dropped him off before they got to the hotel. Before she went up to her room, she said to the night porter, "I'm tired. I do not want any calls whatsoever put through to my room, not even calls from the residents of this hotel."

The night porter made a note. Agatha scuttled up to the sanctuary of her room.

After ten minutes, there came a knocking at the door, followed by Daisy's voice, shouting, "Agatha!"

Agatha pulled a pillow over her head, feeling guilty and threatened. After several more furious bouts of knocking, Agatha was at last left in peace.

In the morning, she breakfasted in her room, fed the cat, and then wondered if she could get out of the hotel without going through the main entrance. She phoned Jimmy and told him she would pick him up along the promenade outside the cinema.

"When?" he asked.

"About fifteen minutes."

"Why? Press bothering you again?"

"No, I'll tell you about it when I see you."

Agatha put on her coat and then opened her door and looked cautiously up and down the corridor. There must surely be a fire-escape somewhere.

She walked along silently round the corner, quickly past Daisy's room, past other rooms to the end. There it was, clearly marked. FIRE-ESCAPE. She pushed down the bar and opened the door. An iron fire-escape led down to the hotel gardens at the side. She could not shut the door from the outside. She would just need to leave it, closed as much as possible, but not locked, until she returned.

It was even colder than the day before and a chill wind whipped at the skirts of her coat as she made her way down. She scuttled around the side of the hotel and into her car and drove off without looking up at the hotel windows, frightened that she would see Daisy glaring out at her.

Jimmy's tall figure could be seen waiting outside the cinema. He got in the car. "This is a very small car," said Agatha apologetically. "You'd better push that seat back a bit. Now, where do you want to go?"

"If you drive straight ahead, we can go along the coast a bit. I'd like to talk. What have you been up to?"

"Not behaving very well. No, I've been behaving all right, I think. No, I haven't."

"Out with it, Agatha."

"It's like this. If it weren't for you, Jimmy, I would sign off at the police station and go home."

"What! You! The great amateur detective of the Cotswolds."

"I'm not the great amateur detective of anywhere. Inspector Wilkes, you know the one at Mircester, he was right when he said I didn't solve crimes, I just blundered about in people's lives until something happened." She told him about Daisy and the colonel. She ended by saying, "So you see, I was disloyal to Daisy. The colonel's not the slightest bit interested in her, but she doesn't know that. First I shatter Mary's dream and now I'm well on the way to shattering Daisy's. It was selfish of me. I was restless and bored and the colonel is good company."

"Better than me?"

"No, nothing like that, Jimmy. He's a polite, elderly gentleman, that's all."

There was a little silence and then Jimmy said, "You are a very attractive woman, Agatha. You should be very careful. Don't let Colonel Lyche fall in love with you."

"I think that's highly unlikely, but it's nice of you to say I'm attractive, Jimmy." Agatha privately did not think she was attractive at all. Attractive women were the anorexic ones you saw in the magazines with the glossy pouting lips. They were not stocky middle-aged women with small eyes.

"Now how do I make my peace with Daisy?" she asked.

"You could say you wanted to get the colonel alone to find out what he really thought of Daisy?"

"That might be raising false hopes. He actually doesn't rate Daisy very highly. I would need to lie."

"Why don't you move out of that hotel and move in with me?"

Here was an opportunity to find out what life would be like with Jimmy. But she thought of that bright sterile bungalow up at the back of the town and repressed a shudder.

"Not yet, Jimmy. I'll stick it out a little bit longer. How's the case going?"

"It's going nowhere. The super doesn't agree with me. I think it's the work of a lucky amateur. I think in each murder, he or she saw the opportunity and took it."

"But the murder of Francie was planned, surely. The money that was taken. I really don't think it can be any of them at the hotel, Jimmy. I mean, the idea that one of them could murder Francie and then calmly sit and play Scrabble is beyond belief. And wait a bit, wait a bit! You say she wasn't murdered in the middle of the night?"

"No. Early in the evening."

"So what was she doing in bed? She was murdered in bed?"

"Yes."

"So she could have been waiting for a lover!"

"Could be. We're still trying to find out if there was anyone she was playing around with over in Hadderton."

"Any sign of the murder weapon?"

"Not yet. But we're pretty sure now what was used."

"What?"

"Cliff told us the other day that Francie always had one of those marble rolling-pins in the kitchen and it's gone."

