“Probably that woman PC who followed me to Joyce Peterson’s. The police are keeping an eye on me.”
They said good night to the policeman on duty outside Agatha’s cottage.
“How long will they keep up the protection?” asked Roy.
Agatha sighed. “Not very long. Ever since this government closed down all the village police stations, Mircester find themselves overstretched. Fred Griggs, our local bobby, is retired, but it was great when he was around. Crime has spread to the countryside in a big way. Do you know the farmers can’t even leave their combine harvesters out in the field at night? One farmer found they had pinched the whole thing, dismantled it and shipped it off. The newspapers have been full of these thefts recently. Probably ended up in Bulgaria, or somewhere. I’d better check the phone for messages. Oh, there’s one for you, Roy. You’re wanted back in London.”
“Rats. Sorry, Agatha. I’d better get the morning train. I don’t like leaving you like this.”
“It’s all right. Charles will be back tomorrow.”
Charles woke up in the morning with a temperature, a sore throat and limbs like lead.
“I’ve got a bad cold,” he said to Gustav. “Phone Mrs. Raisin at her office and tell her I can’t see her today.”
Gustav did not want to phone Agatha. He disapproved of her. He thought her a nasty, pushy sort of woman. Charles, he knew* found her attractive and he didn’t want to find one day that Agatha was the new mistress of Barfield House. On the other hand, if he didn’t phone, Charles would be furious with him.
So he compromised by leaving a curt message with the temp who answered the phone at the agency: “Sir Charles does not feel like seeing Mrs. Raisin.”
Agatha, on receiving the message, was furious. The temp thought she had been speaking to Sir Charles personally.
Then Bill Wong called to say they were withdrawing the police protection. No, he said, they weren’t much farther, but they were pursuing several leads.
After he had rung off, Agatha decided to visit Mrs. Laggat-Brown. Everything had started at the manor. Maybe if she asked some more questions, she might get an idea. Maybe Jason had talked to his future mother-in- law about his father’s friends.
A brisk gale was blowing the clouds across a large sky as Agatha motored to Herris Cum Magna.
Catherine Laggat-Brown answered the door. “Oh, it’s you,” she said, looking flustered. “I was just about to phone you. Come in.”
Once they were both seated, Catherine asked nervously, “Can I get you something? Tea? Coffee?”
“Nothing, thank you. What did you want to tell me?”
“I no longer need your services. I have decided to leave it all to the police. As Jeremy has pointed out, they have the resources which you do not have.”
“But he said nothing about it when we had dinner last night!” exclaimed Agatha.
Catherine’s eyes widened. “You had dinner with Jeremy last night! He told me he was meeting a business friend.”
“I suppose I could be regarded as a business friend,” said Agatha.
Catherine stood up. “Send me your bill. I do not want to see you again.”
“But don’t you want to know who shot at your daughter?” “As I said, the police can deal with it. Now go! And keep away from my husband.”
“He’s not your husband. You’re divorced.”
“We’re getting married again next month. Didn’t he tell you?”
Agatha drove off, feeling furious. What was that snake Laggat-Brown on about, to have dinner with her and not mention a word of her contract being cancelled? She decided to go up to London and see him. She stopped her car and took out a train timetable. There was a train due to leave Moreton in fifteen minutes. She sped off and just managed to board the train as it was pulling out.
At Paddington, Agatha took a taxi to Fetter Lane, got out and began to search up and down for Jeremy’s import/export business. She phoned Patrick and said, “Have you got the number in Fetter Lane of Laggat-Brown’s business?”
He gave it to her. Agatha walked along and saw, in a dark doorway that she had already passed, “Asterix Import/Export.” She climbed up a narrow, dusty staircase to the top floor, where there was a frosted glass door with “Asterix” painted on it in gold letters.
She knocked, but there was no reply.
She retreated to the landing below, where there was a sign on the door indicating it was the office of
She opened the door and went in. A receptionist with gelled hair and Gothic make-up stared at her indifferently.
“I want to ask about the import/export business upstairs,” said Agatha. “There’s no one there.”
“Hardly ever is,” said the girl laconically. “There was a secretary, but I ain’t seen her in ages.”
“What did she look like?”
“La-di-da. Yaw-yaw voice. Blonde hair. But they’re all blonde these days. So naff.” And she touched a finger to her own black hair complacently.
Agatha thanked her and retreated. She tried a solicitor’s office on the floor below. A secretary there said she thought no one worked at Asterix anymore. “There was a lot of coming and going a year ago,” she said. “Lot of visitors. But lately, there’s been nothing.”
Agatha then tried the sandwich shop on the ground floor, but the Greeks who ran it said they were too busy to notice anyone other than their customers.
She wanted to see Jeremy. She realized she wanted him to smile at her and tell her he had said nothing of the kind and it was all Catherine’s idea. Agatha had fallen a little in love with Jeremy. She went to a doorway across the street and waited and waited to see if he would arrive. At last, she glanced at her watch and realized that if she caught the five-o’clock commuter train, he might be on it.
She went to Paddington. But once she had boarded the train, one of the very long ones run by the Great Western Railway, she could see no sign of him.
Charles drifted in and out of sleep, and by evening decided he was feeling well enough to get up for a little.
Gustav tenderly helped him into his armchair in the study and poured him a brandy.
“I’ve prepared a light supper of roast quail for you,” said Gustav. “You should try to eat something. Are you sure you don’t want me to call a doctor?”
“No, it’s just a bad cold. Didn’t Agatha call?”
“There’s been no call from Mrs. Raisin.”
Selfish, thought Charles sulkily. She might have sent me flowers.
Agatha arrived home to find Bill Wong waiting outside for her. “Don’t be alarmed,” said Bill. “It’s a social call.”
“Come in,” urged Agatha, “We haven’t had a chance of a proper talk in ages.”
Bill followed her through to the kitchen. “You never use that dining room of yours.”
“If this case ever gets solved, I’ll give a dinner party. You can come and bring a girl.”
“I don’t have a girl at the moment. The work gets more and more, and if I set up a date I usually have to break it.”
“Coffee?”
“I suppose it’s safe now that Emma’s inside, but she won’t stand trial. She’s really flipped. They tried their best to get sense out of her. At one point she even tried to claim she’d hired Mulligan to bump you off, but then she relapsed into rambling incoherently. But of course, the powers that be want to believe her and get the case closed. Which leaves us with the shooting at the manor.”
“I went up to Jeremy Laggat-Brown’s office today,” said Agatha, plugging in the kettle. “Oh, Eve got some biscuits.” And seeing the look of apprehension on Bill’s face, she added, “No, not mine. Doris baked them.”
“PC Darren Boyd, the good-looking one who was on duty at your cottage during the day, was quite upset to be called off. He said he’d never been so pampered in all his life. You wouldn’t find anything at that office?”
“Why?”
“He’s closed down the business. Taken early retirement.” “Can he afford to do that?”
