It's all right. I haven't hurt myself,' said Agatha sarcastically. 'I knocked something over'
The torch stabbed down. A canterbury lay on its side, papers and magazines spilled across the floor. 'You'd think Rice would have thrown these away,' complained James, picking them up and putting them back after he had righted the canterbury. 'Hardly add to the value of the house'
They crept across the hall and into the study. James approached a desk by the window and gently slid open the drawers. 'Nothing here,' he mumbled. 'Maybe lower down' He slid out a bottom drawer and then his searching fingers found something at the back of it. He drew out a file. 'Come out to the hall so I can flash the torch on this'
In the hall, the thin beam of light showed bank-books and a deposit book and bank statements tucked into the cardboard file. 'May as well get out of here and take this home' said James.
'Won't it be missed?' asked Agatha.
'No. Rice said he had burnt all the papers. This was jammed at the back of the bottom drawer. He must have missed it'
Agatha, delighted to be outside again and once more in the fresh air, tripped gaily forward down the garden path and fell headlong over something. There was a curse from Agatha, a yelp of canine pain, and then that dratted voice calling, 'Spot!'
The dog pattered off to its master. James helped Agatha to her feet.
'What's going on there?' came the dog owner's voice.
They walked to the garden gate. A man stood under the street light, holding a small white dog, his face pinched with suspicion. 'Did you kick my dog?' he demanded wrathfully.
'My wife tripped over your dog in the dark' said James coldly.
'Is that so? And what are you doing in there at this time of night?' asked the dog owner.
T do not see it is any business of yours, but my wife and I were looking at our new home. We have just put in an offer for this house and so I would like to take this opportunity of telling you that you ought to keep that animal of yours on a leash and stop it straying over private property. Come, Agatha'
Agatha, all too conscious of how odd they must look in their black clothes, edged past the dog owner with a weak smile.
She could feel his suspicious eyes boring into their backs at they walked to the car.
'Let's get home' said James. 'I'm dying to have a look at those bank statements. What a horrible man. What sort of man goes wandering around the streets with his dog at this time of night? Probably a sex maniac'
Agatha giggled. 'He's probably just a respectable suburban insomniac, or his dog's incontinent and he is now wondering what kind of people decided to view a house in the dead of night'
It's all your fault' said James. 'You should look where you're going'
'How was I to know the damn dog would be there?' retorted Agatha
'I don't know. You never seem to have anything sensible on your feet, always limping about and falling over things'
'Are we having our first quarrel?' asked Agatha sweetly.
There was a long silence. Then he said, 1 am sorry. I was a bit strung up. Shouldn't take it out on you. The fact is, I'm not used to burglary'
'You're forgiven'
'It was not an apology,' he said, 'simply an explanation'
'Then why did you say you were sorry?'
They bickered the whole way home but neither of them could bring themselves to stalk off to their respective residences until that file was examined.
They went into James's house. He lit the fire, which was already set. He sat down in an armchair on one side of the fire and Agatha took the armchair opposite.
'Ah, here's the deposit book' he said. 'Good heavens!'
'What? What have you found?'
'A cheque from Freda was paid in - twenty thousand pounds'
'Women's Lib' chortled Agatha maliciously. 'Not often the woman pays the man'
'The others are, let me see: fifteen thousand pounds from Mrs Josephs, nine thousand from Miss Webster, five thousand from Mrs Parr, four more deposits of five thousand, all from Freda, and five hundred from Miss Simms. Oh, and four thousand from Mrs Mason'
'Freda!' Agatha looked triumphant. 'Do you realize the payments to Bladen come to forty thousand pounds? Now any woman cheated out of that amount of money would feel like murder.'
He looked uncomfortable. 'I know Freda pretty well. She seems to be awfully rich . . '
'No one's that rich' put in Agatha.
He stretched and yawned. 'I'm tired. Better leave it for tonight. Should we turn this lot over to the police tomorrow?'
Agatha looked horrified. 'And have to explain how we came by it?'
'We could say we were viewing the house'
'What! At two in the morning? And the estate agents would point out that we never approached them'
'All right' said James, 'we'll tackle these women tomorrow. You had best leave Freda to me'
Agatha thought furiously about how she might be able to dissuade him from seeing Freda alone, but decided to sleep on it.
But as it turned out, she was the one to tackle Freda after all.
She struggled from a deep sleep the following morning with the sound of her own doorbell ringing in her ears.
She pulled on a dressing-gown and thrust her feet into slippers and went to answer the door. Freda stood there, her noisy dog cradled in her arm. 'James here?' she asked brightly. 'I can't get any reply at his house'
'No' said Agatha, 'but come in and keep that dog of yours away from my cats'
'Yes, I think I want a word with you' Freda followed Agatha through to the kitchen. Agatha caught a glimpse of herself in the hall mirror: tousled hair, unmade-up face. Freda was as cool and fragile as a figure in a Fragonard painting. She sat down at the kitchen table, put her dog on the floor, and crossed her long legs. Agatha opened the back door and let her cats out into the garden.
'You've been running all over the place with James' said Freda. 'He's a bit of a softy. You shouldn't take advantage of his good nature'
'And just what's that supposed to mean?'
'He has been plagued by every old bat in the village, has he not? I warned him that these frightening menopausal women often get the wrong idea. Give him a break.'
'Listen, you murderess' hissed Agatha, 'just because you let Paul Bladen screw you on the surgery table doesn't make you Cleopatra. Besides, you had to pay for that, did you not? Forty thousand pounds, to be exact.'
The doorbell rang and Freda was up like a shot and running to answer it, her dog yapping at her heels. Agatha followed in time to see Freda throw herself weeping into James's arms, sobbing, 'This dreadful woman. She's accusing me of murder.'
'Now, then' he said, 'no one's accusing you of anything' He detached himself from her grasp. He looked at Agatha. 'Did you ask her about the money?'
Freda let out a gasp. 'You have no right to poke about my private affairs. I shall tell the police' She ran out of the door and down the lane, with her dog scurrying at her heels.
'What did you say, Agatha?' demanded James.
'She started by insulting me. She said . . ' Agatha bit her lip. She did not want to put the idea into James's head that she was one of those menopausal women with fantasies. 'Anyway, she was vile. So I taxed her about the money. Then you rang the bell and she went to answer it'
'Damn. You'd better get dressed, Agatha, and we'd best go and look at that house of Bladen's officially and then take the file along to Bill Wong, as if we've just found it.'
As they drove to Mircester, Agatha said suddenly, 'Was Bladen blackmailing them? I mean, all payments are relative. Five hundred pounds from Miss Simms, well, that's a fortune for her.'
'Yes, but she's single and so is Miss Webster, and Freda is a widow. Freda seemed quite unfazed by the fact
