Robin swept back her golden hair with one beringed hand. “Ah, yes. I played Katisha.”
“The Daughter-in-Law Elect,” said Agatha, who knew her Gilbert and Sullivan.
“Exactly.”
“‘There’s a fascination frantic
In a ruin that’s romantic;
Do you think you are sufficiently decayed?’” quoted Agatha.
Robin gave a deprecating laugh. “Actually, I brought glamour to the role. I always think it’s a mistake to portray Katisha as ugly. But to your little problem. Harry was only a member of the chorus. I don’t see how he could have found time to absent himself.”
“Would you notice?”
“There’s a thing. Such an insignificant little man. No, I wouldn’t. But the show ran from eight o’clock to nine- thirty. Then we all went to our dressing-rooms to take off make-up and get ready for the party. The party was on stage at the theatre. It went on until a little after midnight. Harry could easily have slipped out.”
“The police seem pretty sure he didn’t, or rather, that’s the impression I got.”
“You poor thing. It must be awful for you, just dithering about the way you do without the resources of the police.”
“Yes, it can be infuriating trying to get information out of people like you.”
“Now, now,” chided Robin. “Claws in. Little birds in their nests agree.”
Agatha picked up her handbag. “Thanks for the drink. Better get going.”
“Please sit down. I could be of help to you.”
“How?” said Agatha, heading for the door.
“I can ask discreetly around. Harry was in the chorus and the chorus lot stick together. They all share the one dressing-room, the men, that is. One of them might have noticed if he’d gone AWOL.”
Agatha fished in her handbag and took out a card.
“Phone me if you discover anything,” she said.
“And if you do,” muttered Agatha as she got in her car, “it’ll be a bloody miracle.”
She treated herself to lunch in Mircester and then went round the shops before driving home.
Her heart sank as she turned into Lilac Lane and recognized Bill Wong’s car. She parked and got out, only slightly relieved to see that Bill was on his own.
“We need to talk,” he said. “And get your friend along here.”
Agatha did not want to say Paul wasn’t speaking to her. “Come inside,” she said. “I’ll phone him.”
She led the way into the kitchen. “Switch on the percolator, Bill. I’ll only be a moment.”
“Can’t you use the extension in the kitchen?”
“Oh, yes,” said Agatha, flustered. “Of course.” She picked up the receiver and then put it down again. “I know why I was going to phone from the other room. My address book’s in there. I’ve forgotten his phone number.”
“I’ve got it,” said Bill. He gave it to her and with a heavy heart Agatha picked up the phone. She hoped Paul would be out. What if he cracked and confessed to their breaking into Ivy Cottage? She was sure Bill now knew all about the anonymous note and suspected them.
But Paul answered on the first ring. “It’s Agatha,” she said brightly. “Bill Wong is here and wants to talk to both of us.”
“What about?” demanded Paul sharply.
“Don’t know. Hurry up.”
“But-”
Agatha replaced the receiver with a bang.
“I thought it was only people in movies who hung up without saying goodbye,” commented Bill.
“Didn’t I say goodbye?” said Agatha and followed it with a stage laugh worthy of Robin Barley. “So what’s this all about?”
The doorbell rang. Agatha stood with her eyes fixed on Bill.
“That’ll be Paul,” said Bill.
Agatha went to the door to let Paul in. To her dismay, Bill followed her. She had been hoping for a few hurried words of caution in private.
They all sat round the kitchen table, Agatha and Paul at one end and Bill facing them from the other. They had automatically taken up the same positions as they would have done during a police interrogation.
“There’s something very puzzling has just emerged,” began Bill.
“Wouldn’t anyone like coffee?” asked Agatha brightly.
“Later,” said Bill. Paul had his hands clasped and was studying the surface of the kitchen table.
“The thing is,” Bill went on, “that the police received an anonymous note. It had been pushed through the door of Moreton police station. It said there was a secret passage leading from a chest in Ivy Cottage.”
“Goodness! So there is a secret passage!” exclaimed Agatha.
“Just like you suggested,” said Bill.
“Well, that must have been the way the murderer got in,” said Agatha. “Ready for that coffee?”
“You don’t seem curious as to why I am here,” remarked Bill.
“Obviously because it was our idea about the secret passage,” said Agatha, wishing Paul would raise his head and say something, anything-except the truth.
“I must ask you pair if you had anything to do with this.”
“What are you talking about, Bill? Are you accusing us of having built a secret passage?”
“I think you know very well why I’m here. Harry Witherspoon has already been interviewed. He claims that as children they were never allowed down in the cellar. He says that you pair had asked his permission to search the house, but that he had refused. You didn’t break in, by any chance?”
“No,” said Agatha firmly. “Was the house broken into?”
“Whoever did it had a key. No sign of a break-in.”
“Well, there you are,” said Agatha. “It must have been Carol or Harry.”
“Furthermore,” pursued Bill, “a woman in the flats next to Budgens supermarket heard screaming during the night. She looked out of her window and saw a woman struggling with a man. The woman kicked the man, who appeared to be drunk, and ran off. Our witness, when asked to describe the woman, said something most odd. She said that the woman struggling with the man was wearing what looked like an old-fashioned tea-gown. She says she has a photograph of her grandmother wearing one just like it. She could not tell us the colour of the woman’s hair because those sodium lights change the colour of everything. Still, it sounds as if perhaps someone like you, Agatha, had got hold of some sort of theatrical costume as a disguise and gone to post that note.”
“Bill, really! If we’d found a secret passage, we would have told you.”
“Not if you had found it by entering the house without permission.”
Paul raised his head and spoke for the first time. “Is this an official inquiry?”
“No, it’s a friendly call. If by any chance you did find that passage and destroyed any evidence, then you would be in deep trouble.”
Paul said quietly, “Then it’s just as well we didn’t. No coffee for me, Agatha.” He suddenly smiled at her. “Tea, please.”
Agatha felt herself go limp with relief. She rose to her feet and went to make tea and coffee.
“So tell us about the passage,” said Paul. “Is it long? Is it very old? Where does it come out?”
“I’m not officially on this investigation,” said Bill. “But I heard that it does lead from the bottom of a big old chest in the cellar, down some steps which had been repaired, and then along under the house and the garden and comes up through a trapdoor into the middle of shrubbery. The witness who saw the struggle near the police station phoned the police immediately. The local man turned out and found the note. A team of forensic experts have been working for hours. The passage and everything in the cellar had been dusted clean. A vacuum had been used. They have searched Carol’s and Harry’s homes and taken away their vacuums.”
Paul thought of the car vacuum he had used and which was now in a cupboard in his cottage. He hadn’t even emptied it. Agatha thought of the tea-gown and wig upstairs.
Agatha placed a mug of coffee in front of Bill, glad to see her hand was steady. She then handed Paul a cup of tea.
“I suppose that dreadful Runcorn will be the next to call.”
