There was a silence.
'Well?' prompted Charles.
'Well, what? Oh, I see. Nothing seems to matter much.'
'But don't you see,' said Agatha eagerly, 'if Tolly was having an affair, then the murder might have been committed by a jealous husband.'
'Rosie doesn't have a husband.'
'It doesn't need to be her. She might give that perfume of hers to people who ask for it.'
'Truth to tell, I've been so shattered by this,' said Lucy, 'I haven't been able to think clearly. You've got an idea there.'
'Didn't you say anything to the police about your suspicions?' asked Charles.
'Them! That man, Hand, went on and on as if I'd done it. I had to have all my wits about me sticking to my alibi.'
Agatha wanted to ask her why Mrs. Jackson had said that she and Tolly had been laughing about her suspicions and why they had ridiculed her, Agatha. But Lucy might freeze up. And there was still hope of getting gossip out of Mrs. Jackson-that is, if she ever turned up to clean.
'Did Tolly ever seem to favour any woman?'
'Apart from Rosie, no. He would suck up to wives at hunt dos, ones whose husbands he wanted to ingratiate himself with.'
'Like who?' asked Charles.
'Oh, like that dreary old bag, Mrs. Findlay.'
'Captain Findlay's wife?'
'Yes, her. I call her the battered bride. She always trembles every time her husband looks at her. He probably beats her.'
'And the police have no idea where the Stubbs went to?'
'None at all. It'll probably turn up in some mansion in South America.'
'I assume you get everything,' said Charles.
'Yes.'
'Good solicitors?'
'Old-fashioned and solid. Tomley and Barks in Norwich.'
'Tomley,' said Charles. 'There was a Tristan Tomley in my form at Eton and he came from over here.'
'Could be,' said Lucy indifferently.
'What will you do now?' asked Agatha.
For the first time, Lucy seemed animated. 'I'll sell up here and move to London. Thank God this place and the grounds are worth something. Tolly didn't leave much else. That damn hunt must have been bleeding him dry. I never want to see another horse or hound again.'
'We'll do all we can to help,' said Agatha.
Lucy gave a little shrug. 'I don't see what you can do. But thanks anyway. I'm sorry I haven't offered you anything, but I'm a bit busy at the moment, so ...'
Agatha and Charles rose to their feet. 'Find your own way out?' Lucy remained seated.
They said goodbye and walked out to the car.
'What now?' asked Agatha.
'The solicitors in Norwich.'
' 'They won't tell us anything.
'They might-that is, if the Tomley part of the business is the one I went to school with.'
The city of Norwich was shrouded in mist, slowly thickening into fog. 'Hope it doesn't get worse than this or we'll need to stay the night here,' said Charles. 'Do you know, the fairies have disappeared. No more petty theft.'
'That's true. Do you think someone stole the petty stuff and flashed lights around to make everyone frightened as a blind, when all the time he really meant to steal the Stubbs?'
'Could be. But there's something about the petty thefts which smacks of the work of children. We never saw Mrs. Jackson's children, apart from the gardener.'
'And that's a mystery,' said Agatha as Charles eased into the car-park. 'How on earth did a woman like that manage to get married two times?'
'No accounting for taste.' Charles flashed her a wicked look. 'Is there, Aggie?'
'Stop calling me Aggie and let's find this solicitor.'
The solicitors' offices were in a pleasant old sixteenth-century flint building in a courtyard off Lower Goat Lane. 'Let's hope it's the Tomley I knew and that he's here and not in court,' said Charles.
He gave his card to a motherly looking receptionist. She smiled at them, told them to wait, and said she would see if Mr. Tomley was available.
They sat down in comfortable leather armchairs in front of a low table covered in glossy magazines.
The receptionist returned, smiled again, and said, 'Mr. Tomley is on the phone. Will you wait? He should only be a few moments.'
Agatha picked up a magazine about country houses and flicked through it. The offices were very quiet, protected from the sound of traffic by the courtyard outside. Her eyelids began to droop and soon she was fast asleep.
She awoke with a jerk half an hour later. Charles was shaking her by the shoulder. 'Come along, Aggie. We're going for a drink. This is Tommers.'
Agatha stood up and blinked blearily and focused on a plump, well-tailored man with a red shiny face and thick grey hair. 'You should have woken me, Charles,' she admonished.
'You haven't missed anything,' said Charles cheerfully, 'and you look so beautiful when you sleep, snoring gently and with your mouth hanging open.'
'And you make noises like a dog hunting rabbits in your sleep. Whoop, whoop, shiver, whoop,' said Agatha nastily.
Then she blushed as Tristan Tomley surveyed both of them with bright-eyed interest.
'Let's go,' said Charles, his good humour unabated. 'Where's the pub, Tommers?'
'Round the corner. The Goat and Boots.'
As they walked out into the freezing, foggy air, Tommers said, 'I doubt if the pair of you will get back tonight. Fog's bad. I feel in my bones it's going to be a bad winter.'
The pub was relatively quiet. They took their drinks to a corner table. 'Well, Charles,' said Tommers, 'what's this all about? Or did you come the whole way here to reminisce about our school-days?'
'Not quite. You see, I'm staying with Agg-Agatha in Fryfam.'
'Aha. The Trumpington-James murder. Why should you be interested?'
'We like to solve mysteries,' said Charles. 'Wanted to ask you about the will.'
'I don't mind telling you about that. All straightforward. Everything goes to the wife.'
Agatha had then what she considered as being a sudden flash of intuition. 'Aha,' she said, her bearlike eyes boring into the lawyer's. 'But what about the other will?'
'What other will?'
Agatha leaned forward eagerly. 'The one Tolly was threatening to make just before he was killed. The one in which he cut out his wife and left the money to ... someone else!'
Tommers surveyed her with amusement. 'You mean like in books?' He burst out laughing. 'Nothing so sinister. Only one will and no threats of cutting the wife out. I say, Charles. Do you remember old Stuffy?'
Agatha relapsed into gloom as the reminiscence went on. What a waste of a journey! What a foggy freezing place to land up in, only to be made to feel ridiculous.
At last, after what seemed an age, Tommers said he had to be getting home. 'Would invite you,' he said, 'but my motherin-law is in residence and she's a bit crotchety, to say the least.'
After he had left, Charles said, 'Did you really think there might have been another will?'
'I hoped there might be the threat of one, or even some mysterious woman who got something in the real will. Now I feel stupid.'
'I must admit I was hoping for the same thing. So what do you want to do? Shall we find a hotel?'
