Agatha Raisin and The Walkers of Dembley

'Yes.'

'That's them ramblers. It was in the papers. One of their lot was killed.'

'Do you know any of them?' asked James.

'I know some of them by sight. They use the library. Weird lot. I doubt if one of them ever takes a bath.'

'So what about you?' asked James. 'It must be a lovely job, working in a library, all those books.'

She shrugged. 'It's a job. Gets a bit boring.'

'I suppose it does,' said James, thinking she must be only in her early twenties. 'Who are your favourite authors?'

'I don't read much. I prefer the telly.'

James tried to hide his shock. 'But my dear girl, what's the point of becoming a librarian if you have no interest in books?'

'Mum said it was a good job,' said Mary. 'It's like this: I've got ever such a good memory, so I did well at school. Mum said being a librarian was nicer than working in a shop. With a memory like mine, I'm good at it. I can remember where everything is.'

'But don't some of the people who come in ask your advice on what books to read?'

'I turn them over to old Miss Briggs. She reads everything, but she can't remember where the books are, so we make a good team.'

'So what would you like to do?' asked James, becoming bored.

'I'd like to be an air hostess. See a bit of the world.'

'Another drink?' asked James.

'Yes, please. I'm ever so hungry.'

For the first time, James thought uneasily of Agatha. 'Do they do food here?'

'They do a good steak-and-kidney pie.'

'All right. I'll make a phone call first.' James went and dialled the flat but there was no reply. Agatha was probably out investigating. He returned to the table. He might as well have something to eat. Then he might get rid of her and go and join the walkers. That's what Agatha would do.

'I still say there's something odd about the Laceys,' said Alice. 'That's the girl from the library he's with, and I'll tell you something else. He doesn't look married. Do you think they could be police infiltrating our group in order to spy on us?'

'Oh, that's ridiculous,' said Deborah. She suddenly wanted to go home. Charles might be calling her. In her mind, it was no longer Sir Charles. She was unnerved by the conversation about the 'Laceys'. What if they were challenged by the group and confessed that it was she who had brought the vipers into their midst? A thin film of sweat formed on her upper lip. Kelvin thumped another drink down in front of her and she groaned inwardly. As soon as she had finished it, she would make her escape.

Agatha stood outside the library. But it was firmly closed for the night. Where could James be? She turned and looked about her. There was a pub across the road called the Grapes. She registered in her mind that that was where they were to gather on the Saturday for their ramble and then wondered if James had gone there for a drink.

She walked across the road to the pub and pushed open the door of the lounge bar. The first sight that met her eyes was that of James sitting with a pretty blonde. Both were eating steak-and-kidney pie. The blonde threw back her head and laughed at something James was saying. Her short skirt had ridden right up. Black rage boiled up in Agatha. She was to reflect ruefully afterwards that she must have gone insane. For in that moment, she became Mrs Lacey.

'What the hell do you think you're doing here, James?' she demanded in a loud voice. There was a silence in the pub.

'Oh, hello, dear,' said James, his face flaming. 'This is Miss Sprott, the librarian. Miss Sprott, my wife.'

Determined to get revenge on James and hating every inch of Mary Sprott, from her long legs to her blonde hair, Agatha departed into the realms of fantasy.

'Have you forgotten our anniversary?' she demanded. 'I prepared a special dinner. I slaved all day over it, and what do I find? You sitting here having ghastly pub grub with some tart.'

'How dare you, you old bat?' screeched Mary.

Agatha's bearlike eyes bored into Mary's. 'Just get this straight, sweetie,' she said. 'This is my husband, so you keep your grubby little hands off him.'

Mary burst into tears, scrabbled for her handbag on the floor beside her chair, seized it, and fled the pub.

'Let's get out of here,' said James, his face grim. 'No, not another word, Agatha. You're a disgrace.'

The walkers, open-mouthed, watched them go.

'Well,' marvelled Kelvin, 'if they're no' married, then I'm a Dutchman's uncle.'

'Poor bugger,' said Jeffrey. 'Let's be nice to him on Saturday.'

Deborah heaved a tiny sigh of relief, excused herself, and slipped quietly out of the pub and went to phone Sir Charles.

Agatha had never seen James so angry. In vain she did try to say that she had simply been putting on an act. 'And,' raged James, 'I am packing up and leaving. I will not tolerate such behaviour.' Agatha, now completely at a loss for words, followed him upstairs to the flat. As they entered, the phone was ringing. James answered it. It was Sir Charles Fraith.

'Congratulations to Agatha Raisin on a great performance,' chuckled Sir Charles. 'She's turning out to be as good as you said she was.'

'What do you mean?' demanded James sharply.

'Deborah's just called me. Those ramblers were talking in the pub about how you two didn't look married and that they thought you were both police spies, and then our Agatha turns up and puts on the best angry marital scene Deborah says she's ever witnessed. Went down like a charm.'

'Oh,' said James, looking round in amazement at Agatha. 'I didn't realize...I mean, yes, she's very good at it.'

'Call me when you learn anything,' said Sir Charles cheerfully. 'I am still suspect numero uno.'

When James had said goodbye, he turned to Agatha and said in a mild voice, 'I am so sorry, Agatha. I should have let you explain. I didn't know you were acting. That was Sir Charles. Deborah told him that the walkers didn't think we were man and wife and were beginning to think we were police spies, but after your scene, they were convinced we were what we claimed to be. You knew this, of course. I should have let you explain.'

'Of course,' said Agatha weakly. She waved her hand at the table. 'I don't suppose you want any dinner.'

'On the contrary,' he said cheerfully, 'you didn't give me time to get more than a few mouthfuls in the pub.'

'Be back in a minute,' said Agatha and scurried off to the bathroom, where she indulged in a hearty bout of tears caused by a mixture of shame and relief.

When she had served dinner, she was so sensible and composed that James was once more intrigued by the investigation. They both decided to try to find out from the walkers' neighbours anything they could about Jessica - had she been seen with any of them - or rowed with any of them - before the murder?

James said he would try Kelvin, and Agatha said she would check on Deborah.

'Why Deborah?' asked James.

'I've been thinking,' said Agatha, 'she might have called us in to divert suspicion from herself.'

'Seems a bit far-fetched, but I suppose we have to try everything.'

Later that night, Deborah sat in Burger King in the main street of Dembley with Sir Charles Fraith. He had suggested a late supper. Deborah looked around her and thought of all the posh restaurants people ate in, hoping to dine alongside people like Charles.

But he listened with such interest when she talked of her work in the school and of the pupils. 'That's an odd bunch you've got in with,' remarked Sir Charles.

'Oh, you mean the Dembley Walkers. It's something to do.'