favour and I stick by my friends. He wants the rest of that jewellery for his missus.”
“A sideline? Marbella?” Agatha eyes widened. “You’re into something bigger. Drugs?”
He stared at her, his face hard and set. “The jewellery,” he said. “To refresh your memory, I’m going to start by shooting your kneecap.”
“Jankers has it,” said Agatha desperately. “It’s under the mattress in his home. He may not even have known it was there. Geraldine probably stashed it there.”
He lowered the revolver slightly. “That’s better. What was there?”
“I c-can’t quite remember,” stammered Agatha. “Two watches, gold chains, a sapphire-and-diamond necklace and I think there was a brooch.”
The revolver raised again. “Not enough. Where’s the rest?”
He levelled the gun at her kneecap. Agatha closed her eyes.
And then a stentorian voice outside yelled, “The building is surrounded. Come out with your hands up!”
Terry switched out the light. She could hear him moving off to the back of the building. Agatha got to her feet. Blue light was now flooding in the window. She crept towards the door, opened it and dashed out into the rain. A policeman seized her and hustled her off to a police car.
Armed policemen then rushed into the building. Agatha heard a tap on the window of the police car and looked out. Patrick Mulligan stood there. She lowered the window.
“I thought I’d better follow you,” said Patrick. “I didn’t like the idea of you being picked up by a complete stranger.”
“Thanks, Patrick. You’ve saved my life.”
“I’d like to get in out of this rain. I’m soaked.” Agatha moved over and Patrick climbed in beside her. “Did you call them when you saw him with that gun?” asked Agatha. “They got here quickly.”
“I decided to call them when I saw him heading out into open country. To be on the safe side, I said you had been kidnapped and that he was armed. Good thing for me it turned out to be true.”
Agatha shivered. “What’s going on out there? Have they got him?”
“I don’t know, but I’m so wet I’d rather wait in here and find out.”
The car door opened. “I am Detective Chief Superintendent Willerby of the Sussex CID. It’s time we had a talk, Mrs. Raisin.”
“Have you got him?”
“Not yet. There seems to have been some escape route through the cellar. My men are out on the downs and we’ve sent for the dogs. We’ll get him soon. I’d like you to come over to my car. You too, Mr. Mulligan.”
They went out into the rain and followed him to his car. He got in the front beside his driver. Agatha and Patrick slid into the back. Agatha was grateful that the car engine was on and the heater was running.
“Tell me from the beginning,” ordered Willerby.
So Agatha did, feeling sillier by the minute that she had allowed a complete stranger to pick her up in the middle of an investigation.
When she had finished, he made a phone call. Agatha started to speak again, but he held up his hand for silence. Whoever he had phoned answered, because he said, “I thought that might be the case,” and rang off.
He turned back to Agatha. “We don’t have the name, Terry Armstrong, on our records, so we’ll take you to headquarters at Lewes and you can look at mug shots and then give the police artist a description. Now, you, Mr. Mulligan. What prompted you to follow her?”
“Just seemed strange, this chap turning up out of nowhere. I didn’t like it, so I thought I’d follow and see where they went.”
“But you must have phoned before they got to that derelict cottage because you then phoned back later and gave us the location. Fortunately, we were already on our way.”
“I couldn’t get close for a while in case he caught on to the fact that someone was following him, so I took a chance and switched off my lights. At one point he stopped,” lied Patrick, “and I saw he was holding a gun to her head.”
“Wait here,” said Willerby, and he got out of the car.
And so they did—waited and waited while gusts of wind rocked the car and rain slashed against the windows.
Agatha fell into an uneasy sleep and soon Patrick fell asleep as well.
When Agatha awoke, the wind had died down and the rain had stopped. Patrick had woken up as well.
“I need to pee,” said Agatha. She leaned forward to the driver. “Can I go back into that cottage and see if there’s a loo?”
“No, the forensics are working there now. You’ll need to find a bush.”
Agatha got out of the car and looked around in the darkness. She saw a clump of bushes and went behind it, crouched down and lowered the flimsy knickers that she had put on in the hope of a hot date.
She relieved herself and was reaching for her knickers when she saw two green eyes staring at her. She let out a scream of terror and tried to dart from the bushes, but her knickers were caught round her ankles and she fell headlong. Two policemen appeared with torches. “Was that him?” one cried.
“Two eyes were staring at me,” gasped Agatha.
At that moment, a fox slid past them in the light of the torches and disappeared. “There are your green eyes,” said one policeman.
He helped Agatha to her feet. She bent down and pulled her knickers up. She felt like crying with shame. She, who liked to appear the tough woman detective, had gone out on a date with a man she did not know and nearly got herself killed and now she had been terrified out of her wits by a fox.
As the policemen moved off, she distinctly heard one mutter to the other, “Silly cow.”
Agatha got in beside Patrick again. “Don’t ask,” she said.
She fell asleep again and did not awaken until a pale dawn was streaking the sky.
Willerby came back at last, looking cross and exhausted. “How he got away is beyond me. Yes, there was an underground route out from the cellar, but we’ve had dogs and men out covering the downs and there’s not a trace of him. We’ll get back to headquarters and get your statement.”
Next morning, Charles Fraith switched on the television set he kept at the end of the dining table before settling down to his breakfast. His guests, Guy and Cynthia Partington, were still asleep.
More trouble in Iraq, more suicide bombs, and then the announcer said, “We have a newsflash. Woman detective Agatha Raisin, who is at Snoth-on-Sea investigating the murder of Geraldine Jankers, who was found strangled on the beach, was kidnapped last night by an armed gunman. She was rescued by police. According to police reports, the gunman was using the name Terry Armstrong. More later.”
Charles sat transfixed, his knife and fork hovering over his plate. Agatha would never forgive him for leaving her in the lurch. He felt he ought to get back to Snoth-on-Sea immediately, but he had a week’s entertainment for his guests lined up.
Unaware of Agatha’s drama, James Lacey finally switched off his computer that morning and walked along to the general stores. Deborah Fanshawe seemed to appear from nowhere and fell into step beside him.
“Lovely morning,” she said cheerfully.
“Where did you spring from?” asked James, because Lilac Lane, where he and Agatha had their cottages, was a dead end.
“Oh, walking in the fields,” she said vaguely. “We haven’t really had a chance to get properly acquainted.” The sun glinted on her masses of brown hair. Her long legs under a short skirt were much in evidence. “Why don’t you drop round my place, say, at eight this evening, and I’ll cook dinner?”
James hesitated. Then he smiled. He felt he needed something to take his mind off abandoning Agatha. “That would be nice.”
“See you, then.” She waggled her fingers at him and strode off.
James walked on to the village shop. He was just picking up a basket when Miss Simms rushed up to him. “Isn’t it terrible about our Agatha?” she gasped.
He stared down at her. “What? What’s happened?”
“It was on the morning news. She was captured by an armed gunman and the police had to rescue her!”
