eleven o’clock at night.”
“But surely the cast said he was at the party after the show?” exclaimed Agatha.
“Well, you can’t imagine someone like Harry being the life and soul of the party. He could easily slip away and come back without anyone noticing.”
“I suppose the landlord’s been arrested,” said Charles.
“They’re looking for him. He’s disappeared.”
“I suppose you got all this out of Haley,” said Agatha.
“Yes, she was very excited about it all.”
Agatha hesitated and then said, “Let’s all go inside.”
Paul looked at Charles and shrugged. “I’ll leave you to it. I’ve got work to do.”
“I thought you were taking a break.” Agatha looked at him pleadingly.
“Can’t afford to always be on holiday. See you around.”
He walked away.
“He would have stayed if you hadn’t been here,” said Agatha sulkily.
“He’s married, Aggie. No hope there.”
“How do you know that?” howled Agatha. “His wife’s in Spain. His marriage is on the rocks.”
Mrs. Davenport, idling on the other side of the lane with her dog, listened avidly.
Agatha suddenly saw her and dragged Charles inside. “That awful woman,” she said. “She always seems to be snooping around.”
“Same could be said for you, Aggie. Like a drink?”
“No. I think I’d like to go and see Bill. I don’t believe it’s Harry.”
“If it’s not Harry, why didn’t he tell the police he was there?”
“He may have found her dead.”
“He didn’t have a key. Maybe he just knocked at the door and getting no answer, went back to the party. When he heard she’d been found murdered, he panicked.”
“Maybe, maybe, maybe. I’m going to phone Mircester and see if Bill’s there.”
“Suit yourself. I’m having a drink.”
Agatha phoned and then joined Charles in the sitting-room. He sat cradling a large whisky and with the cats on his lap.
“Bill’s gone home,” said Agatha. “I’m going over to see him. Coming?”
“If I must. Wait till I finish this drink.”
“No!”
“Okay, I’ll take it with me. You drive.”
Fortunately for both of them, it was Bill himself who answered the door and not one of his formidable parents. “Come in,” he said. “My parents are out. It’s their bingo night.”
“We hear Harry’s been arrested and that landlord was blackmailing him and now he’s gone missing and I don’t think it’s Harry and there’s been some terrible mistake…”
“Whoa, Agatha! Hold your horses. Who told you? Nothing’s been issued to the press.”
Agatha suddenly did not want to tell him about Haley, in case he was hurt, in case Paul got into trouble. “We have our sources,” she said.
“Sit down,” said Bill, his face impassive. “That friend of yours, Paul Chatterton, took Haley for lunch.”
“Oh, Bill, does it really matter how we know? What do you think about it?”
“It’s all circumstantial evidence. There’s no forensic evidence and the one witness who says Harry was there has disappeared. But Harry does inherit a lot of money and he lied to the police. Mrs. Barley was asking around about where he was during the evening and suddenly she’s murdered. Runcorn is determined it is Harry and he’s holding a press conference tomorrow. Mrs. Barley had been phoning various members of the cast. We’ve checked her phone calls. She must have made about twenty calls. And look at it this way. If it’s not Harry, then who else could it possibly be?”
“Sister Carol?”
“I don’t see the sister having the strength or the expertise to deliver a blow like the one that killed Mrs. Witherspoon. Furthermore Harry says he did not take part in the production of Macbeth because of his hay fever. And yet there were no hay fever treatments at his house.”
“If it was just the death of his mother, I might, I just might think it was Harry,” said Agatha. “But all that business with cyanide! It just doesn’t make sense.”
“If we ever find Barry Briar, then we might have a clearer idea.”
“I suppose the police are looking for him everywhere?”
“Of course.”
“I can’t believe in the fact that if Harry is innocent, he has nothing to fear,” said Agatha. “Not with a twit like Runcorn running things.”
“Runcorn put your back up, Agatha. He may have an abrasive manner, but he’s a conscientious policeman.”
Agatha muttered something that sounded like pah.
“I haven’t offered you anything to drink,” said Bill. “Would you like some sherry?”
“No, thanks,” said Charles and Agatha together, knowing by experience that the brand of sweet sherry, the only drink the Wongs kept for visitors, was vile.
“The only advice I can give you,” said Bill, “is the advice I gave you before. Keep out of it. If it’s not Harry, then for the moment the murderer will believe himself safe. If you keep poking around, you could be in danger. Where’s Paul, or has Charles’s presence driven him away?”
“Not at all. He thinks it’s all over and has gone back to work.”
“How is your wife, Charles?”
“Ex.”
“Ah. There’s nothing more I can help you with.”
Agatha and Charles went to dinner in Mircester. To Agatha’s amazement, Charles paid. As Agatha drove them home, she said, “Planning on staying with me for a bit?”
“Why not? Paul’s a non-starter, Aggie. You have a genius for chasing after men who are going to hurt you.”
“I wasn’t thinking about Paul,” lied Agatha, who had been thinking about him on and off all evening.
“Anyway, let’s get a good night’s sleep and maybe go over to Hebberdon in the morning and ferret around.”
After she fell asleep, Agatha had a nightmare in which she was meticulously scrubbing and cleaning the secret passage. Thick cobwebs brushed her face and she clawed them away. She felt she should not go on because there was something terrible awaiting her at the end of the passage. She awoke with a start and lay there with her heart thudding. What a horrible dream. She stared up at the beamed ceiling wondering where the landlord, Barry Briar, had got to. Then she wondered why whoever had killed Mrs. Witherspoon, because she still could not believe the murderer to be Harry, had not just put her body down into the secret passage. It could have lain there, undiscovered, for ages. Marvellous place to hide a body.
She sat up straight. What if the murderer had killed Barry? If he had been blackmailing Harry, then why not someone else?
Would the police think of searching for a body? What better place to dump a body than down in the secret passage in a house that had already been gone over thoroughly by the police?
She got out of bed and went through to the spare bedroom and shook Charles awake. He switched on the bedside light and surveyed the glory of Agatha Raisin in a diaphanous black nightie which she had recently bought without admitting to herself that she hoped Paul might see her in it.
“Why, Aggie,” said Charles with a grin. “Welcome! Come and join me.”
“Charles! Listen! I think the landlord’s body might be down in that secret passage.”
“So? Phone Bill in the morning and put it to him.”
