Agatha Raisin & the Vicious Vet

believe the death of Paul Bladen was murder'

Agatha threw Bill Wong a reproachful look. 'I was interested in Paul Bladen's death and I was just asking a few questions' she said defensively.

'Who all was at the vicarage tea-party last night?'

'It wasn't a tea-party. Cider and cheese. I can give you most of the names, but if you ask Miss Simms, the secretary, she makes a note of everyone who attends each meeting'

Wilkes stood up. 'I think that will do for now, Mrs Raisin. We'll probably be talking to you again. Not thinking of travelling anywhere, are you?'

'What?' Agatha stared at him. 'Me? Not travel - You think it's murder.'

'Now, now, Mrs Raisin, at the moment we are simply investigating the death of a diabetic. Good day to you.'

Bill gave Agatha a wink behind his superior's back and mouthed silently, 'This evening.'

After they had left, Agatha decided to try James again. Forget about romance. This was too exciting to keep to herself. But he did not answer his door and she took small comfort in the fact that this time his car was gone.

James had driven into Mircester. To heal the breach with Agatha, he had considered an offer of flowers or chocolates and then had hit upon a better idea. If he found out Miss Mabbs's address, that would be a better excuse than anything to call on her.

Agatha went along to the Red Lion and eagerly discussed the death of Mrs Josephs with the locals but without really learning anything that she did not know already. She returned home rather tipsy and fell asleep, and did not wake up until five o'clock to hear her doorbell ringing.

Feeling bleary-eyed and hung-over, she went to answer it. Bill Wong stood there.

'Come in! Come in!' cried Agatha. Tell me all about it, but let me get a cup of strong coffee first. I had too much to drink in the pub.'

'How did you scare Lacey off?' asked Bill, ambling into the kitchen after her.

'I didn't... Oh, well, I did invite him for lunch yesterday, light the candles on the dining-table and flash the old cleavage. You couldn't see him for dust'

The doorbell rang. Til get it,' said Bill.

He came back a few moments later followed by James.

'Don't raise your voice' said Bill. 'Our Agatha's got a hangover. She's been drowning her sorrows in the pub. She got all dolled up like a dog's dinner expecting an old flame from London for lunch yesterday and he didn't show and she'd forgotten about you calling but you scuttled off anyway'

'Oh,' said James. 'It's a good thing I'm not a vain man or I might have thought it was all for me'

Bill smiled happily. 'Our Agatha's usually got bigger fish to fry, haven't you, Agatha? Why didn't your flame turn up, anyway?'

'I can lie as easily as you,' thought Agatha. 'Threatened with a merger' she said. 'But he's going to take me to the Savoy for dinner to make up for his absence.'

James felt silly. I really must stop imagining this woman's pursuing me, he thought.

'So' said Agatha, putting down cups of coffee in front of them, 'tell us all, Bill. Why have I not to leave the country?'

'What is all this?' cried James, exasperated. 'It's about that librarian's death, isn't it? It's all the talk at Harvey's'

Agatha told him about the arranged call on Mrs Josephs and of finding Mrs Josephs dead. 'You, now, Bill' she said. 'Is it murder?'

'We're waiting for the pathologist's report' said Bill. I'll tell you this off the record. There's something funny'

'Like what?' asked Agatha.

'Forensic found scuff marks on the stairs, all the way up from the parlour to the bathroom. Mrs Josephs was wearing brown leather walking shoes. The stairs aren't carpeted. There were scuff marks which could have come from her shoes, and she was wearing those thick stockings and there are a couple of stocking threads caught in a crack on the stairs'

Agatha's eyes gleamed. 'You mean someone could have killed her in her parlour and then dragged her upstairs and dumped her in her bathroom?'

'I don't understand that' said James. 'If someone's going to kill her, why bother dragging the body up to the bathroom?'

'I'm speculating' said Bill. Tm going out on a limb and neither of you must breathe a word of this to anyone'

They both nodded like mandarin dolls.

'Everyone seems to have known she was a diabetic and injected herself with insulin. What if someone gave her a jab of something lethal and then dragged her up to the bathroom where she kept her syringes and left her there hoping we would think she had died as she was giving herself one of her usual injections?'

James shook his head, to Agatha's irritation. 'I still don't like it' he said. 'Everyone knows about the wonders of forensic science these days.'

'Any murderer is usually desperate or deranged' said Bill. It would amaze you how little they think.'

'Did the neighbours see anyone calling at the house?' asked James.

'No, but there's a lane runs along the end of the back gardens. Mrs Dunstable at the other end of the terrace said she thought she heard a car stopping just at the end of the back lane - you can't get a car along there - about eight in the morning. But she's deaf! She says she felt the vibrations of a car, can you believe it?'

'It would be odd if it turned out to be murder' said James slowly. 'After what she said to Agatha in front of all those women, it might cast doubts on the death of Paul Bladen'

'She might have committed suicide' Bill pointed out. 'Everyone said she was very depressed since the death of her cat. The scuff marks could have been made when she dragged herself upstairs. That's the news so far. I've got to get back to work. Thanks for the coffee, Agatha.'

When Bill had left, Agatha returned and sat down at the coffee-table and closed her eyes. 'Want me to go?' asked James.

'No, I'm thinking. If I had murdered Mrs Josephs and injected her with something, I wouldn't leave that lethal something among her bottles and pills in the bathroom. I'm not a very clever murderer. Think of the scuff marks. So I'm driving off with this bottle or ampoule I've used in my pocket. I'm sweating and panicky' She opened her eyes. 'I'd chuck it out the car window.'

'It's a thought' said James. 'And the road from the end of the back lane goes up to Lord Pendle-bury's. No harm in just having a look, I suppose. We'll take rubbish sacks so that people will think we're volunteers from the village keeping the countryside tidy. But if you find anything sinister, leave it there and call the police or they might think you planted it.'

They took Agatha's car. She drove to the back lane and sat there with the engine idling imagining she had just committed murder. She then drove off up the hill and suddenly stopped.

'Why here?' asked James.

'Because here's where I would chuck it if I were a murderer' said Agatha.

They started searching up and down the road on the right-hand side where anything a driver might have thrown out would have landed. Fortunately people in the Cotswolds are very litter-minded and so there was hardly anything after an hour's careful search to be found but an old broken fountain-pen and one sandal.

'The light's fading and I'm hungry' complained James.

'Let's try further up, nearer the estate' pleaded Agatha. 'Just a bit more'

'Damn, I promised Freda Huntingdon a few days ago that I would meet her for a drink at seven in the Red Lion. Besides, it's getting dark.'

'I've a torch in the car' said Agatha, now determined to keep him out as long as possible.

'Oh, well, just a little longer.'