with dogs, and police with helicopters - and when Mrs. Hardy had finally gone to her cottage, Agatha broached her suspicions of Helen Warwick to James. He shrugged and said, 'That's ridiculous.'
'It's not ridiculous!' cried Agatha.
'You've had a bad fright,' said James soothingly. 'I've got to go to London tomorrow to see an old friend. I suggest you have a day in bed to recover. No, not another word. You're not in a fit state to think properly.'
Agatha awoke at nine to find the cottage empty and James's car gone. She was suddenly angry. Damn it, she would go to London herself and ask Roy Silver if he had found out anything else from that detective.
The doorbell rang. She ran to answer it, hoping James had come back. But it was the vicar's wife who stood on the step.
'Oh, Mrs. Bloxby. Come in. I was just about to leave for London.'
'I keep telling you to call me Margaret. And shouldn't you be resting?'
'Have they caught anyone?' asked Agatha over her shoulder as she led the way through to the kitchen.
'Not a sign. They're still searching. The woods above the village are full of men and dogs. Was the man wearing gloves?'
'I think so. Why?'
'Well, fingerprints.'
Agatha seized the coffee-jug from the machine. Her hand suddenly shook and she dropped the coffee-jug, which did not break but bounced across the floor, spreading coffee and spattering the cupboards. Agatha sat down and burst into tears.
'Now, then,' said Mrs. Bloxby, guiding her to the table. 'You just sit down there and I'll clean up this mess.'
'J-James is so-so persnickety,' sobbed Agatha. 'He'll be furious.'
'By the time I've finished,' said the vicar's wife, taking off her coat, 'he won't know anything has happened.'
She opened the cupboard under the sink and took out cleaning materials and a floor-cloth. While Agatha sniffed dismally into a handkerchief, Mrs. Bloxby worked calmly and efficiently. Then she put on the kettle, saying, 'I think tea would be better for you. Your nerves are bad enough. I am surprised James has left. Why?'
'He said he had to see an old friend.' Agatha, who had temporarily got a grip on herself, found she was beginning to cry again. 'But I don't think he's gone to see any old friend, I think he's gone to see that murderess, Helen Warwick.'
'I'll make us a cup of tea and you can tell me about it.'
When they were both seated at the table, Agatha described the visit to Helen Warwick and how, after that visit, someone had tried to burn them to death, and then, last night, the masked man had been about to shoot her in the legs if Mrs. Hardy had not kicked the gun out of his hand.
'I heard about that last night. Very brave of Mrs. Hardy. But it all goes to show, Agatha, that your Christian act in taking her to the village dance had its reward. It always reinforces my belief in the fundamental goodness of people in the way that a little bit of kindness engenders such a reward.'
Agatha managed a watery smile. 'Doesn't seem to work with the Boggles.'
'Oh, them, well...There is always an exception. But surely James's interest in Helen Warwick is simply to do with the case?'
'James has quite dreadful taste in women,' said Agatha gloomily. 'Remember Mary Fortune?' Mary Fortune, a divorcee who had been murdered, had enjoyed a brief affair with James before her death.
'You were away then,' pointed out Mrs. Bloxby. 'Have there been any reporters, asking questions?'
'About the attempted shooting? No. I think the police want the press out of their hair and that they have somehow managed to keep it quiet for the moment. The villagers are tired of the press as well, so none of them is going to phone up a newspaper. I'll go to London and see if Roy Silver has found out anything. I've something in mind. I may stay the night. I'd best leave a note for James.'
'Hadn't you better stick around? The police will surely be back to see you.'
'They can talk to the Hardy woman. I want a change of scene anyway.'
'I do feel you should take care, Agatha. Someone appears to be more afraid of your investigations than they are of the police.'
'I'm beginning to think that someone is mad. Look, it was a man who held us up last night. Mrs. Comfort said something about Mrs. Gore-Appleton looking like a man. Perhaps there never was a Mrs. Gore-Appleton. Perhaps there was a Mr. Gore-Appleton. Perhaps some man pretended to be a woman as part of that charity scam.'
'I still think you should stay here and rest, Agatha.'
'No, I'm going. I'll feel better once I'm out of the village.' But Agatha forgot to leave a note for James.
But once she reached London, Agatha found herself driving towards Kensington, to the Gloucester Road. She had to reassure herself that James had really gone to see a friend and that the friend wasn't Helen Warwick. As she drove along the Gloucester Road towards the block of flats, she kept looking at the parked cars. Of course, James could be parked anywhere. It was difficult to find a parking-place in Kensington at the best of times. His car could be tucked away in Cromwell Gardens or Emperor's Gate or somewhere she could not see it. But suddenly, there it was, on a meter, a few yards from Helen's building. And as a final nail in Agatha's coffin, there, just leaving the flats, came James and Helen, laughing and talking like old friends. The car behind Agatha, who had been driving at about five miles an hour, hooted impatiently. Agatha speeded up. She longed to turn the car around, catch up with them and hurl abuse at James from the window.
But she drove along Palace Gate instead, made a left at Kensington Gardens and headed over to the City.
Roy was in his office. He backed away behind his desk when he saw the grim look on Agatha's face. 'What have you been up to, sweetie?'
Agatha told him all about the fire, the attempted shooting, and their investigations. Roy visibly relaxed, assuming that all this mayhem was the reason for Agatha's angry face and not anything to do with himself.
'Perhaps it's that Hardy woman after all,' he said when Agatha had finished. 'She turned up out of nowhere to live in Carsely. What if she's really Mrs. Gore-Appleton? I mean, coincidences happen the whole time. Lots of people move to the Cotswolds and find themselves living next to someone they've been trying to avoid all their lives. So how's this? She takes your cottage. The fact that your name is Raisin and you're probably Jimmy's wife amuses her. It's not all that usual a name. She knows about your proposed wedding to James but thinks you must be divorced. Jimmy may not even have mentioned you. Then, in his fumbling, drunken wanderings, he runs into her, recognizes her as his old buddy and tries to put the screws on her. She bumps him off. Then she goes to that cinema in Mircester and there, in the cinema, she sees Miss Purvey and, what is worse, Miss Purvey sees her, so Miss Purvey must be silenced...
'Now she's running scared. She tries to burn the pair of you to death, but some neighbour starts screaming, 'Fire!' and she sees your light upstairs and hears you shouting, 'James!' or something and decides, as you are not going to die, she'd better start heaving buckets of earth around to make sure she's not suspected. Then she thinks up a scheme to throw you off the scent. She hires some actor or villain to stage that hold-up and give you a fright and at the same time she can figure as the heroine of the piece, and who's going to suspect a heroine?'
'That's very clever, Roy, and I wish it could stand up, but the fact is James and I went into her cottage - I've still got the keys - and we went through her papers and she is exactly who she says she is.'
'Damn.'
'Your detective seems to have a touch with the down-and-outs that the police lack.'
'The problem with Iris is that she's very busy at the moment. She's overworked. She's got at least a couple of battered wives on her books.'
'See if you can get her. I'll pay her.' Agatha walked to the window and stared out unseeing at the jumble of City roofs and spires.
Then she swung round. 'I know, we'll go and see what we can find out.'
'We, Paleface? I've a job to do here, remember?'
The door opened and Bunty, Agatha's former secretary, popped her head round the door. 'Oh, hallo, Mrs. R. Roy, Mr. Wilson wants to see you.'
