Agatha Raisin and the Fairies of Fryham

were back in the pub. She wondered about Henry Freemantle. He had threatened her and seemed to have a filthy temper. She must find out more about him.
    Framp’s glass was nearly empty, so Charles offered to buy him another. ‘Don’t tell her anything until I get back with your drink,’ said Charles.
    ‘I’m not allowed to tell anyone anything,’ said Framp moodily.
    When Charles returned with the policeman’s pint of beer, Agatha said, ‘I cannot understand why Mrs Jackson and Redfern signed a will and didn’t tell you about the new will.’
    ‘I can tell you that,’ said Framp, mellowed by the sight of the large pint. ‘It’s simple. They said they didn’t read the will, and as far as they were concerned that was the only will.’
    ‘Oh.’ Agatha was disappointed.
    ‘Why do you think the Stubbs landed up in your house?’ asked Framp. ‘And how did they get in?’
    ‘Everyone seems to have keys to everywhere in this village,’ said Agatha.
    Charles looked guilty. ‘I forgot to tell you, Aggie. I didn’t lock up.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Fact. I meant to, but it slipped my mind. You’d gone up to bed first and I thought I’d watch a bit of television and then lock up, but I didn’t.’
    ‘Still, he’s got a point,’ said Agatha. ‘Why leave it with us?’
    ‘I shouldn’t be telling you this.’ Framp drained his pint and looked at the empty glass soulfully. ‘I’ll get you another,’ said Charles quickly. He returned with a brimming pint and asked eagerly, ‘What aren’t you supposed to tell us?’
    ‘It’s like this. Hand thinks it’s odd that Mrs Raisin here should have been writing a book called Death at the Manor in which a chap gets his throat cut with a razor, and bingo, we’ve got Mr Trumpington-James with his throat cut. So he’s beginning to think that no one put that Stubbs in your kitchen. You two stole it and got rattled and decided to concoct a story about someone having left it there.’
    ‘That’s ridiculous!’ Agatha was pink in the face with outrage.
    ‘He’s looking into your finances to see if you were badly in need of money.’
    ‘This gets better,’ said Charles, looking amused. ‘So after we steal the painting, Tolly guesses it’s us, and phones us up or something and we panic and nip up there and slit his throat with a cut-throat razor which we just happen to have with us.’
    Well, Hand says that county types like you, Sir Charles, often use an old-fashioned open razor.’
    ‘You know what I think,’ said Agatha. ‘I think someone panicked – not us – but knew the way Hand’s mind was working and decided to get rid of a painting they didn’t have the know-how to sell and make us look guilty.’
    ‘Far-fetched, that,’ said Framp.
    ‘Thinking we’re murderers is a damn sight more far-fetched,’ raged Agatha.
    ‘Calm down,’ admonished Charles. ‘It’s a hoot.’
    But Agatha was suddenly thinking of James. Was he back? And how could she leave this village now that she was a murder suspect? She had not thought of him much, but now she did not have the freedom to leave Fryfam any time she wanted, he came rushing back into her mind.
    ‘I’ve left my cigarettes,’ said Agatha, rising to her feet. ‘I’ll nip home and get them.’
    ‘I’ll get you some at the bar. Sit down,’ said Charles.
    Amazement at this new generous Charles momentarily diverted Agatha, but as he returned with her cigarettes, she remembered she had her mobile phone in her handbag.
    ‘Got to go to the ladies’ room,’ she said brightly. ‘Where is it, I wonder?’
    ‘Over there, under that sign saying “Ladies”,’ replied Charles, looking at her suspiciously. Why was Agatha such a mixture of excitement and guilt?
    Agatha went into the old-fashioned Ladies with its giant Victorian wash-basin, brass taps, and toilet with the huge brass pull-chain hanging down beside it.
    She dialled Mrs Bloxby’s number. The vicar’s wife answered. ‘Oh,’ she said, her voice a little distant. ‘How are you?’
    Agatha told her about the finding of the Stubbs and then asked, ‘James back?’
    ‘Well, yes, he came back today.’
    ‘Have you seen him?’
    ‘As a matter of fact, he’s just left.’
    ‘Did he ask for me?’
    ‘He asked about the murder. He’d read about it in the newspaper.’
    Agatha clutched the phone tightly. ‘Nothing James likes more than a mystery. He’ll be coming here, I suppose.’
    ‘He said he wouldn’t be.’
    ‘What? Just like