Agatha Raisin and The Murderous Marriage

introduce me. No reporter's been able to get near her.'

The idea of throwing Agatha to the lions of the news desk greatly appealed to Mary, and so Agatha and James were shown up.

As he was introduced to the beaming news editor, a Mike Tarry, James reflected that he had accused Agatha of being naive over the house sale, and yet he himself had walked straight into a newspaper office without pausing to think that he and Agatha were news themselves.

'Well, Agatha,' said Mike, after having practically strong-armed them into his office - 'I may call you Agatha?'

'No,' said Agatha sourly.

'Ha ha. Mary told me you were a tough character. How can we be of help? You must be anxious to clear your name.' The offices had windows overlooking the reporters' desks. Mike waved an arm. The door of his office opened and a photographer came in, followed by a reporter.

'What is this?' demanded Agatha.

'You help us and we'll help you,' said Mike.

'I'm off,' said Agatha, heading for the door.

'Wait a minute,' called James. Agatha turned back reluctantly.

'We do need help, Agatha,' said James, 'and we should have realized they would want a story. They've been pestering us since the murder. We've got nothing to hide. We want to find this Gore-Appleton woman. Why don't we just tell them what we know?'

'And then the police will wonder why we didn't tell them what we've found out,' pointed out Agatha.

'We would have told them sooner or later. May as well get it over with, Agatha. You're in the lion's den now, and even if you walk out, that photographer is going to bash off a picture of you before you get out of the office.'

'Let him,' said Agatha truculently.

'Agatha, you haven't any make-up on.'

And that clinched it.

The interviews and photographs had to wait until Agatha was ferried off to the shops by a 'minder' to buy make-up and a smart dress and high heels.

Then they both told what they knew, and Agatha and James posed for photographs, Agatha having extracted a promise that the art department would use the airbrush generously on her picture.

But when the reporter searched the files for details about Mrs. Gore-Appleton, he found practically nothing, only one mention of her making a speech on the homeless at a charity event. No photograph. Agatha felt cheated until James pointed out that the publicity would be the one thing to flush out Mrs. Gore-Appleton.

There seemed nothing left to do but allow themselves to be entertained to lunch, return to Carsely, and find out what the article in the following morning's paper would bring.

Agatha struggled awake the next morning out of a heavy sleep. Someone was banging on her bedroom door. She put on her dressing-gown and then stood, irresolute. The someone would be James, of course. The article must be in the paper. She debated whether to ask him to wait until she changed, but then shrugged. The days of dressing up for James had gone.

She opened the door. He was brandishing a copy of The Bugle. 'Would you believe it!' he raged. 'Not a bloody word!'

'Come down to the kitchen,' said Agatha. 'Are you sure you didn't miss it?'

'Not a word,' he repeated angrily.

Agatha sat down wearily at the kitchen table and spread out the newspaper. The headline screamed, freddie comes out of the closet! A comedian, the pet of British audiences for his clean humour, had declared he was gay. The other story on page one was about a Bugle reporter who had been shot by the Bosnian Serbs.

'We never heard a word about these stories when we were in the office,' said Agatha. 'They must have broken in the afternoon and knocked our story out of the paper.'

'Maybe they'll run it tomorrow.'

Agatha shook her head, wise in the way of newspapers. 'They won't use it now,' she said gloomily. 'If they had had the story right at the time of the murder, they would have used it no matter what. But now it's sort of yesterday's news.'

'I'll phone up that editor and give him a piece of my mind.'

'Wouldn't do any good, James. We'll need to think of something else.'

He paced up and down the kitchen. 'I feel frustrated,' he said. 'I want to do something now.'

'That health farm,' said Agatha. 'The one Jimmy went to. We could go there and perhaps get a look at the records and see who was there at the same time, pick out the people Jimmy might have thought of blackmailing.'

James brightened. 'Good idea. What's the name of the place?'

'I've got Roy's notes in the living-room. Look there. They might be cagey about letting us see their records, so perhaps we'd best check into this health farm as guests and under false names.'

'We'll check in as man and wife. Mr. and Mrs. Perth, that'll do.'

James hurried off, leaving Agatha to marvel at the sheer insensitivity of men. Husband and wife, indeed, and without a blush!

Agatha went back upstairs to wash and dress. She longed to have her own home back again. Perhaps she should call on Mrs. Hardy one more time.

Mrs. Hardy answered the door to Agatha half an hour later. She was as muscular and tweedy as ever, and a truculent look lit up her eyes when she saw Agatha.

'Look,' said Agatha, 'I wondered if you would reconsider letting me have my cottage back. I would pay you a generous sum.'

'Oh, go away,' said Mrs. Hardy. 'I am working to settle in here and could do without these tiresome interruptions from such as you. I hear you were once a business woman. Behave like one.'

She slammed the door in Agatha's face.

'Stupid old trout!' raged Agatha to James when she returned to join him and told him about Mrs. Hardy's continued refusal to sell the house.

'Why bother?' said James. 'There are other houses, you know. I heard in the village that the Boggles are thinking of moving to an old folks' home. That means you could buy their house.'

Agatha gazed at him, aghast. 'But the Boggles live in a council house.'

'What's up with that? Some of these council houses are very well built. And the Boggles' place would be quite roomy once you got the junk out.'

Agatha wondered if he thought a council house was all she was good enough for and then considered in time that James did not know of her low beginnings and was merely being infuriatingly practical.

'Buy it yourself,' she muttered.

'I might at that. Get packed. I've booked us in at the health farm. It's called Hunters Fields. We're expected there this evening. I'll take Roy's notes with us. Don't look so miserable. Forget about your cottage for the moment. We'll think of something.'

'What? Snakes through the letterbox?'

'Something like that.'

Agatha went to call on Mrs. Bloxby before they left. 'So you and James do seem to be getting on very well,' said the vicar's wife.

'The only reason we are getting on well is because James has all the sensitivity of a rhinoceros,' said Agatha drily. 'He's checking us into this health farm as man and wife.'

'Perhaps he is using that as an excuse for you to really get together again,' ventured Mrs. Bloxby. She looked at Agatha's set face and added hurriedly, 'Perhaps not. He is a most unusual man. I think he keeps his mind in little