Agatha Raisin and the Witch of Wyckhadden

Jimmy knocked softly at Agatha's door. There was no reply. He tried the handle. The door was unlocked. He opened it quietly.

The tableau that met his eyes was illuminated by a bedside lamp. There was a pair of man's striped pyjamas lying crumpled on the floor and Agatha's night-dress was hanging off the end of the bed.

Agatha herself was naked and wrapped in the arms of a man Jimmy did not know.

He retreated ever so quietly, closing the door with great care. He walked stiffly down the stairs and shook the night porter awake and demanded writing paper and an envelope.

Then he sat down and wrote Agatha Raisin a blistering letter, telling her exactly what he thought of her. A certain fairness prompted him to also tell her that the colonel had died of natural causes. She was therefore free to leave Wyckhadden and he never wanted to see her face again. He asked for his ring back. He sealed the letter and told the night porter to take it up and slide it under her door.

Agatha was the first to awake the following morning. She twisted round and looked at Charles's sleeping face, her first weary thought, Oh God, I've done it again. She pulled her night-gown up from the end of he bed and slipped it on. It was then she saw the envelope. She picked it up and sat down on the end of the bed and opened it.

She turned brick-red with shame and mortification. She pulled the letter down and pulled off the engagement ring and put it on the bedside table. Jimmy's letter made it perfectly clear that he had seen her in bed with Charles. There was no way she could lie herself out of this one. And yet, at the root of all her shame was a little feeling of relief.

She prodded Charles in the ribs. 'Wake up!'

Charles struggled awake. 'What's the rush, dearest? I drove through this dismal little town last night, you know. Not the sort of place you leap out of bed for and with a glad cry go to explore.'

'Shut up and listen,' growled Agatha. 'Jimmy walked in last night and found us in bed together. He's broken off the engagement. He wants his ring back.'

'Let me see it.'

Agatha handed him the ring. He held it up to the light, squinted at it, and handed it back. 'Let him have it. Not worth keeping.'

'It's all your fault,' howled Agatha, goaded by his indifference.

'Show me the letter. Come on. You never even loved him, so don't pretend.'

Agatha gave him the letter. He read it carefully. 'Sounds like a good straight decent man. Not for the likes of you, Aggie.'

'How dare you!'

'And you're off the hook. You can come back with me.'

'Charles, do you not feel any remorse?'

'No, not a tittle, and neither would you if you hadn't been caught out.' He rose and strolled into the bathroom and closed the door.

Agatha reached for the phone to call Jimmy and then decided against it. What could she say? How could she explain herself? To say that she felt nothing for Charles would make her seem even more of a slut.

The phone rang. She picked it up gingerly as if it might bite and said a cautious 'Yes?'

'This is Mr. Martin, Mrs. Raisin.'

'How can I help you?'

'I believe you have a man in your room.'

'So what?' said Agatha crossly. 'This is the nineties.'

'It was booked as single accommodation. I must charge you double.'

'Go ahead, and get my bill ready. I'm leaving today,' snapped Agatha and replaced the phone.

She looked in the mirror and let out a squawk of alarm. He hair was all tousled and her unmade-up face looked old. Charles was at least ten years younger than she was. Then she sat down wearily. What did it matter? She wasn't in love with Charles. When he came out of the bathroom, she took his place and ran a bath and then found to her fury that he had used all the towels. She rang for fresh towels. No doubt those would go on her bill as well.

Charles, unconcerned and deaf to her complaints, was watching a morning television show.

Agatha finally bathed and changed and made up her face. Then she fed the cat and switched off the television in the middle of a game show. 'Now I'll never know who won the car,' complained Charles.

'We'll have some breakfast,' said Agatha, 'then I'll return my own car and buy a travelling cat box for Scrabble and you can run me to Carsely. I'd better drop in at the police station and return the ring.' She sat down at the desk. She would need to write to Jimmy.

'Okay,' said Charles indolently.

'By the way, how was it you just walked up to my room? Why didn't the desk phone me?'

'There was no one at the desk and when I looked into the lounge, there was a tortoise-looking old man who told me to go right up.'

'Harry,' said Agatha bitterly.

'I think he's mad, Agatha. In fact, they're probably all mad in this hotel. Did that ever occur to you? All of them sitting here, year in, year out, their old brains fossilizing?'

'Murder makes everyone seem mad,' said Agatha wearily, 'including me.' She wrote a brief note of apology to Jimmy, and put the ring in its little box. Then she stood up. 'Let's go. We'll ear later.'

Agatha, followed by Charles, drove to the car rental firm and turned in the car. Then she got in beside Charles and directed him to the police station.

'Want me to come in with you?' asked Charles.

'No, I won't be a moment.'

Agatha went into the police station. The police sergeant at the desk was talking to policewoman Trul and Detective Constable Tarret. They watched her in silence as she approached the desk.

Agatha handed the letter and jeweller's box over to the sergeant. 'Would you be so very good as to give this to Inspector Jessop?'

He silently took the box and letter. Agatha turned and walked out. 'Bitch!' said Trul loudly to her retreating back.

Her face flaming, Agatha got into the car beside Charles. 'It was awful,' she said. 'Jimmy must have told everybody.'

'What do you expect, you harlot?' laughed Charles. 'Where to?'

'I'll direct you to the car-park in the centre of the town. I've got to buy a cat box.'

After she had purchased a cat box and Charles was driving sedately back to the hotel, he suddenly let out an exclamation and braked. 'Look at that!'

'What?'

'Casablanca's showing at the cinema.'

'So?'

'I adore Casablanca. I want to see it. Showing at two this afternoon.'

'We're checking out at twelve.'

'One more night. I'll pay. Come on, Aggie.'

'Oh, all right. But you go on your own. I can't bear to see that old movie again.'

'And I'm starving. You didn't let us stop for breakfast.' Mr. Martin agreed that, yes, she could have the room for another night. 'He's paying,' said Agatha, jerking a thumb at Charles. 'We'll have lunch.'

They put their coats and the cat box up in the room and then went down to the dining-room. Jennifer, Mary, Daisy and Harry stared openly at them.

'What a bunch of freaks,' said Charles cheerfully. 'Very Arsenic and Old Lace.'

They ate their heavy lunch in silence. Then Charles went up to fetch his coat and go to the cinema. After he had left, Agatha began to feel the silence of the hotel oppressive. She wished she had not agreed to stay another night. What if Jimmy called and made a scene?

She realized the heavy meal and her activities of the night before had made her feel tired. Agatha lay down