At last they rose to go. Maddie leaned over Agatha and said, 'Just butt out, will you?'
'Oh, go away,' snarled Agatha. 'Your face gives me a pain.'
Bill looked at Agatha bleakly, but said nothing.
After James had closed the door on them, Agatha said, 'That's a turn-up for the book. Why would she run like that? What had she to fear?'
'Let's go and break into her cottage tonight,' said James.
'What if we're caught? And look how many people seemed to notice our visit and describe us. What if they phone the police?'
'They won't see us if we go in the middle of the night.'
'Security lights? Burglar alarms?'
'She had neither. I noticed that.'
Agatha looked at him doubtfully. 'These Cotswold villages are crammed with geriatrics, James, and old people don't sleep much. They'd hear the car.'
'We'll drive a little way to Ancombe and then walk the rest. We'll wear dark clothes but nothing too sinister- looking in case someone meets us .on the road. Now, if I were you, I would go back to bed and sleep off that hangover. You'll need all your wits about you tonight.'
Agatha felt better physically by that evening, but apprehensive about the night to come. She knew in her bones that if they were caught breaking into Mrs. Comfort's cottage, they could certainly be arrested for that and also for interfering in police business. Roy Silver phoned from London and Agatha asked him if he could check up on the woman who had posed as Lady Derrington at the health clinic and find out what he could.
They set out at two in the morning. James parked the car beside a farm gate outside the village and they got out and began to walk. It was a dark, moonless night with a rising wind. Beech-nuts crunched under their feet and more beechnuts hurtled down from the trees which arched over the narrow road. 'I've never seen so many beech- nuts,' complained Agatha. 'Is this the sign of a hard winter, or what?'
'Everything's always the sign of a hard winter in the country,' said James. 'If people go on saying it often enough, they're bound to be right one of those years. Shh, we're nearly at the village.'
They moved quietly. The darker bulk of the church rose against the black sky. 'Not a sign of life anywhere,' whispered James, but nervous Agatha was sure sleepless old people were sitting behind their net curtains, watching their approach with beady eyes. The silence seemed absolute. Nothing stirred except the wind in the trees.
James quietly opened the front gate to Mrs. Comfort's cottage and once more they made their way around the back. Agatha was comforted somewhat by the secluded darkness of the garden.
James took out a pencil-torch and gave it to Agatha. 'Shine that at the door,' he whispered, taking out a bunch of lock-picks.
For the umpteenth time, Agatha wondered what a seemingly respectable retired colonel was doing with a bunch of lock-picks.
In the movies, locks were picked with amazing speed and ease. Agatha hugged herself and shivered as half an hour dragged past.
'How much longer are you going to be?' she hissed.
'Keep your hair on. I've done the Yale. It's the second lock that's the problem.'
A light came on in a cottage on the other side of the back garden, a shaft of yellow light cutting through the sheltering trees. James froze and Agatha let out a little whimper of alarm. Then the light went out again and they were plunged back into comforting darkness.
At last, just when Agatha was about to suggest they give up the whole mad scheme, James gave a grunt of satisfaction and the door swung open.
He reached for Agatha's hand and led her in behind him, flashing the pen-light on and off.
'Upstairs,' said James. 'I didn't notice anywhere in the living-room where she might keep letters or papers.'
Soon the thin beam from his torch was flickering over the chaos of the bedroom. Drawers hung open at crazy angles and the wardrobe stood open as well.
'Someone has been here before us,' said Agatha. 'The police?'
'I think it's panic-packing. You sit on that chair over there by the window and peer through the curtains and keep a look-out and I'll search around.'
After searching through letters and papers in the dressing-table drawers, James gave a muffled exclamation and brought a letter over to Agatha. 'Get down on the floor while I shine the torch on this,' he said. 'It's worth reading.'
Agatha squatted down on the floor and read the letter. Dear Gloria,
Please, please reconsider. I've said I'm sorry so many times. We had a good marriage and could have a good marriage again if only you would see me, listen to me. We could go away somewhere, anywhere you like, and mend fences. Just see me the once anyway. What harm could it do? You can't still be bitter after all this time. I love you.
Please call. Geoffrey.
The letter had been typed on business paper, a Mircester firm called Potato Plus.
Agatha looked up in amazement. 'So what was all that about the ruined marriage when she could have had it all back? She must have gone off with him.'
'Looks like it. But let me have another look.'
After an hour he said, 'No, nothing else. I think we'd better leave it at that. Give me that letter, Agatha, and I'll put it back exactly as I found it.'
As they went down the stairs, Agatha suddenly grabbed his arm, making him jump.
'The living-room. She's got an answering machine. Let's check it for messages before we go.'
'All right,' said James. 'But I doubt if we'll learn more than we have. That letter from the husband was dated three days ago. It's clear to me she's gone off with him.'
They went into the living-room. James played back the answering machine. 'This is Jane,' said a voice. 'I'm sorry I was out when you called, Gloria. Yes, I'll look after your garden. I've still got your keys. Have a good trip. Bye.'
Then a man's voice. 'Hallo, Basil here, sweetheart. I've got the tickets and I'll see you at Heathrow at four- thirty at the check-in. Don't be late.'
They looked at each other in surprise. 'Basil?' exclaimed Agatha. 'But her husband's name is Geoffrey. And she must have phoned him after we left to arrange the trip because he says nothing about Madrid, only that he's got the tickets.'
'Let's just get out of here before our luck runs out,' said James. 'I'm tired of whispering.'
'Will it take ages for you to lock up?'
'No, that's the easy bit.'
Soon they were walking out of Ancombe, towards their car. 'I've been thinking,' said James as they drove off, 'that we've been concentrating on people who were blackmailed or used by Jimmy Raisin. We never really thought of the partners or spouses, except perhaps Lady Derrington. Look at it this way. Mrs. Comfort is upset by our visit, though I don't know why. Her husband wants her back. But she phones Basil, someone she's obviously close enough to so that he promptly arranges they head off for Spain, just like that.'
'The police said she hired a car in Madrid. They didn't say anything about anyone being with her. Of course, this Basil could be married. They could have travelled separately on the plane, she hires the car and picks him up outside the airport. Easy. Oh, God, James, stop the car!'
He screeched to a halt. 'What's up?'
'That call from Basil was the last one. There were only two calls on that answering machine. If that was the very last call she got, we could dial one-four-seven-one and find out this Basil's phone number.'
'Agatha! That would mean picking those locks again. I daren't risk it. Look, this Jane female should be easy
