a useful addition to the ladies' society. Very good at organizing things.'
Agatha felt a sharp pang of jealousy. 'Sounds a bit like a bossy boots to me,' she commented sourly. 'I can almost picture her. Tweed and support hose and permed hair.'
'No, Mrs. Sheppard is in her forties, blond, very smart. Great sense of humour. She's opened a florist's shop in Moreton and does the flowers for the church so beautifully.'
I've got to get back, thought Agatha, before this harpy gets her hands on James.
'I thought you would be back by now,' she realized Mrs. Bloxby was saying.
'I'm a bit fed up with things here,' said Agatha. 'I'll probably be back by tom-'
She broke off and gave a gasp.
'What is it?' demanded Mrs. Bloxby. 'Are you all right?'
'Call you back.' Agatha slowly replaced the phone. Through the half-open door, she could see the gilt edge of a picture frame.
She walked into the kitchen. Propped against the kitchen table was an oil painting of a man holding a horse.
'Charles!' screamed Agatha.
There was a muffled exclamation from upstairs. Then Charles could be heard hurrying down the stairs. He came into the kitchen. He was stark-naked. 'Blimey,' he said. 'The Stubbs.'
'It is. Isn't it?'
He moved forward. 'Don't touch anything,' yelled Agatha. 'We'll need to phone the police. The painting was propped against one of the table legs.'
'Just going to look at the back.' Charles got down on all fours. The cats, thinking it was a game, weaved about him. He peered at the back of the picture. 'There's an envelope taped to the back of it. Wait a bit; it says, `Last Will and Testament of Terence Trumpington-James.' '
'That's Tolly.'
'Yes, don't you remember, it said in the papers his name was Terence. He probably thought it was upper- upper to give himself a stupid nickname like Tolly. Call the police, Aggie.'
'Get some clothes on, for heaven's sake.'
Charles straightened up and went upstairs, as unselfconscious in his nudity as he was when he was dressed. Agatha phoned Framp, who said he would be round as soon as he had called headquarters.
Agatha then phoned Lizzie's number. The captain answered and kept demanding why Agatha wanted to speak to his wife and Agatha kept saying patiently that it was a church matter that only concerned Lizzie. At last the captain surrendered the phone to his wife.
'The will's turned up,' said Agatha rapidly, 'stuck on the back of the Stubbs. Yes, in our kitchen. I'm phoning to warn you that if that's the will you were talking about, the police will be round to see you. They won't think anything odd about Tolly leaving you the painting if he's still left everything else to his wife. You can just say it was a friendly gesture.'
'I'm tired of it all. I'm going to tell the police the truth.'
'Here they are now,' said Agatha, hearing the doorbell.
She rang off. Charles came down the stairs, dressed, as Agatha opened the door.
It was Hand, Carey and Framp. 'I was round at Mrs. Jackson's when I got Framp's call,' said Hand. 'Where is it?'
'Where I found it.' Agatha led the way into the kitchen. 'The will is attached to the back of the painting.'
'You didn't touch anything?'
'No,' said Charles. 'I crawled on my hands and knees under the table and had a look at the back.'
'Your whole place will need to be gone over again,' said Hand. 'We'll get the forensic boys over. Damn, I can't wait to see what's in that will, but I daren't touch anything.'
It was a long morning for Agatha and Charles. After they had made their statements, they sat watching television, while police and forensic men in boiler suits went over the whole kitchen. 'I hate these British schlock TV shows,' said Charles, stifling a yawn. 'The American ones are bad enough, but the British ones take things a rung lower.'
'They're not so rock-bottom as the American ones,' protested Agatha.
'It's just so un-British to wash all that dirty linen in public.'
'Not anymore, it isn't. We've joined the touchy-feely races. I'm hungry,' said Agatha. 'I wonder how long they're going to be. I mean, if they don't want us, maybe they'll let us go out for something. I didn't tell you. I phoned Lizzie to warn her.'
'Hope her husband doesn't horsewhip her.'
'He might. She's going to bare her breast.'
'I hope you warned her not to mention us.'
'I didn't.'
'Then we'll just need to pray she forgets about us or the wrath of Hand will descend on us. Wait here and I'll ask if they need us.'
He came back and said, 'Hand's on his road out with that will in a plastic envelope. Probably heading straight for Lizzie. The forensic people are going to be here for a few more hours, so we can go. But I would like to be a fly on the wall when Hand speaks to Lizzie!'
'Lizzie!' bellowed the captain. 'Police!'
He turned to Detective Chief Inspector Hand and Detective Sergeant Carey and said, 'Can't you tell me what all this is about? Come into the study.'
They followed him in. The captain positioned himself behind his desk. Hand and Carey remained standing.
There was a long silence and then they could hear Lizzie coming down the stairs. She walked into the study. She was wearing a smart red wool dress, and her hair was arranged in a soft style and her face was made up. The captain glowered at her. 'What are you all dolled up like a tart for?'
She ignored him and turned to the detectives. 'You wished to see me?'
Hand turned to the captain. 'If we could see your wife alone ... T'
'Balderdash. There's nothing you can say to Lizzie you can't say to me.'
'Let him stay,' said Lizzie. All her terror of her husband had left her. She did not know if that will had been found, if there had even been such a will, but she had made up her mind that very morning to leave her husband.
'Very well,' said Hand. 'Please sit down.' Lizzie sat neatly on the edge of a leather armchair by the fire and the detectives sat down on an old horsehair sofa.
'The Stubbs has been recovered,' he began. He went on to describe how it had been found in Agatha's kitchen and of the contents of the will. 'The new will,' he said, 'was witnessed by Paul Redfern, gamekeeper, and Mrs. Elizabeth Jackson, cleaner, and I will be asking them why they told me nothing of this. As I said, it is pretty much the same as the old one except the Stubbs had been left to you, Mrs. Findlay.'
'I must say that was jolly good of Tolly,' said the captain.
Lizzie looked straight at him. 'The Stubbs was left to me, not you. How soon can I get it, Inspector?'
'It will take some time. We need to get further ahead with this case and make sure no one is profiting from the murder. Where were you on the night Mr. Trumpington-James was killed, Mrs. Findlay?'
'I was here. I have no witnesses other than my husband and I do not know whether he was at home or not, for we have separate bedrooms.'
'We will be speaking to your husband in a little while. Why would Mr. Trumpington-James leave you such an expensive painting?'
'That's easy,' said the captain from behind his deak. 'Tolly was mad about the hunt. Probably meant it for both of us.'
'We were having an affair,' said Lizzie, her carefully enunciated words dropping like stones into the gloomy study.
'Have you gone raving mad?' spluttered the captain.
'As I said,' went on Lizzie with that deadly calm, 'we were having an affair. He was going to get a divorce and