"Took his time about it."

"He was only making a suggestion. I mean, it's not something that Cliff, or probably even Janine, would notice was missing."

"What was he doing in the house?" asked Agatha. "I thought he didn't inherit anything."

"We took him back there and made him go through everything. It was my idea. I was sure it was in a way a murder committed out of fright and rage. The more I think about it, the more I am sure Francie had something on someone."

"Blackmail?"

"It's possible, and it's possible her daughter knew who she was blackmailing."

"That lot at the hotel all went to her, and Harry and Daisy knew her seances were a trick."

"But you forget, Agatha, quite a lot of people in Wyckhadden went to her as well, including people from Hadderton who preferred her skills to her daughter's."

Agatha sighed. "I suppose it will end up one of those unsolved mysteries."

"Something usually breaks. I've not had any experience of murder apart from that one case I told you about. But I've read about cases and heard about them from other police officers. Just when you think you're at a dead end, the murderer does something to betray himself."

"Have that lot at the hotel all got alibis for earlier that evening, I mean the evening of Francie's murder?"

"None of them was seen leaving the hotel."

"But the murder could have been committed in broad daylight!"

"Hardly. It gets dark at four-thirty in the afternoon."

"Wait a bit," said Agatha. "I've just thought of something. When I left the hotel, I didn't want to run into Daisy and so I left by the fire-escape. It leads down the side of the building. Any of them could have gone that way and re-entered that way."

"Oh, let's forget about it and enjoy the day."

"We seem to have been driving through miles of bleak countryside. What's up ahead?"

"There's a pretty fishing village called Coombe Briton I'd like you to see. Only another couple of miles."

Agatha drove on until she saw a sign COOMBE BRITON pointing to the right and swung off the main road and down a twisty road towards the sea.

It was a picturesque village with cottages painted pastel colours and narrow cobbled streets. "There's an old inn down at the harbour," said Jimmy. "I thought we could have a drink there, go for a little walk and then have lunch."

Agatha parked outside the inn and they walked inside to a low-raftered room. Agatha was disappointed. Everything inside had been done up in mock-Tudor: fake suits of armour, a bad oil painting of Queen Elizabeth over a fireplace where fake logs burned in the gas fire. But Jimmy seemed delighted with the place and told Agatha it was famous for its 'atmosphere.'

Agatha's dream of being an inspector's wife flickered and began to fade. She tried to remind herself that pre-James and pre-Carsely she would not have even noticed that this pub was in dreadful taste, and what was good taste anyway? But it did seem silly to have such a genuinely old pub and put fake things in it. A real fire blazing away would have been lovely. Then there were those friends of his, Chris and Maisie at the dance. If she married Jimmy, would she be expected to entertain people like that? Come on, she chided herself, Wyckhadden's a small town and it stands to reason that Jimmy's on nodding terms with most of the population.

"What are you thinking about?" asked Jimmy.

"I was remembering that couple at the dance, Chris and Maisie. Known them long?"

"Oh, yes. Chris was a police constable but he left the force. Does security for a factory over at Hadderton. He's a good friend. He and Maisie were a tower of strength when my wife died."

They had a drink and then walked along the harbour. How the sea changed from one day to the next, marvelled Agatha. Today it was black with great white horses racing in to crash against the old harbour wall.

"Hope it doesn't snow before we get back," said Jimmy, looking at the sky.

"Do you think it will? We haven't had a bad winter for ages."

"Forecast's bad. Here, come against the shelter of the wall. I've got something to show you."

Jimmy fished in the pocket of his coat and took out a small jeweller's box. "Open it," he urged.

Agatha opened it. Nestling in the silk inside was a ruby-and-diamond ring. She looked up at him, startled.

"I want to marry you, Agatha," said Jimmy. "Will you?"

Agatha forgot about the pseudo-pub, about Chris and Maisie. All she felt was a surge of gladness mixed with power that this nice man wanted her for his wife.

"May I put it on?"

And as shyly as a young miss, Agatha held out her left hand. Jimmy slipped the ring on. He bent and kissed her, his lips cold and hard. Agatha felt a surge of passion. Somewhere at the back of her mind a little superstitious voice was screaming that she had tricked Jimmy into this with a love potion, but she ignored it.

Arm in arm, they walked back to the pub for lunch. "I ordered in advance," said Jimmy.

