The Case of the Curious Curate

bloody house, as if the snobby cow lived in a manor. Well, Ancombe’s a small place. Should be easy to find.”

They turned over various bits and pieces of what they knew until Agatha noticed it was almost three o’clock. “Let’s look at the television news now.”

They went into Agatha’s sitting-room and she switched on the television set and selected the BBC 24-Hour News programme.

The announcer said, “The Liberal Democrats, the Scottish Nationalists, and the Unionists have combined to table a motion of no confidence in the government following the revelations that the defence minister, Joseph Demerall, had been accepting large sums of money from Colonel Gadaffi.”

“So that’s it,” said Agatha. “The press won’t be interested in a village murder, or murders. At least we should get some peace.”

“I think I’ll go and get on with my writing,” said John, getting to his feet. “I’ll call for you in the morning, say around ten.”

“All right,” said Agatha, although she suddenly did not want to be left alone.

“See you.”

Agatha wondered what to do. A pile of shiny new paperbacks she had bought in Evesham lay on the coffee- table. She picked up the first one. Jerry’s Mistake, it was called. Agatha sighed as she skimmed the pages. She shouldn’t have wasted her money. It was a chic-fic book, which meant it would be about thirty-something women in London. There would be one Cinderella character who would have a gay best friend and the best friend would die from AIDS in the penultimate chapter. The hero would have muscled legs and be bad- tempered. She tossed it aside. The next was the first Harry Potter book. Agatha had bought it out of curiosity. She settled down to read and became dimly aware an hour later that the doorbell was ringing. She looked through the spy-hole and saw Bill Wong. With feelings of guilt and reluctance she opened the door. He was alone.

“I think it’s time you and I had a chat, Agatha.”

“Come in and bring the thumbscrews with you. We’ll sit in the garden. It doesn’t look too cold.”

“No, it’s nice and fresh after that storm.”

Agatha collected two mugs of coffee and carried them out into the garden. Hodge and Boswell climbed up on Bill. Hodge settled on his lap and Boswell draped himself around Bill’s neck.

“Amazing how those cats like you,” said Agatha.

“I’d like to concentrate on the matter in hand, however.” Bill gently removed both cats and put them down on the grass. “Now, Agatha, I see you already have the ring. But why do I get the impression that the pair of you were lying to me?”

“Because you’ve got a nasty, suspicious policeman’s mind. We are very much in love. No, I’ll be honest with you. We get along together very well and neither of us wants to go into old age alone. So we decided to get hitched.”

“If you say so. No word of James?”

“I may as well tell you. That lying bastard never returned to that monastery.”

“He’ll turn up again. With your luck, probably on your wedding day.”

“Forget about him. Any ideas why Miss Jellop was murdered?”

“I think she might have found out something. I think that was why she phoned Mrs. Bloxby. And yet Mrs. Bloxby said Miss Jellop was always summoning her to make some complaint or another.”

“Was she rich?”

“Very comfortably off.”

“Anyone inherit?”

“She hadn’t left a will. Her nearest relative was a sister who lives in Stoke-on-Trent.”

“Tell me, Bill – anything funny in Tristan’s bank account?”

“Large sums of money, not great – five hundred here, six hundred there, all deposited in cash. Total around fifteen thousand. Seems he invented that family trust. He was born Terence Biles. Father was a post-office worker, mother a housewife. Both dead. Tristan changed his name by deed poll when he was seventeen. His parents were dead then. Nothing in his past. Good exam results at school. Studied divinity. Had the curacy of a church in Kensington for a few years. Nothing sinister there. Vicar said Tristan had declared he wanted to work in a rougher area. He seemed genuinely sorry to let him go.”

“So, Agatha, you haven’t been poking your nose in where you shouldn’t?”

“No. I really have gone off the idea of detecting. I want to live a long and quiet life.”

Bill stood up. “If you hadn’t said that, I might actually have begun to believe you really were getting married. But you wanting a quiet life? Never! Just make sure if you do find anything that you tell me.”

After he had gone, Agatha sat on in the garden, deep in thought. What had happened to that ten thousand? The police would not have asked the bank about it because they didn’t know about it. Perhaps Tristan had asked for it in bits and pieces so as not to alert the income tax.

Agatha phoned Binser’s office and asked to speak to him. She finally got through to his personal secretary, Miss Partle. “I really do wish you would leave him alone,” said the secretary sharply. “He is very busy.”

Agatha drew a deep breath. “Look, lady, just get off your bum and tell him that Agatha Raisin wishes to speak to him.”

“Well, really.”

Agatha waited and then Binser’s voice came on the line. “What now?” he said. “I’ve told you all I know.”

“It’s just about that ten thousand pounds. How did you pay it?”

“Cash.”

“Cash!” echoed Agatha. “That’s odd.”

“I know it’s odd, but I think Tristan twisted my mind. He said he was setting up a special account with a bank in New Cross. He could get started right away if he didn’t have to wait to get the cheque to clear.”

“I know you didn’t want anyone to know you had been conned. Still, I would have thought a man like you would have sued him to get the money back.”

“He sent it back.”

“What! You didn’t say anything about that. When?”

“About a month after I had confronted him. The money was delivered downstairs in a large envelope, addressed to me.”

“Was there any letter with the money? Perhaps he was hoping to resume the friendship.”

“No, there was no letter. I heard from him a week after that when he threatened to blackmail me. And as I told you, I said I would report him to the police if he did, and heard no more from him. Now, if you don’t mind, Mrs. Raisin, as far as I am concerned the matter is closed. I have heard on the news about the other murder in your village. Obviously the murderer is in your neck of the woods. Goodbye.”

Agatha replaced the receiver and stood thinking hard. What would have made Tristan return that money? Mr. Lancing, his vicar? No, it would have been more like Tristan to fake penitence and claim to have returned the money while keeping it.

She reached out to the phone again, meaning to call John and discuss this with him, but changed her mind. Tomorrow morning would be time enough. She didn’t want to fall into the trap of needing John’s company.

But when she lay awake in bed that night, she felt frightened at the thought that there was some unknown murderer out there. And a thatched cottage was the last place you wanted to try to get to sleep in when you were scared. Things rustled in the thatch overhead and the beams creaked. She decided, just before she fell asleep, that she would forget about the whole thing, see the police in the morning and ask permission to go abroad. She would stay in some foreign country, far away from danger.

In the morning, however, after two cups of black coffee and three cigarettes for breakfast, Agatha felt strong again. The fears of the night had gone. At ten o’clock, she heard the beep of John’s car horn outside, locked up the cottage and went to join him.

As they drove to Ancombe, she told him about the visit from Bill and her phone call to Binser and the surprising news of the return of the money.

“There’s something that man isn’t telling us,” said John. “Tristan wouldn’t return the money like that. He must have threatened him.”

“I dunno. There’s something very straightforward about him.”

“If he’s all that straightforward, then why did he give us the impression that Tristan kept the money?”