Agatha Raisin & the Vicious Vet

Mrs Mason indeed gave them a warm welcome. More tea and scones. Gossip about the village. But Agatha began to shift nervously. A big murder investigation was taking place in the village. Surely it was odd that Mrs Mason should not mention that.

'Lot of police around' ventured Agatha.

'Yes, poor Mrs Josephs. I find it hard to believe. I think she took her own life. She was so upset about her cat'

'That was a wicked thing of Bladen to do' put in James. 'Of course, the police now think he was murdered'

There was a long silence while Mrs Mason stared at him, her matronly figure rigid. 'That's ridiculous' she said at last. 'No one would kill Mr Bladen'

'Why?'

'He wasn't the kind of person who gets murdered. He was a man of purpose and vision. A kind man'

'Not very kind to kill Mrs Josephs' cat'

'That was a mercy killing. He told me the old cat was in agony'

Agatha leaned forward. 'Just think for a moment, Mrs Mason, just suppose someone had murdered Paul Bladen. Can't you think of any reason why?'

'No, I really can't. I wouldn't get involved in all this, Mrs Raisin. I really wouldn't. It's not decent. Perhaps it's the way people go on in the city, but . . '

'But don't you even want to know who killed Mrs Josephs?'

'Yes, but that's a job for the police'

They couldn't get anything else out of her and retreated to Agatha's cottage.

'I would like to have a go at that ex-wife, Mrs Bladen, one more time.' said Agatha. 'But no doubt she would just slam the door in our faces.'

'You know,' said James, 'we could go back and see Bunty Vere-Dedsworth at the manor house. She might help us in getting Greta Bladen to talk.'

'Then let's go' said Agatha eagerly, frightened that if they waited in Carsely any longer, Freda would arrive on the doorstep.

Chapter Seven

They were just about to leave when the phone rang. Agatha started and looked at it as if it were a hissing snake. Was it Freda? Or was it Bill Wong asking them to mind their own business and leave the investigation to the police? He had always had a nasty way of knowing what she was up to.

She picked up the receiver and gave a tentative 'Hello'

'Look here, Agatha' said Jack Pomfret's voice sternly. 'This is ridiculous. I -'

'Go away and leave me alone!' she screamed and banged down the receiver.

Then she stood and wiped her moist palms on her skirt. 'He's mad' she muttered. 'I could kill him'

'Who? Are you all right, Agatha?'

She shook her head as if to clear it and gave a sigh. 'Someone I used to know. He's trying to con money out of me. He starts a new business. I pay. He knows I found out he was trying to cheat me. But he's insane. He keeps phoning. I feel humiliated. I feel threatened'

The phone rang again and Agatha jumped.

'Allow me,' he said. He picked up the receiver and listened. Then he said in glacial tones, 'This is Agatha's husband speaking. I handle all her financial affairs. One more call from you and I will suggest to the police that they take a close look at your business transactions'

James looked at the receiver before putting it down and smiled.

'What did he say?' demanded Agatha.

'He gave a frightened squawk and rang off. You won't be hearing from him again'

'Why are you so sure of that?'

'Because, my dear Agatha, it's an old-fashioned world, however tough and independent women have become. He now thinks he has an irate husband to deal with. Come along. You look too rattled to drive'

As she climbed into his car, Agatha felt a warm glow permeating her body. He had said he was her husband! Oh, somehow she must tell Freda Huntingdon that!

The day was blustery, with great cloud shadows racing across the fields, where new corn rippled in the fleeting sunlight. Agatha's heart sang. And then her voice sang, 'Oh, what a beautiful morning'

'It's afternoon' said James. He switched on the radio, a pointed rebuke, and Agatha sank back into silence.

The manor house looked as it had done before, calm and benign, part of the landscape rather than some building thrust upon it.

'So you're back' said Bunty, looking pleased. 'I was just going to have some coffee'

'We need your help' said James when they were all seated in the comfortable kitchen.

He succinctly outlined all that had happened and explained they were sure that Greta Bladen could help them.

Bunty listened carefully, her eyes bright with interest.

'As I told you before, I know Greta' she said. 'We all know each other in this little village. I'll phone her and ask her to come up'

She went off and came back shortly to say that Greta was on her way. 'You had better let me do the talking' said Bunty. 'She can be prickly'

And prickly was what Greta looked as she entered the kitchen and stopped short at the sight of Agatha and James.

'Now you can't run away from people asking questions about Paul's death' said Bunty firmly 'You didn't like the man, but surely you don't want a murderer to be left to roam the Cotswolds in peace. Sit down, Greta, and have coffee. You see, we all feel that if we knew a bit more about Paul Bladen, then we might be able to guess which of the suspects might have done it'

'Including me' said Greta bitterly, but she sat down and shrugged off her short coat.

'Well, it's a dreary story' she said. 'As you probably realize, I was ten years older than Paul when I met him. He was working as a vet in Leamington Spa where I lived. I had a dog then I was devoted to, the way only the unloved can become devoted to animals.'

Agatha, who had been thinking of her cats, stared down into her coffee cup.

'I took my dog to the vet for some shots. Paul was charming. I could not believe my luck when he asked me out. My parents had died and left me a house and a comfortable amount of money. It was what the romances call a whirlwind courtship. Shortly after we were married, I found my dog dead one morning. The animal had been fit and healthy the day before. Paul was all sympathy and did an autopsy. He said the dog had died of heart failure. Only in later years did I suspect he had poisoned it. Strange in a vet, but he had a hatred of dogs and cats. He told me about his dream of a veterinary hospital. He said he would name it after me. I gave him a considerable amount of money to get started.

'During the following year, he regaled me with stories of the plot of land he had bought and how the builders had started work. I was excited and asked to see it, but he said he wanted it to be a surprise. I said, 'At least tell me where it is,' and he said Chimley Road on the outskirts of Mircester. He started to come home very late. He said he was always going over to the building site when he finished work. Then he said we were moving to Mircester to be near the new hospital. He did not ask me for money. He said he had a house all ready but I was to promise not to go near Chimley Road until he was ready to surprise me'

Greta sighed. 'I was so much in love with him. That was until I met his partner, Peter Rice, at a party. I had known Peter before, by the way. We were old friends. So I thought it all right to ask him if they would still run the surgery when the new veterinary hospital was opened.

'He asked me, 'What veterinary hospital?' I told him. He gave me a pitying look and said why didn't I go out to Chimley Road and have a look. Alarmed, I set off the next day. It was a long row of terraced houses. No building site.

'I taxed Paul with it. He began to say that things hadn't worked out there, so the building site was in