The first course was Parma ham, like a thin slice of shoe leather on a weedy bed of rocket. The main course, billed as rack of lamb, turned out to be one minuscule piece of scragend of neck surrounded by mounds of vegetables, and followed by sherry trifle--heavy sponge with no taste of sherry whatsoever. The old Agatha would have called for the manager and told him exactly what she thought of the food, but she was about to be Mrs. Jimmy Jessop, and such as Mrs. Jimmy Jessop did not make scenes. "I have friends in London," said Agatha. "Would you mind if I sent a notice of our engagement to the Times?'

He smiled at her fondly. "I want the whole world to know about us, Agatha."

So let James Lacey read it and let James Lacey make what he likes of it, thought Agatha defiantly.

"I hope you like cats," she said. "I've got three."

"Three! But of course you've got to bring them."

"I've a lot of furniture and stuff."

"I'll leave it to you to redecorate," said Jimmy.

So that's all right, thought Agatha.

They finished their meal and went out into a white blizzard. "Damn," said Agatha, "I didn't notice any salt on the road as we came along."

"I'll drive if you like," said Jimmy.

"No, I'm a good driver," said Agatha, who was actually a fair-to-middling driver but always liked to be in the driving seat, metaphorically and physically.

Getting out of the village was a nightmare. Going up the steep cobbled street, the wheels spun and struggled for purchase on the icy surface. "Pull on the hand brake and change sides," said Jimmy. "I think I can manage."

Agatha reluctantly surrendered the wheel and then wondered sulkily how Jimmy managed to urge the little car up that icy street when she had failed. When they reached the main coast road, it was to find a gritter had recently been along, although the road in front was whitening fast despite the mixture of grit and salt.

"I hope we make it to Wyckhadden," said Jimmy, staring out into the blinding whiteness of the blizzard.

"I could drive now," said Agatha in a small voice.

"No, darling, better leave it to me."

Now wasn't that just what every woman should like to hear? No, darling, leave it to me? But Agatha felt useless and diminished. Only the thought of that announcement appearing in the Times cheered her up.

"We won't be going far tonight," said Jimmy, parking outside the hotel at last after a gruelling journey. "I've got to go home and make a few calls. I must tell my children about our engagement. I'll come back for you later."

"Can't I run you home?"

"No, it's safer to walk." Jimmy got out and locked the car and as she came round, handed her the keys. He bent and kissed her. "See you later," he said, and hunching his shoulders against the blizzard, he hurried off.

Agatha went into the reception. Daisy came shooting out of the lounge as if she'd been on watch.

"I want a few words with you," she began.

Agatha pulled off her glove and exhibited the engagement ring. "Congratulate me!"

Daisy went quite white and put a shaking hand onto the reception desk to support herself.

"Yes, Jimmy has just proposed," said Agatha brightly.

"Oh!" Colour began to appear in Daisy's cheeks. "You mean your inspector. I am so very happy for you, Agatha. I thought... never mind."

"What weather," said Agatha cheerfully. "Has it been like this before?"

"Sometimes. But it never lasts very long. Engaged! I must tell the colonel."

Daisy tripped off. Agatha went up to her room and showed the ring to Scrabble. Then, taking out her credit card, she phoned the Times and arranged for the announcement of her engagement to be placed in the newspaper on the following morning.

After she had replaced the receiver, the phone rang. She picked it up. It was Jimmy. "I'm afraid I've been called out, Agatha."

"Anything to do with the murders?"

"No, something else."

"How can they expect you to go out in weather like this?"

"They do. I'll call you when I'm through to say good night. You've made me a very happy man, Agatha. I love you."

"Love you too, Jimmy," lied Agatha. "Hear from you later."

She sat down suddenly on the bed and automatically stroked Scrabble's warm fur. "I'll need to go through with it," she said. "I want to go through with it," she added fiercely. "I don't want to spend my old age alone."

Then she decided to phone Mrs. Bloxby. She told the vicar's wife the news. There was a little silence and then Mrs. Bloxby said, "Do you love him? I mean, are you in love with him?"

"No, but I think that will come."

"And is he in love with you?"

"Yes, he is."

"It can be very suffocating and guilt-making to be married to someone who is deeply in love with you and then find yourself faced daily with a love you cannot return."

"I'm not a young thing anymore," said Agatha crossly. "Love is for the young."

