James turned to Mrs. Hardy. 'Care to try?'
'I don't know...'
'Oh, go on,' said Agatha, determined to be charitable and reminding herself that she would soon be moving back into her old home.
James and Mrs. Hardy took the floor. Agatha moved over to the bar, where the publican, John Fletcher, was working, having left his wife and son to manage the pub. 'Gin and tonic, John,' said Agatha.
'Right you are. How's that murder investigation going? They caught anyone?'
Agatha shook her head.
'It's odd, isn't it? And then the murder of that poor woman in the cinema. Mind you, the police don't think nc that the two murders are related.'
'Since when?'
'I dunno. Fred Griggs was saying something like that the other day.'
He turned away to serve someone else.
Agatha found Mrs. Bloxby next to her. 'Mrs. Hardy appears to have come out of her shell,' said the vicar's wife.
Agatha turned round and surveyed the dance floor. Mrs Hardy was dancing with unexpected grace. She was laughing at something James was saying.
'And if I am not mistaken, that's quite a flirtatious look in her eyes. Not,' added Mrs. Bloxby hurriedly, 'that she is any competition. You are looking remarkably trim and well these days.'
'Must be James's cooking,' said Agatha. 'We brought along Mrs. Hardy to cheer her up. I only hope now she doesn't cheer up too much or she will decide to stay.'
'But you have your cottage back?'
'Yes, everything's signed and agreed on.'
'In that case, she can do nothing about it.'
'I hope James is not going to get carried away by my good Samaritan act,' said Agatha. 'If he asks her for the next dance, I'll murder her...oh, dear, how easily one says things like that. I don't think we're ever going to find out who murdered Jimmy.'
'Let's sit over there in the corner, away from the noise of the band, and you can tell me about it,' said Mrs. Bloxby.
Agatha hesitated. The dance had finished. But James was asking Miss Simms for the next dance.
'Okay,' she said. They carried their drinks over to a; couple of chairs in a corner of the hall.
'I think a lot of it you already know,' began Agatha. 'Jimmy, and possibly this Mrs. Gore-Appleton, who ran a dicey charity, stayed at a health farm, found out what they could, and blackmailed some of the other guests. I believe one of them murdered him.' She went on to describe all their investigations.
Mrs. Bloxby listened carefully and then she said, 'I would think the most likely suspect would be Mrs. Gore- Appleton herself.'
'But they were in it together!'
'Exactly. But Jimmy went back on the booze and down to the gutter. But he surfaced for long enough to get cleaned up for your wedding. So, say, before that he had some stage where he was relatively sober and needed money. Why should he not seek out his old protector? And think of this. Let's say she wants nothing more to do with him - her miraculous cured alcoholic isn't cured. So she tries to send him packing. But Jimmy has a taste for blackmail, and as he was close to her at one time, he must have known about the fraudulent charity. He knows the police are looking for her. So he says something like, 'Pay up or I'll tell them where you are'? Wait a bit. It could be just before he came down here. He says he's going to be in Carsley. She follows him and waits for the right moment, and what better moment is there than when he is hopelessly drunk and has just had a row with his wife?'
Agatha looked at her open-mouthed and then said, 'That's all so very simple, it could well be what happened. But surely the police can find this woman, with all their resources and all.'
'She could have changed her name.'
'That might be an idea. I wonder if they've checked the Records Office to see if a Mrs. Gore-Appleton changed her name to anything else. Damn, they're bound to have done that.'
'She was and still is a criminal, Agatha. She could easily get false papers. Apart from her, have you come across anyone during your investigations who might be a murderer or murderess?'
'It could be any of them. Those men's footprints near the body could be a blind. I have a gut feeling it's some woman. That secretary, Helen Warwick, I don't trust her at all.'
'It would take some strength to strangle a man.'
'Mrs. Comfort said something odd about Mrs. Gore-; Appleton. She said she looked like a man.'
'So she could be a he, pretending to be a woman?'
'I suppose anything's possible.'
'There you are,' said James. 'Dance, Agatha?'
'Sit down a moment,' said Agatha. 'Mrs. Bloxby's got some ideas.' By the time Mrs. Bloxby had finished outlining them, her husband was announcing a ladies' choice, and to Agatha's dismay, Mrs. Hardy came up and tapped James on the shoulder and marched him off rather like a military policeman arresting a deserter.
'I wish that woman would go back in her shell,' muttered Agatha. She was beginning to have that old feeling of being a wallflower, Then she remembered it was a ladies' choice and asked one of the farmers for a dance.
Mrs. Bloxby watched her and reflected that Agatha was looking almost pretty. Her eyes were too small and her figure, however slimmed down, always appeared a bit stocky, but she had excellent legs and her brown hair shone with health.
Agatha began to forget about murder and enjoyed the evening. James asked her for the next dance and then they moved to the bar for some companionable drinks. Mrs. Hardy was on her feet for every dance, her face flushed, her eyes shining.
'Who would have thought that nasty old bat would turn out to be so nice, if you know what I mean,' said Agatha.
The village dance ended as usual at midnight. They said their good-nights, Agatha noticing that old Mrs. Boggle, having collected the money, had cleared off, leaving all the coats unguarded.
They walked home, Mrs. Hardy hanging on to James's arm, much to Agatha's irritation, and saying what a good evening it had been. They were just rounding the corner of Lilac Lane when a dark figure detached itself from the thicker blackness of the bushes.
In the dim light from the moon above, they saw with horror that a man was confronting them, a masked man who was holding a pistol.
'This is a warning,' he grated. 'Bug out. And just to make sure you know I mean business...'
The pistol was lowered to point at Agatha's legs.
For one split second they stood paralysed, then Mrs. Hardy's foot shot out like that of a karate expert and she kicked the gun out of the man's hand. He turned and fled. Mrs. Hardy went plunging after him, but tripped and fell headlong, blocking James's pursuit. He tripped over her and sprawled in the lane.
Agatha found her voice and began to scream for help.
More police interviews. Agatha, white and shaking, was somehow more upset to learn that the gun was a replica. Mrs. Hardy was told she had been very brave but very foolish. It could have been a real gun.
'Where did you learn to kick like that?' asked Bill Wong.
Mrs. Hardy laughed. 'From those Kung Fu films on television. I suppose it was a silly thing to do - it was just an accident that I managed to kick the gun out of his hand.'
'Remember,' cautioned Bill, 'that if that gun had been real and had been loaded, it could have gone off.'
'Well, I think she was very brave,' said Agatha, clutching a cup of hot sweet tea.
While James and Mrs. Hardy were being questioned again - what had the man's voice sounded like, what height, clothes? - Agatha began to think of Helen Warwick. They had gone to see Helen and then James's house had been set on fire, and now this.
There must be some connection.
But when the police had left to join the milling hordes of other police combing the area - armed police, police
