'We did as you suggested and went straight to Cartwright's house,' said Wilkes. 'He's gone. Dived in the door, the wife says, grabbed a few clothes, shoved them in a bag, and off he went. Took that old car of theirs. She says she doesn't know what's going on. She says he was getting a bee in his bonnet about Mrs. Raisin here and kept saying he would shut her mouth. Anyway, we searched the house. She said we needed a warrant but I told her I could get that, so she may as well let us save time. In the bedroom upstairs we found a stack of cash in a box, a sawn-off shotgun, and one of those giant bottles filled with change, the kind they have in bars for charity. This one was for Spastics. There was a robbery last month from the Green Man over at Twigsley. Masked man with sawn-off shotgun emptied the till and swiped the charity bottle off the bar. Looks like Cartwright did it. Ella Cart-wright broke down. Her husband thought Mrs. Raisin here was on to that and that was the reason she was snooping around. So much for all your theories about the cheated husband. We've put out a call for him but I'll bet that car of his is found abandoned quite near. He did time over in Chelmsford in Essex ten years ago for armed robbery, and it was assumed he'd gone straight. Funny, we'd never have got on to him if this hadn't happened. It was Ella Cart-wright who told us about the prison sentence.'
'But when Mr. Cummings-Browne died,' exclaimed Agatha, ' you looked to see if anyone in the village had a record?'
'Even then, it would have meant nothing. Before we knew it was an accident, we would have been looking for a more domestic poisoner.'
Agatha stared at him. It was as if the blow to her head had cleared her brain. 'Of course,' she said, 'Vera Cummings-Browne did it. She saw the opportunity when I left my quiche at the competition. She took it home, threw it away, and substituted one of her own.'
Wilkes gave her a pitying look. That was the first thing we thought of. We checked her dustbin, her cooking utensils, every surface of her kitchen, and her drains. Nothing had been cooked in that kitchen the day before Cummings-Browne was found dead. Now, will you just describe to us what happened this evening, Mrs. Raisin?'
Wearily, Agatha went over it all again.
At last Wilkes was finished. 'We should be thankful to you, Mrs. Raisin, for leading us to Cartwright. He might have killed you, although I suspect he only meant to beat you up.' Thanks a lot,' said Agatha bitterly.
'On the other hand, I am sure we would have caught up with him sooner or later. You really must leave investigations to the police. Everyone has something to hide, and if you are going to go around shoving your nose into affairs which do not concern you, you are going to be hurt. Now, do you wish to be taken to hospital for an examination?'
Agatha shook her head. She hated and feared hospitals quite illogically, for she had never been treated in one.
'Very well. If we have any further questions, we will call on you tomorrow. Have you a friend who can stay the night with you?'
Again, Agatha shook her head. She wanted to ask Bill to stay but, off duty or not, he was obviously expected to leave with his superiors. He threw her a sympathetic look as he went out.
When they had gone, she switched on every light in the house. She felt as weak as a kitten. She turned on the television and then switched it off again, fearing that the sound would drown out the sounds of anyone creeping up on the house. She sat by the fire, clutching the poker, too frightened to go to bed.
And then she thought of Mrs. Bloxby, the vicar's wife. She rang up the vicarage. The vicar answered. 'Could I speak to your wife? It's Agatha Raisin.'
'It's a bit late,' said the vicar, ' I don't know ... oh, here she is.'
'Mrs. Bloxby,' said Agatha in a timid voice, 'I wonder if you can help me.' 'I hope so,' said the vicar's wife in her gentle voice.
So Agatha told her of the assault and ended up bursting into tears.
There, there,' said Mrs. Bloxby. 'You must not be alone. I will be along in a minute.'
Agatha put down the phone and dried her eyes. She felt suddenly silly.
What had come over her, crying like a child for help, she who had never asked anyone for help before?
But soon she heard a car drawing up outside and immediately all her fears left her. She knew it was Mrs. Bloxby.
