Agatha Raisin and The Murderous Marriage

to find. We'll go back to Ancombe tomorrow. She'll probably know who it was.'

'But she might not be a close friend. She might just be some woman who looks after people's houses and gardens when they're away. Please, James.'

He set off again. 'No, Agatha, absolutely not. Trust me. This Jane will know.'

They found Jane easily enough after inquiring at the church the next morning. The verger told them that Jane Barclay was the lady they were looking for and directed them to her cottage.

Jane Barclay was a powerful, masculine-looking middle-aged woman with cropped grey hair.

It took them only a short time, during which Agatha slid the silk scarf from her neck and put it in her pocket, to establish that Jane Barclay was not an intimate friend of Mrs. Gloria Comfort.

'The real reason we have come,' gushed Agatha, while James looked at her in surprise, 'I left my scarf at Gloria's yesterday. She told me you looked after the garden and the way she talked about you made us believe you were a close friend and might know exactly where in Spain she had gone. But you do have the keys. Could you be an angel and let us in so that I can look for it?'

'I suppose so,' said Jane. 'Who did you say you were?'

'Mr. and Mrs. Perth,' said James quickly, before Agatha could say anything. He was frightened that if she heard Agatha's name, she might be more cautious about letting the wife of a murdered man into that cottage.

'Have you any identification?'

Agatha's heart sank, but to her amazement James fished a card-case out of his inside pocket and extracted a card.

'Colonel and Mrs. Perth,' Jane read aloud. 'From Stratford. She never mentioned you, but then I don't know her all that well. Come along. Don't take too long about it.'

They walked with her the short distance to Mrs. Comfort's cottage. James kept glancing down at Agatha, guessing that she wanted to get to that phone. When they entered the living-room, Agatha looked around brightly. 'Now where did I put that scarf. I know I left it here.'

James crossed to the window and looked out. 'The dahlias haven't been damaged by frost yet,' he said. 'They make a fine show.'

Jane Barclay crossed to join him. 'I planted those,' she said proudly. 'Mrs. Comfort - Gloria - really doesn't know a thing about gardening.'

Agatha took the scarf from her pocket and thrust it down between the cushions of the sofa.

'I've found it,' she cried, fishing it out as Jane turned round. 'It must have slipped between the cushions.'

James was still at the window. 'Some of those roses could do with being cut back.'

'What? Where?' demanded Jane angrily. 'Those are the best-tended roses in the Cotswolds. I'll show you.'

'You go ahead,' said Agatha. 'I'll just powder my nose.'

Jane wasn't even listening to her. She was too angry at this slur on her gardening capabilities.

When they both walked out, Agatha quickly crossed to the phone and dialled 1471. A tinny voice said, 'Telephone number oh-one-five-six-oh-three-eight-nine-nine-three-two has been stored.'

Agatha made a rapid note and then went out to the garden, where James was saying plaintively, 'Well, bless me, what a splendid job you've done. Forgive me, Miss Barclay. It's my damned eyesight. Not as good as it was.'

Jane was mollified enough to talk for what seemed to Agatha an unconscionable time about gardening.

At last they thanked Jane and went back to their car. As soon as they were out of earshot, Agatha said excitedly, 'I got the number.'

'It may not be this mysterious Basil's number.' James drove a little way along the road and then stopped. 'Let me see it.'

Agatha gave him the slip of paper with the number on it.

'It's a Mircester number,' said James, 'but it could also belong to any of the villages just outside Mircester. How are we going to find out the address that goes with it?'

Agatha sat scowling horribly. 'I've got an idea,' she said at last. 'Any time I've been to police headquarters in Mircester to talk to Bill Wong or someone about a case, I've been put in an interview room and had to wait ages. The interview room has a phone. I could phone the operator and say I was a police detective, and before they get suspicious say something like, 'Phone me back immediately at police headquarters on this extension.''

'Agatha, I forbid you to do anything so insane!'

'You what? Who the hell do you think you are to order me around?'

'See sense, woman. The one time someone will come to see you immediately is just when you don't want it. The phone will ring and someone like the dreadful Maddie will pick it up and promptly charge you with trying to impersonate a police officer.'

'One has,' said Agatha Raisin haughtily, 'got to take risks in this business.'

'Oh, don't get carried away. All we've done so far is create mayhem. I'll drop you off home. I'm going to the market in Moreton to get fish for dinner. If time lies heavy on your hands, you might try a little weeding, dear. It has not escaped my notice that you treat my place like a hotel.'

'That's because it is your place,' said Agatha, deeply hurt. 'I can't wait to get my own home back.'

'Can't wait either,' said James, and they completed the drive home in bitter silence.

James went off to Moreton-in-Marsh and Agatha let herself in, smarting with hurt and fury. So this is what marriage would have been like? Being ordered about? How dare he. Well, she'd show him.

She went back out and got into her own car and drove as fast as she could to Mircester.

Feeling a bit nervous now, she approached the desk sergeant at Mircester Police Headquarters and said sweetly, 'I would like to see someone in connection with the murder of Jimmy Raisin.'

'It's Mrs. Raisin, isn't it?'

'Yes.'

He lifted the flap, came round the desk and ushered her into an interview room off the entrance hall.

'Shouldn't be long,' he said cheerfully. 'Like a cup of tea?'

'No, thank you.'

He left and shut the door. Agatha seized the phone and dialed the operator. Nothing happened. Then she realized she probably had to dial nine for an outside line and, hoping it was nine, tried again. The operator came on the line.

'This is Detective Sergeant Crumb,' said Agatha, quickly taking her alias from the remains of a biscuit on a plate on the desk. She gave the operator the number she had culled from Mrs. Comfort's phone, asked for the name and address that went with it, and then gave her the number of the extension on the desk.

'We'll call you back,' said the operator.

And Agatha waited and waited.

Then panic took over. She lifted the phone off the desk and put it on the floor. She seized the desk and pushed it across the floor and rammed it against the door. She had just finished doing that when two things happened at once. Someone tried to get in and the phone rang.

Agatha dropped to her knees on the floor, seized the receiver and muttered hoarsely into it. 'Yes?'

'Detective Sergeant Crumb?'

'Yes, yes,' hissed Agatha as she heard Maddie's voice calling from the other side of the door, 'Mrs. Raisin? Are you in there? This door's jammed.'

'The name and address you require is Basil Morton, number six, The Loanings, London Road, Mircester.'

'Thanks,' said Agatha.

She moved the desk and lay down alongside the door, just as she heard Maddie shouting, 'Dave, come and help me with i this door.'

Agatha groaned theatrically. 'Are you all right?' Maddie called, her voice more sharp with suspicion than concern.

'I fainted,' called Agatha. 'I'll move. I'm blocking the door.'

She got to her feet and stood back as Maddie, with policeman behind her, opened the door. Maddie's eyes went Straight to Agatha's flushed face and then to the phone, which was lying on the floor.