“I was the person who found him when he was dying,” said Agatha.
“Come in. I’m Mrs. Laver.”
“Agatha Raisin and Roy Silver,” sad Agatha as they followed her into a sparklingly clean living-room: three piece suite in Donegal tweed, glass coffee-table, stereo, television; pot plants everywhere, green and lush.
“It must have been dreadful for you, seeing him dying like that,” said Mrs. Laver. “But really, I don’t know anything other than we bought the house from him.”
“Did he live here with his wife?”
“No, I gather he moved here after they split up.”
Agatha looked around at the plants as if for inspiration. “Did anyone come calling, looking for him, after you moved in here?”
“A couple of women-not together-at separate times. They seemed quite distressed.”
“Did you get their names?”
“No, when I said he had gone, they asked where to, but he didn’t leave a forwarding address.”
“That’s odd,” said Roy. “What did you do with the mail?”
“Just marked it ‘Not Known at This Address’ and gave it back to the postman.”
Agatha noticed a faint flush rising up on Mrs. Laver’s face and the way her hands twisted together nervously in her lap.
“It must have been a bit of a chore,” said Agatha, “remembering to return all that mail to the postman. I had that to do when I first moved into my cottage. I got so fed up I forgot to return a couple of letters, and after two months, I regret to say I just threw them on the fire. Did you do that?” she demanded sharply.
“Oh, I wouldn’t do that. That’s criminal!” cried Mrs. Laver. “But… ”
“But what?” demanded Agatha eagerly. “You’ve still got one, haven’t you?”
She flushed again. “It arrived some time after he’d gone from Portsmouth. My husband was away on business and I had the flu, so I put it in the kitchen drawer and thought I’d give it to the postman when I felt better. But then I forgot about it and I was too ashamed to hand it over after all this time.”
Agatha felt her heart beating hard with excitement. “If you give it to us,” she said, “we’ll give it to the Worcester police. You don’t need to worry. We’ll just say it got stuck under the doormat.”
“Oh, you couldn’t say that,” said Mrs. Laver. “People would think I didn’t clean under the doormat in my own home.”
Agatha looked at her impatiently.
“Then we’ll say it came through the letter-box and slipped under a crack in the skirting in the hall.”
“But I don’t have crack in the skirting. This is a very sound house!”
Agatha felt like tearing her hair in frustration.
She forced herself to say gently, “Then I’ll just tell them the truth. You were ill. You put it in the kitchen drawer and only remembered it when we called.”
“I won’t get into trouble?”
“Not at all. I am very friendly with the police and have helped them on many cases.”
“Oh, well, I s’pose… ”
She got up and went through to the kitchen.
Agatha looked at Roy and rolled her eyes. What if the silly woman changed her mind?
But Mrs. Laver came back and handed Agatha a thick brown envelope. Agatha tried not to snatch it.
She stood up. “We’ll be on our way.”
“Aren’t you going to see what’s in it?” asked Mrs. Laver.
“No, we’ll leave that job to the police. Come along, Roy.”
They made their escape. As they were getting into the car, Mrs. Laver called after them, “I’d better take a note of your name and address. You’re Mrs. Anderson, didn’t you say?”
“Drive off!” hissed Agatha to Roy. “Let the silly woman think I’m Mrs. Anderson in case she calls the police.”
Roy accelerated off.
“Now when we’re clear of this place, stop somewhere,” ordered Agatha, “and let’s have a look at what we’ve got.”
Roy drove for several street and then pulled into the side of the road.
Agatha took out the envelope, which she had stuffed in her handbag. She was about to open it when Roy grabbed her hand.
“I don’t like this,” he said. “You’ll get us into trouble. This is police evidence.”
“I found it, they didn’t,” growled Agatha. “Get off, Roy. I’ll take the responsibility.”
She opened the envelope. It was crammed with fifty-pound notes. “Must be; blackmail money,” she said. “There’s a letter.”
She pulled out one sheet of paper and opened it. She read, “This is all I can afford. I think you’re a wicked, evil man. After all we were to each other, I can’t believe you would do this to me. Harriet.” Agatha counted out the money. “There’s five thousand pounds here!”
“Is there an address?” asked Roy.
“Yes, 14A, Hanson Street, Portsmouth.”
“I’d better stop at a stationer’s and get a street map.”
When they had found a map, Hanson Street turned out to be a small street running off London Road in the centre of the town.
“Back to that car-park,” grumbled Roy, “and let’s hope there’s a space left.”
They had to wait a frustrating half an hour for a car to drive out and leave them a space. They walked to Hanson Street. Fourteen A turned out to be the basement of a shop.
“Doesn’t look very prosperous,” said Agatha as they walked down the steps.
Roy rang the bell. A tired-looking middle-aged woman answered the door.
“Harriet?” asked Agatha.
“Yes, who are you?”
“We’ve brought you this.” Agatha handed her the envelope full of money.
Harriet turned a muddy colour.
“Are you the police?”
“No,” said Agatha. “Just a couple of people trying to make sure that blackmailing bastard doesn’t continue to ruin people from beyond the grave. Can we come in?”
Clutching the envelope tightly, Harriet led them into a large room strewn with coloured fabrics and dominated by a sewing machine.
“You’re a dressmaker?” asked Roy.
“Yes, it’s a living,” said Harriet wearily. She seemed drained of energy.
She sat down and said, “You can’t blackmail me as well. It was all for nothing.”
“We’ve only come to help you,” said Agatha. “We should have given that money and letter to the police. But we didn’t.”
“Thank you. I could do with the money.”
“Let’s introduce ourselves,” said Agatha briskly. “I’m Agatha Raisin and this is Roy Silver. I found John Shawpart’s body and decided to find out what I could. You don’t want us to tell the police about you and I don’t want you to tell the police about me. I’ll tell you what happened.”
So Agatha told her all about Evesham, about the house being burnt down, about the other women who had been blackmailed.
“Why didn’t I even guess he was so evil?” sighed Harriet. “Move some of those fabrics and sit down. I’m Harriet Worth.”
“So how did he get his claws into you?” asked Agatha.
“In pretty much the same way as he got hold of those other women,” said Harriet. “I went to the salon to get my hair done. Unlike those other women, my marriage was happy. Luke’s got a good job with a computer company. Mr. John asked me out and of course I refused. But he laughed it off and he was a wizard at doing my hair and Luke liked my new appearance so I kept going.
“Then John started to look at me in a sort of pitying way and I asked him sharply what was up. At first he said,
