seance frightened one of them and that inner fright had subconsciously communicated itself to the others? Could it be remotely possible that one of them had committed the murder?
And why hadn't Jimmy come? Maybe the love potion wore off after a while.
In the morning, Agatha and a guilty-looking Mary took a cab to Hadderton. 'No trouble getting away?' asked Agatha.
'No, not this time, but she did somehow make me feel guilty.'
'Worse than having a bullying husband.'
'Oh, you mustn't say that, Agatha. Jennifer's the only true friend I've ever had.'
They fell silent as the old cab rattled into Hadderton.
'Sheep Street,' called the taxi driver.
'Ninety-two,' called back Agatha as the cab slowed to a crawl. Sheep Street was lined with red brick houses. Some were smartened up with window-boxes and with the doors and window-sashes painted bright colours. But the others were distinctly seedy. And ninety-two was one of the seedy ones.
'Shouldn't we just leave it alone?' pleaded Mary as Agatha paid off the cab.
'May as well go through with it now we're here.' Agatha marched determinedly up to the front door and knocked on it.
'He probably left here years ago,' said Mary.
The door opened and a very old woman stood there, peering up at them. 'We're looking for Joseph Brady,' said Agatha.
'Come in.' She shuffled off into the interior and they followed her. The living-room into which she led them was dark and furnished with battered old chairs and a sagging sofa.
'This is Mary Dulsey and I am Agatha Raisin,' began Agatha. 'Mary knew Joseph when he was much younger. She always wondered what became of him. Do you know him?'
'He's my son.'
They both looked at the old woman. She eased herself into an armchair. Her hands were knobbly with arthritis and her face was seamed and wrinkled.
Mary seemed to have been struck dumb. 'Where is he?' asked Agatha.
Mrs. Brady gave a wheezy little sigh. 'Doing time.'
'Why, what for?' asked Agatha, ignoring Mary's yelp of distress.
'Same old business. Stealing cars.' She peered at Mary. 'How did you know him?'
Mary found her voice, albeit a trembling voice. 'It was years ago, in 1955. At Wyckhadden. At the Garden Hotel.'
Mrs. Brady nodded. 'That would be about the first time he got into trouble.'
'With the police?' asked Agatha.
'Yes,' she said wearily. 'He was working as a car salesman for a firm in Hadderton. He'd just got his driving licence. He stole a car and he stole the money from the firm's office. He said afterwards that he had planned to go to a posh hotel and look for a rich girl.' The old eyes looked sympathetically at Mary. 'Was that you, dear?'
'I suppose so,' said Mary miserably. 'We weren't rich. My father was only a lawyer.'
'That would be rich to Joseph. We never had much, see. Well, the police got him a couple of days after he came back. How he thought he'd get away with it, I don't know. He'd left the stolen car in a side street, as if someone else had pinched it. But he'd left his fingerprints all over the office at the car firm and the police found the rest of the money hidden in his room. He swore he'd never do anything like that again. He got a light sentence, but it was hard to get work with a criminal record. He left home one day shortly after that. Said he was going to Australia. Then, four years later, he wrote to me from prison. Cars again and a longer sentence. Then it was burglary. The latest was stealing cars and driving them over to some crooked dealer in Bulgaria.'
'Have you a recent photograph?' asked Agatha.
Mrs. Brady rose painfully from her chair and lifted a cardboard box down from a shelf beside the fireplace. She rested it on a small table, and putting on a pair of spectacles, began to look through the photographs. She lifted one out and handed it to Mary. 'That you, miss?'
Mary looked down at a picture of herself and Joseph on the prom at Wyckhadden. 'Yes,' she said in a choked voice. 'One of those beach photographers took that picture. One for me, one for Joseph.'
'Here's one taken before his last sentence.' Mrs. Brady handed Mary a photograph. Agatha joined Mary and looked down at it. The Joseph in this picture was baring a set of false teeth at the camera. He was nearly bald and his weasely face bore little resemblance to the young man on the prom.
Agatha looked at Mary's shocked face. 'Thank you for your time, Mrs. Brady. We are really sorry to have troubled you.'
'I'll see you to the door,' she said. 'Funny, there was always some girl or another over the years that he'd said he was going to marry, but the law always caught up with him first.'
Out in the street, Mary walked a little way with Agatha and then broke down and cried and cried, saying over and over again in between sobs, 'How could you have done this to me, Agatha?'
'But you wanted to find him,' protested Agatha, but feeling guilty all the same. It would have been better to have left poor Mary with her dream intact. A cold wind whistled down Sheep Street. Wind chimes hung over a door tinkled their foreign exotic sound.
'Let's find a pub,' said Agatha.
They turned the corner of Sheep Street and found a small pub. Agatha ordered brandies. Mary drank and sobbed and sobbed and drank. Agatha waited patiently. At last Mary dried her eyes and blew her nose.
'All these years,' she said, 'I've carried this bright dream of Joseph. One day he would come back if only I kept going to Wyckhadden. I put up with Jennifer because I had this dream. Now I have nothing.'
'I wish I had left things alone,' said Agatha. 'But how were we to know he'd turn out to be a criminal?'
'It's not really your fault. I had to know,' said Mary. 'I'll have to tell Jennifer.'
'Why?'
'She'll know something is up with me.'
'Oh, well, tell her if you must,' said Agatha, suddenly weary of the whole business. There was a cigarette machine in the corner of the pub. She looked at it longingly. But it was years and years since she had gone so long without a cigarette. Stick it out, Agatha!
Back at the hotel, Agatha found Jimmy waiting for her. He looked curiously at red-eyed Mary, who darted past him and up the stairs. 'What's up with her?'
'Let's go for a walk and I'll tell you about it.'
Once out on the promenade, he took Agatha's arm and said, 'You smell of brandy. Starting early?'
'Consoling Mary.' As they walked along, Agatha told him about Joseph.
'Poor woman,' he said when Agatha had finished. 'I could have found all that out for her.'
'I never thought of asking you. Mary didn't think for a minute that he was a criminal.'
Agatha then told him about the seance. 'We've still got our eye on Janine's husband. You should be careful.'
'I thought he had a cast-iron alibi.'
'I'm always suspicious of people with cast-iron alibis.'
'Why did you call to see me, Jimmy?'
'I wanted to ask you out for dinner tonight. There's this new Italian restaurant.'
'I would love to.'
'That's fine. I'll pick you up at eight. I'd better walk you back now. I've a lot of paperwork to do.'
* * *
Tired after all the morning's emotion, Agatha planned to lie down that afternoon and then enjoy a leisurely time getting ready for her date. She was just about to pull her sweater over her head when there came a peremptory knocking at the door. She tugged down her sweater and went to open it. Jennifer stood there, her fists clenched and eyes blazing with anger. 'I want a word with you, you interfering bitch!'
'Come in,' said Agatha wearily.
Jennifer strode into the room. 'You have destroyed Mary's happiness. She needed that dream.'
