But Charles sat on the floor nursing his foot. Agatha gave an exclamation of disgust and began to search in one of the packing cases. “This one’s full of car radios,” she said. She fried the next one. “Leather jackets. No use. There must be something here we could use. Why couldn’t he steal hardware?”
Charles fished in his pocket and held up a Swiss army knife. “Look what I’ve got!”
“Oh, Charles, try and fiddle with the lock.”
“Should be able to do it. It’s only a Yale.”
Charles extracted a thin blade from the knife and inserted it between the lock and the door jamb. The blade snapped in two. “This can’t be genuine,” he said.
“Where did you buy it?”
“At a market in Morocco. I’ll try another blade.”
He inserted a stronger blade and tried again. Agatha waited in a fever of impatience. She was just beginning to say, “Here, let me try,” when there was a snap and the door swung open.
“Right,” she said, seizing her handbag. “Let’s get out of here.”
“He’s coming back,” cried Charles. “Back in the room. He’s probably got that gun with him.”
They darted back into the room and shut the door.
They heard Peter come in. Then they heard splashing sounds and the air was filled with the smell of petrol.
“He’s going to burn us to death,” whispered Agatha. She took out her phone and called the police. “Number fifty-two B Carriage Way, Lewisham,” she said urgently. “Armed man with shotgun about to burn the place down. For God’s sake, hurry!”
The sinister splashing sounds continued outside.
“Give me one of those car radios,” whispered Charles.
“What for?”
“Just get it. We’ll be burned to a crisp if we don’t do anything.”
Agatha handed him a radio.
The door had not locked again. Charles eased it open. Peter was holding a can of petrol. His back was to Charles.
Charles raised the radio and brought it down with all his force on the back of Peter’s head. Peter slumped unconscious to the floor.
“Come on, Aggie,” shouted Charles. “Let’s get out of here.”
They ran out and up the stairs and leaned against the railings, panting.
“Where the hell are the police?” raged Charles.
“At least we’re safe.” Agatha opened her handbag and lit a cigarette.
“I wish you wouldn’t do that. I hate smoking.”
“You smoke yourself—that is, when you can pinch someone else’s cigarettes.”
“I don’t any more. Haven’t you heard about the dangers of passive smoking?”
“Bollocks. We’re in the polluted open air of London.”
“You’ll get wrinkles.” Charles seized the cigarette from Agatha’s fingers and threw it down the area steps.
“Don’t ever do that again,” Agatha raged. Then there was a
“There’s a man in there,” shouted Charles.
“Stand back,” ordered a police inspector.
Agatha and Charles clutched each other as firemen shot water down into the basement.
“Now, who are you?” demanded the police inspector, “and who’s in there?”
More police had raced up the stairs to evacuate the flat above.
“In a moment,” said Agatha, watching anxiously as firemen with breathing apparatus began to descend the area steps.
She sighed with relief when a fireman slowly emerged with Peter slung over his shoulder.
Ambulance men rushed forward. Peter was put on a stretcher and an oxygen mask was placed over his face.
“Now,” said the police inspector.
Charles and Agatha eyed each other anxiously. Charles did not want to admit they had started the fire.
They gave their names and then began the long explanation of why they were there. “I hit him with a car radio and knocked him out,” said Charles. “That’s how we made our escape. You see, it was when I called him Mr. Silen that he panicked.”
“Why?”
“Because we believe he’s Pete Silen, not Peter Brody. He was Charles Black’s partner in the jewel theft—that is the Charles Black who has just been charged with murder.”
“So how did the fire start?” asked the inspector. “I mean, it obviously started after you had knocked him out.”
Charles looked at Agatha. “It was that man,” said Agatha. “He was walking past smoking and he threw his cigarette down the area steps. Silen must have splashed some petrol outside as well as inside.”
“You’d best come down to the police station and make a full statement.”
* * *
Mrs. Bloxby answered the door and found James Lacey on the steps.
“Mr. Lacey. How nice. Do come in. How was your holiday?”
He followed her into the vicarage drawing room and sat down on the sofa with a sigh. “Not very good, actually.”
Mrs. Bloxby had no intention of telling him that she knew he had deserted Agatha.
“What happened?”
“We could have left Snoth-on-Sea…”
“Where?”
“Oh, it’s a place I used to go to with my parents as a boy. I thought Agatha would love it, but it had all changed for the worse. Then there was this murder. When the police told us we were free to leave, Agatha refused to budge, so I went to the south of France to stay with friends who have a B and B there. I sent her a postcard, giving her the address and asking her to join me, but she didn’t. I can’t understand it.”
“Let me see,” said Mrs. Bloxby gently. “You left her in the middle of a murder enquiry and then expected her to make her own way to the south of France?”
“Put like that, it sounds bad. But she agreed to go on holiday with me. Maybe I should go back and give her a hand. She has a talent for running into danger.”
“I believe Sir Charles is still with her.”
I’m enjoying this, thought Mrs. Bloxby. Oh dear.
James’s face darkened. “That’s all right then. I had better go home and get on with my work.”
As he walked from the vicarage, he felt the pangs of emotional indigestion. James was not used to feeling guilty, particularly about anything to do with Agatha. He tried to tell himself that it was all her own fault, but finally came to the miserable conclusion thathe had behaved like a selfish bastard Agatha had spoilt him by being always adoring and always available. He had an uneasy feeling that he had lost her respect and affection for good.
It was evening by the time Charles and Agatha were released by the police. They were both tired and felt bludgeoned by all the questioning.
As they drove off, Agatha said, “They made me feel like a criminal. Why hadn’t we shared our suspicions with the police? What would they have done? We were only looking for someone called Peter. I mean, who would have thought that it would be Pete Silen?”
“Don’t play the innocent, Aggie. We hoped it might turn outto be Silen.”
“But we didn’t really expect to find him!”
“I’m hungry. All we’ve had is a sandwich. Let’s stop somewhere and eat.”
Agatha was too tired to want to waste time sitting in some restaurant, so they bought takeaway burgers, fries and Cokes and had them in the car.
“Nothing like junk food when you’re feeling miserable. Now, back to the hotel. I could sleep for hours.”