The vicar's wife came in carrying a small case. 'I'll just stay the night,' she said placidly. 'You must be very shaken. Why don't you go to bed and I'll bring you up a drink of hot milk and sit with you until you go to sleep?'
Gratefully Agatha agreed. Soon she lay upstairs until Mrs. Bloxby came into the bedroom carrying a hot-water bottle in one hand and a glass of hot milk in the other. 'I brought along the hot-water bottle,' she said, ' when you have had a fright, no amount of central heating seems to warm you up.'
Agatha, with the hot-water bottle on her stomach and the hot milk inside her, and Mrs. Bloxby sitting on the end of her bed, felt soothed and secure. She told the vicar's wife all about John Cartwright and how they had found the money from the robbery in his house. 'Poor Mrs. Cart-wright,' said Mrs. Bloxby. 'We will all need to call on her tomorrow to see what we can do. She will need to get a job now. He did not allow her very much money but it would be very good for her to have something to do, other than playing bingo. We will all rally round. Try to sleep now, Mrs. Raisin. The weather forecast is good and things look so much simpler when the sun is shining. We have a meeting of the Carsely Ladies' Society at the vicarage tomorrow night. You must come. Mr. Jones you do not know him, such a charming man and a gifted photographer is going to give us a slide show of the village past and present. We are all looking forward to it.'
Agatha's eyelids begin to droop and with the sound of Mrs. Bloxby's gentle voice in her ears, she fell fast asleep.
She awoke once during the night, immediately gripped with terror. Then she remembered the vicar's wife was in the spare bedroom across the landing and felt the fear and tension leaving her body. Mrs. Bloxby's goodness was a bright shining weapon against the dark things of the night.
The next day, Agatha went along to Mrs. Cartwright's, mindful of her promise to Mrs. Bloxby that morning to help out. But in the clear light of a sunny day, she felt sure Ella Cartwright would be more interested in money than sympathy.
'Come in,' said Ella Cartwright wearily. 'Coppers are crawling around upstairs. Have a gin.' 'This must have been a sad blow,' said Agatha, finding it hard to find the right words after a lifetime of not bothering.
'It's a bloody relief.' Mrs. Cartwright lit a cigarette and then rolled up the sleeve of her cotton dress. 'See these bruises? That was him, that was. Never marked my face, the cunning sod. I hope the p'lice catch him before he comes snooping back round here. I told him you only wanted to know about Reg, but he thought you'd got wind of the robbery. Fair paranoid, he was.'
Agatha accepted a pink gin. 'I felt guilty about Mr. Cummings-Browne's death, that was all,' she said. 'And there was a rumour that you and he were ... friends.'
Mrs. Cartwright grinned. 'Oh, Reg liked his bit o' slap and tickle.
No harm in it, is there? Took me out to a few posh restaurants. Said he'd marry me. I laughed like a drain. He wanted women to be crazy about him, so he usually made a pass at spinsters and widows. Didn't quite know what to make of me at first. We was good pals, for he knew I didn't believe a word he said.'
'Weren't you worried about his wife finding out?'
'Nah. I s'pose her knew. Didn't bother her, none of it, I reckon.'
'But you said they hated each other.'
'I was trying to give you your money's worth. Tell you something, though. You never can tell what a married couple really think about each other. One says one thing, tother says something else. Fact is, they got along pretty well. They was two of a kind.'
'You mean, she had affairs as well?'
'Nah. She liked to play lady of the manor and he liked to play Lord Muck, judging competitions, trying to rub shoulders with the aristocracy. You should have seen the pair of them if someone had a title. Scraping and simpering and my-lording the chap to death.'
'What will you do now?'
'Get a job, I reckon. Mrs. Bloxby's coming to run me over to Mircester. There's a new Tesco's supermarket and they're hiring people. Don't want to go but you find you're doing what Mrs. Bloxby wants whether you wants to do it or not.'
