He turned into Lilac Lane. A police car was standing outside Agatha’s cottage. “Listen,” said John fiercely, “I don’t know what’s going on, but tell them we simply went up to London for the day to look at the shops and have a meal. No, wait, they’ll check restaurants. We can tell them about the service station and then just say we had taken a picnic lunch and ate it in Green Park.”
When they parked, Bill Wong and a detective constable and a policewoman got out of the waiting car.
Bill looked grim. “Where were you, Mrs. Raisin?” he demanded. Agatha’s heart sank at the formal use of her second name.
“In London, going around the shops,” she said. “Why?”
“We’d better go inside,” said Bill. “You come along as well, Mr. Armitage.”
Agatha unlocked her cottage door. “Come into the kitchen,” she said, nearly tripping over her cats, which were winding themselves around her ankles.
When they were all seated around the kitchen table, Agatha said, “What’s this about? I’ve made a statement.”
“There has been a further development,” said Bill, his eyes hard. Then he winced as Hodge dug his nails into his trouser leg.
“Miss Jellop has been murdered.”
? The Case of the Curious Curate ?
4
How? When?” asked Agatha.
“We cannot ascertain the exact time of death at the moment, but sometime early this evening. She was strangled. She lives alone and might not have been found for some time except Mrs. Bloxby went to call on her and found the door open and then found Miss Jellop.”
“Poor Mrs. Bloxby!” Agatha half-rose. “I’d better go to her.”
“Sit down! Detective Inspector Wilkes is with her. Let’s go through your movements.”
“But we’re not suspects, surely?”
“You stir things up and I would like to know just what you’ve been stirring.”
John took over. “We decided to get out of the village. We took a picnic and had that in the Green Park. We went round the shops, window-gazing. Then we stopped at that service station on the A40 and had an all-day breakfast.”
“When?”
“About an hour and a half ago.”
“You weren’t up in New Cross trying to play detective?”
“No,” said John, praying that the vicar would keep silent.
“So you went off together for the day. Why?”
“We wanted to look at the shops. That’s all.” John desperately improvised. “As a matter of fact, we took a walk around Kensington as well to see if there was a location that might suit us.”
“What location? Why?”
John took a deep breath. He was tired and the news of this second murder had rattled him. “Because we’re thinking of getting married.”
Cursing him inside, Agatha forced a cheesy smile onto her face and said, “I didn’t tell you before. I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“And when is this wedding to take place?”
“We haven’t fixed the date yet,” said Agatha. “But when the time comes, Bill, I hope you’ll give me away.”
Bill’s almond-shaped eyes fixed on both their faces. “I don’t believe this,” he said flatly. “But we will check out your alibi.”
The questions continued. Had anyone talked to them in the shops, in Green Park, at Kensington? They were both tired and began to find it easy to lie, both sticking to their stories until Agatha almost began to believe they really were going to get married.
When the questions had finished, Agatha asked, “So does that mean Mr. Bloxby is in the clear?”
“No one is in the clear,” said Bill. “Don’t take any more trips in the next few days.”
When they had gone, John could see that Agatha was about to round on him about their supposed forthcoming marriage.
“Save it,” he snapped. “We’ve got to get on the phone to that vicar and to Mrs. Hill and tell them to keep quiet.”
“You do it, O future husband of mine,” said Agatha. “I’m going to get a drink.”
“Get a large whisky for me at the same time. Before you do that, give me Mrs. Hill’s number. I saw you taking a note of it.”
Agatha gave him the number. She went into the sitting-room and poured a large gin and tonic for herself and a whisky for John and then sat down, hearing his voice talking on the phone, but unable to make out the words because she had closed the sitting-room door. They should have told Bill the truth, she thought wearily. It looked as if John had been right and that the murderer was down here in the Cotswolds.
The doorbell rang. She peered through the curtains and saw several members of the press outside.
She let the doorbell ring and sat sipping her drink until John joined her.
“That the press outside?” he asked.
“Yes, lots of them. Why on earth did you say we were getting married?”
“On impulse. This second murder rattled me. We can go along with it for the moment and then say we broke up.”
“Bill didn’t believe us.”
“He will. All we have to do is look a bit lover-like when he calls again – which he will. Feel up to it?”
“I don’t feel up to anything at the moment,” said Agatha. “Why was Miss Jellop murdered?”
“She obviously knew something. I think the best thing for us to do is lie low and let things quieten down. We can go and see Mrs. Bloxby when the coast is clear. She’ll know all about Miss Jellop. Who were the two others Mrs. Bloxby talked about?”
“Peggy Slither over at Ancombe and Colonel Tremp’s widow.”
“We can’t very well talk to them with police and press swarming all over the place. Do you want me to stay the night?”
“No,” said Agatha. “I thought we had sorted all that out.”
“I only meant for protection. Someone might want to shut you up as well.”
Agatha gave a shudder but said, “I’ll be all right.”
The phone rang. “You get it,” said Agatha.
John went out to the phone in the hall and then returned a few moments later. “Press,” he said. “I thought your number was ex-directory.”
“It is, but the press have ways of finding out ex-directory numbers. Unplug it from the wall as you go.”
“Meaning you want to be alone?”
“Exactly.”
John took a gulp of the whisky in his glass, placed the glass carefully on the table and made for the door.
“Scream if you want me,” he called.
Agatha sat nursing her drink after he had left. From time to time the doorbell shrilled. The press were persistent. They must have seen the police car outside her cottage earlier.
Then she rose stiffly and went up to bed. She carefully removed her make-up and peered at her face in the magnifying mirror in the bathroom. The lines around her mouth seemed to have got deeper. She undressed, took a quick shower, pulled on a night-dress and crawled into bed and lay staring up at the beams in the ceiling. At last the shrilling of the doorbell fell silent and she sank into an uneasy sleep.
It was early afternoon the next day when she remembered the phone was still unplugged and reconnected it.
