Agatha Raisin and the Fairies of Fryham

run towards the car. Cold rain stung their faces, and as Charles had run straight across the ploughed field this time, Agatha’s shoes were thick with wet mud by the time they got to the car.
    ‘Which way did she go?’ asked Agatha, climbing into the car and fastening her seat-belt.
    ‘Don’t know, but let’s guess the Norwich road.’
    Charles drove off at great speed, and Agatha hung on as he screeched round the bends on the twisting road.
    ‘Got her!’ exclaimed Charles in triumph.
    ‘Where?’
    ‘Up ahead.’
    ‘I can’t see.’
    ‘Three cars in front. I’ll keep some cars between us in case she spots us.’
    They drove on steadily. ‘Yes, she must be going to Norwich. Let’s hope we don’t lose her in the city. At least it’s not foggy.’
    Agatha was feeling depressed. Her feet were wet and muddy. Lizzie would probably go shopping and head straight home.
    Lizzie drove straight into the centre of town, to the same car park where Charles had stopped the night before. They found a space two rows behind where she was parking, and then got out. Lizzie was hurrying out of the car park carrying the suitcase. They followed her along several streets until she stopped outside a betting shop, took out a key, unlocked a door next to the betting shop, which they guessed led to the flats above, and disappeared from view.
    ‘“Curiouser and curiouser,”’ quoted Charles. ‘Look, there’s a café opposite with a free table at the window. We can sit there and keep watch.’
    The café owner cast a reproving look at Agatha’s muddy shoes as they walked in. They ordered coffee and sat down at the table by the window. Time dragged on. They ordered more coffee.
    Then they saw the door opposite open. ‘You were right!’ said Charles excitedly. For the Lizzie who emerged was transformed. She was wearing a smart white raincoat and silk scarf. She was wearing sheer stockings and high heels. Her face was cleverly made up. She was by no means a beauty, but she looked a chic middle-aged woman instead of a downtrodden housekeeper. They paid for the coffee and followed her. She walked about, looking at the shops. She went into a department store. They followed. Lizzie bought some cosmetics. Then she went through to the lingerie department and bought a lacy bra and French knickers.
    Carrying her purchases, and with Charles and Agatha in discreet pursuit, Lizzie returned to the door beside the betting shop and let herself in.
    Once more Agatha and Charles took up watch in the café. The table at the window was occupied and so they took turns to stand up, craning their necks.
    It was an hour before Lizzie emerged again as her old self, carrying the suitcase.
    ‘Quick, we’ll follow her,’ said Agatha, getting to her feet.
    ‘No, sit down!’
    Agatha reluctantly did as she was bid. ‘Why?’
    ‘Because I think she’s going home. I want to find out who rents that flat, if it’s rented, and under what name.’
    They finished their coffee. Agatha was beginning to wish they had ordered some food, but at least, with all the waiting around, her feet were dry.
    ‘We don’t want the neighbours, if there are any neighbours, to report our visit,’ said Charles.
    ‘I’ve done this sort of thing before,’ said Agatha eagerly. ‘I’ll get a clipboard from a stationer’s and some lined paper and say I am doing market research. Can you see from here? Are there any bells on the door?’
    ‘Four, and an intercom.’
    ‘You wait here. Let’s just hope there’s someone at home.’
    She bought a clipboard at a nearby stationer’s and then made her way back to the flats. Who should she be? Just vaguely market research. That would do.
    There were no names on the bells, just flat numbers. Only the fourth replied, an old woman’s voice demanding shrilly, ‘Who is it? What d’ye want? If it’s you kids again, I’ll call the police.’
    ‘Market research,’ said Agatha into the intercom.
    ‘Haven’t got the time to answer a lot of damn-fool questions,’ came the reply.
    ‘I’ll pay for your time,’ said Agatha.
    ‘How much?’ Sharp and eager.
    ‘Twenty pounds.’
    The buzzer went and Agatha pushed open the door and climbed up to flat 2. An elderly woman stood at the door, leaning on two sticks. ‘What’s it about?’ she asked.
    She had an untidy, uncombed thatch of hair and two sharp beady eyes in a wrinkled face.
    ‘Coffee,’ said Agatha.
    ‘Coffee? I don’t drink coffee.’
    I won’t get far with