Again that little silence and then Mrs. Bloxby's voice came down the line. "I am only saying this because I care for you. James will be upset, yes, but then it will pass and you will be married to a man you don't love. Never try to get even, Agatha. It doesn't ever work."

"Jimmy is a good man and I am very fond of him and I will be delighted to spend the rest of my life with him," said Agatha. "I haven't thought about James once since I met him."

"Will it be in the papers?"

"The Times tomorrow."

"I don't think James is the sort of man to read the social column."

But someone else in the village will, thought Agatha. And someone else will tell him.

She asked after her cats and about what was going on in the village and then rang off, feeling flat. "I did not get engaged to Jimmy just to get revenge on James Lacey," she told the cat fiercely. Scrabble gave her a long, studying look from its green eyes.

Agatha went down to dinner that evening to find that although it was freezing and snowing outside, the atmosphere inside had thawed towards her. Daisy had told them the news of her engagement and they all crowded around her table to admire the ring and congratulate her.

After dinner, the colonel suggested the usual game of Scrabble and they all gathered in the lounge just as all the lights went out.

"Power cut," said the colonel. "They'll be in with candles in a minute."

They sat in front of the fire. Agatha thought the light from the flames flickering on their faces made them look sinister.

Two elderly waiters came in carrying not candles but oil-lamps. Soon the room was bathed in a warm golden glow.

"Very flattering light. You like quite radiant tonight, Agatha," said the colonel. Daisy glared, little red points of light from the fire dancing in her eyes. "In fact," went on the colonel, "I have always found that one wedding leads to another. Who's next? You, Harry?"

"Who knows?" said Harry. "I may be lucky."

Daisy smiled at the colonel coquettishly. He quickly averted his eyes from hers and said, "Let's get started."

The newspapers were delivered in Carsely the following morning as usual, for the blizzard which was blanketing England on the south coast had not yet reached the Midlands.

James read his Times as usual but without reading the social column and then turned to the crossword. For some reason, Monday's crossword was usually easier than the rest of the week and to his disappointment he finished it in twenty minutes. Nothing left to do but get on with writing his military history. Then, like all writers, as he sat down at the word processor, his mind began to tell him he ought to do something else first. He was nearly out of coffee. Of course he had enough to last the day but with the blizzard coming, it wouldn't do any harm to get in supplies.

He drove to Tesco's at Stow-on-the Wold and found the car-park almost full. A wartime mentality had hit everyone because of the approaching storm. People were trundling laden trolleys past him to their cars.

Infected by the shopping mania, he bought not only coffee, but a lot of other stuff he had persuaded himself he needed. He was just pushing his shopping cart out to the parking area when he was stopped by Doris Simpson, Agatha's cleaner.

"Well, our Agatha's full of surprises," said Doris.

James smiled down at her tolerantly. "What's she got herself into now?"

"John Fletcher phoned me from the Red Lion just before I went out. It's in the Times."

"What is?"

"Why, our Agatha's engagement. Someone called Jessop she's going to marry. Mrs. Bloxby says he's a police inspector. Did you ever?"

"I knew that was in the cards," lied James.

"There you are. I hope she gets married in Carsely. I like a wedding. Not that she can wear white. Miss Perry over at Chipping Campden got married the other week. Now she's about our Agatha's age. She wore rose-pink silk. Very pretty. And the bridesmaids were all in gold."

"I must go," said James. "Snow's arrived."

"So it has," said Doris as a flake swirled down past her nose. "Must get on."

She can't do this, thought James. She's only doing it to get at me. I'll go down there and reason with her.

But by the time he got home, the flakes were falling thick and fast. He phoned the Automobile Association and found all the roads to the south were blocked.

Sir Charles Fraith was having a late breakfast with his elderly aunt. She put down the newspaper and said, "Don't you know someone called Raisin? Didn't she come here?"

"Agatha Raisin?"

"Yes, that's her. It's in the paper."

"What is?" asked Charles patiently. "She's engaged to be married to some fellow called Jessop," said his aunt.

"Fast worker, Aggie. I'll phone Bill Wong and see if he knows about it."

Charles got through to Detective Sergeant Bill Wong at Mircester police. "She's getting married!" exclaimed Bill. "Who to?"

"Fellow called Jessop."

"That'll be Inspector Jessop of the Wyckhadden police."

"I thought Aggie was eating her heart out for James Lacey."

"She must have got over it."

