“Time to eat,” said Fred. “Care to join me?”
But Mrs. Bloxby felt she had done enough for Agatha. “I really must go upstairs and pack,” she said, rising to her feet.
He rose as well. A magazine which had been half hidden by his bottom fell to the floor. He whipped it up and put it behind his back, but not before Mrs. Bloxby had seen the lurid cover and the title,
Mrs. Bloxby felt suddenly tired as she walked along the long corridor to her room. How eerie this old hotel was, she thought, with all those empty rooms.
A maid was just coming out of Agatha’s room, which was next to her own. The woman ducked her head by way of greeting and hurried off along the corridor. Mrs. Bloxby’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. The maid had not been carrying any cleaning materials.
She unlocked the door of her own room and went in. She phoned the manager. “I have just seen a maid coming out of Mrs. Raisin’s room. She was wearing a blue overall. She was thin and sallow with black hair. Do you have a maid like that on your staff?”
“Doesn’t fit the description of anyone I’ve got,” said Mr. Beeston.
Mrs. Bloxby thanked him and then phoned the local police station and asked to be put through to Detective Inspector Barret. When he came on the line, she told him about the suspicious maid.
He said he would be right along.
When he arrived, Mr. Beeston supplied the pass key, and Barret, followed by Mrs. Bloxby, went into Agatha’s room. Nothing appeared to have been disturbed. “I’ll get someone along to check for fingerprints,” said Barret. “Mrs. Raisin is at headquarters in Lewes. I’ll phone there and tell her when she’s returned not to go up to her room until we’re finished.”
“That’s new,” said Mrs. Bloxby, noticing a tray containing a flask, a jug of milk, sugar bowl and plate of biscuits on the table by the window.
“We’ll check that as well,” said Barret.
James Lacey went out for a long walk that day. He missed not working with Agatha. He felt he would really need to sit down with her and have a long talk. He had finally accepted that he would need to apologize.
He returned to the hotel in the early evening, hurrying to beat the high tide which was already sending waves smashing into the sea wall.
Agatha was sitting in the reception area, looking tired and wan. Patrick was with her.
“How are things going?” asked James.
Agatha told him briefly about the suspect maid and ended by saying, “They’re still working on my room.”
“Might I have a word with you in private, Agatha?”
Patrick started to get to his feet. “It’s all right,” said James. “I’ll take Agatha into the bar.”
Cyril Hammond and his wife Dawn were in the bar. Not for the first time Agatha wondered why they did not go home. They waved to Agatha to join them, but she called, “Later.”
She and James settled in a corner of the bar away from the Hammonds.
James ordered drinks and then leaned forward. He took Agatha’s hands in his and her treacherous heart began to thump.
“Agatha… dearest,” he began.
And then a voice called, “Coo-ee, James. It’s me!”
Deborah Fanshawe sank down in a vacant chair next to James. “I thought I would give you a nice surprise,” she said. “What a dismal hole this place is! But it was the least I could do, considering you missed my splendid dinner.”
Agatha rose to her feet.
“Where are you going?” asked James.
“I’m buggering off to where I’m wanted,” said Agatha savagely.
Mrs. Bloxby had joined Patrick when Agatha stormed back into the reception area. She looked at Agatha’s hurt and angry face and said sympathetically, “I believe Mrs. Fanshawe has arrived.”
“Let’s talk about something else,” said Agatha, jerking a chair forward and sitting down.
“Mrs. Bloxby has found out something interesting,” said Patrick. “Fred Jankers was reading a porno magazine.”
“Him and every other blasted man in this country, I should think,” said Agatha.
“Please listen,” urged Mrs. Bloxby.
“When I was in the force,” said Patrick, “we once employed a profiler to see if we could find out the identity of a rapist in the Mircester area. He said that rapists often have an abused childhood and start with torturing animals and then a bit of arson and often then proceed to sex crimes. Now we know our Fred set fire to his school. It would be interesting to find out if there are any unsolved cases of rape in the Lewisham area.”
“That would take forever,” grumbled Agatha, “and we don’t have the resources of the police. Let’s eat.”
They went into the dining room. “I must leave first thing in the morning,” said Mrs. Bloxby.
James and Deborah entered the dining room and sat at another table. Agatha scowled horribly.
After a while Mrs. Bloxby said gently, “Deborah is laughing and flirting, but Mr. Lacey looks miserable.”
“Don’t care,” said Agatha sulkily, poking at her food with her fork.
Barret walked in and joined them. “You can go back to your room now. We’re finished there.”
“Any results?”
“Yes. We got a quick result on fingerprints. The woman who went into your room is Candice Skirisky, a Bulgarian. She’s a mule.”
The lyrics of “Would You Like to Swing on a Star” danced through Agatha’s brain.
“A mule?”
“One of those women who are drug carriers. She was arrested a few years ago. The police had a tip-off and she was arrested at Heathrow. She had swallowed packages of cocaine. She said she was to be paid two thousand pounds, but when she went to a hotel room in Sofia to meet this man, he told her she would be paid according to how many cocaine packages she could swallow. She was told that when she arrived in London she would be met by another man who would give her a laxative, retrieve the drugs and pay her. But she would not give any names. She said the man had told her that if she gave up any names, she would be killed, We think maybe Brian McNally got hold of her.”
“What was in that flask?” asked Agatha.
“We’re still analysing the contents. We are putting two policemen on guard at this hotel.”
“Maybe Mrs. Raisin should go home,” suggested Patrick.
“We need her here,” said Barret, “and she would be safer here with the police guarding the place.”
“If this Brian McNally is a powerful drug baron and can command people like this woman to try to murder me—that’s if there turns out to be something sinister in that flask of coffee,” said Agatha, “then surely he could command someone to murder Geraldine Jankers if he thought she had double-crossed a member of his gang.”
“We’re looking at that angle.”
“The thing that puzzles me,” said Patrick, “is why was the haul of jewels from a Lewisham jeweller so valuable? I mean, it’s hardly Cartier or Tiffany’s.”
“Benson and Judge, the jeweller’s, is an old-established firm. Their main showroom is in Mayfair. They had moved a quantity of their best items down to Lewisham for an exhibition for a children’s charity. All the local worthies were to be invited. The robbery took place a day before the party.”
“Why wasn’t the stuff fenced right away?” asked Agatha.
“I think Charlie Black had managed to stash the stuff before he was arrested. I think he planned to fence it when he got out and then found it had disappeared.”
Barret got to his feet. “I’ll be off. I’ll call on you tomorrow.”
He looked across the drawing room. “Isn’t that Mr. Lacey who was here with you during the murder?”
“Yes,” said Agatha curtly.
“Who’s that woman with him?”
“The village tart,” said Agatha savagely.
“I see.” Barret looked down at Agatha with a glint of humour in his eyes.
When he had left, Mrs. Bloxby said gently, “Would you like me to stay in your room tonight, Mrs.