"She's probably doing it to annoy him. I know Aggie. I'll go down there and put a stop to it."

"You shouldn't, and anyway, you can't," said Bill. "The roads are blocked."

"I should stop the silly woman. I bet she doesn't give a rap for this inspector."

"She's over twenty-one."

"She's twice over twenty-one," said Charles nastily.

"Why don't you phone her? It said in the papers when they were writing about the murder that she was staying in the Garden Hotel."

"Right. I'll do that."

But the lines in Wyckhadden were down.

* * *

Agatha was never to forget the suffocating claustrophobic days that followed, inurned up in the hotel. No electricity. No phones. No television.

On the Wednesday morning, Agatha found Harry sitting alone in the lounge. "Not even a newspaper," he mourned. "I've never known it as bad as this. And no central heating. You would think a hotel as expensive as this would have a generator. I'm bored."

Agatha walked to the window. "It's stopped snowing," she said over her shoulder.

"Sky's still dark and more has been forecast," said Harry, rising and joining her.

"We could build a snowman," joked Agatha.

"Splendid idea." To Agatha's surprise, Harry was all enthusiasm. "Let's put on our coats and build one right outside the dining-room window where they can see it at lunch-time."

Soon, well wrapped up, they both ventured out. The snow lay in great drifts. "I'll go first," said Harry. "Clear a path."

He headed to a spot in front of he dining-room window. Agatha, like Wenceslas's page, followed in his footsteps.

"I used to be good at this," said Harry. "I'll shape the base if you roll a snowball for a torso."

"Where are the others?" asked Agatha.

"In their rooms, I think." Harry worked busily.

"You never talk about the murders," said Agatha.

"No, I don't. Nothing to do with me. Why should I?"

"You knew Francie. Had a seance with her."

"Oh, that. Maybe that's one reason I don't want to talk about it."

"Why?"

"Because she tricked me. I missed my wife dreadfully and I must have been crazy to go to her. Mind you, her potions and ointments seemed to work."

"So what happened?" asked Agatha.

"I really thought it was my wife. That was until the voice that was supposed to be my wife told me that the bit about the eye of the needle in the Bible was true. Said I should give my money to Francie."

"But if a rich man can't enter the kingdom of heaven, how can a rich woman?" I asked.

"Ah, the voice said Francie would send it on to a good cause. That's when I got suspicious. My wife was very thrifty. 'Must save for our old age,' that's what she always said. I reported Francie to the police. But I'd gone along with it for a little, been conned, and felt like a fool. Don't want to talk about the woman. She's dead anyway."

Agatha rolled a large snowball, and with surprising strength in one so old, Harry lifted it onto the base he had formed while he was talking. "Another one for the head," he ordered.

He began to shape the torso into a woman's bust. Agatha watched, amazed, as a snow-woman began to take shape. "Could you go to the games cupboard," asked Harry, "and get me two marbles for eyes? And some make-up for the face?"

"Right. What about hair?"

"Could you find something? Black hair? And do you have an old dress or coat or something?"

Perfectionist, thought Agatha. What happened to the old-fashioned snowman made of three balls of snow and with a carrot for a nose?

She went up to her room and found an Indian blouse which she had decided she did not much like. What to use for hair? He would need to make do with one of her scarves. She picked out a black one and then found a lipstick and blusher. She then went to the games cupboard in the lounge and took two blood-red marbles out of a jar.

Afterwards, as she surveyed Harry's handiwork, she wished she had taken out two blue or grey marbles, for the red effect was sinister. Harry had created a woman with staring red eyes in a snow face like a death mask. With the black scarf draped round her head and the Indian blouse fluttering in the wind, the snow-woman looked remarkably lifelike and ghoulish.

A gong sounded from the hotel. "Lunch!" said Harry. "Let's get to the dining- room before the rest of them. I want to see their reactions."

They left their coats in the lounge and hurried into the dining-room.

Daisy, Mary, Jennifer and the colonel came in together.

The colonel stopped dead. "By George," he said. "Would you look at that!"

Outside the window the red marble eyes glared in at them from the white face and the black scarf moved in the wind and the blouse fluttered. In that moment, Agatha realized the snow-sculpted features bore a remarkable resemblance to the dead Francie.

"Is it something out of a carnival?" asked Daisy.

But Mary uttered a moan, put a shaking hand to her lips and fainted dead away.