Agatha Raisin and the Fairies of Fryham

clear off somewhere for the night and try to work out what we’ve got. If we stay here, the press will be hammering on the door any minute.’
    ‘Where will we go? A hotel won’t take cats.’
    ‘We’ll find one of those roadside motels. Don’t mention the cats. We’ll get a key and then just carry them in when no one is looking.’
    They hurriedly packed a couple of suitcases and put the cats in their travelling boxes and set out again. They found a motel on the outskirts of Norwich. It was a very expensive motel, and to Agatha’s amazement Charles produced his credit card to pay for the bill. What had happened to this man, who was expert at ‘forgetting’ his wallet?
    They drove round to their room and carried the luggage and the cat boxes in. There were a sitting-room and a bedroom with one large double bed.
    ‘We should have got one with single beds,’ said Agatha.
    ‘Don’t make a fuss,’ said Charles, who was kneeling on the floor and helping Hodge and Boswell out of their boxes. ‘It’s an enormous bed. You stay on your side and I’ll stay on mine. Put the cats in the middle if you fear for your honour.’
    ‘Should we tell the police where we are?’ asked Agatha.
    ‘I’ll do that. Then we’d better eat something. We never seem to eat much these days.’
    Charles phoned the police and explained they were keeping away from the press.
    ‘Let’s wrap up and take a walk after we have something to eat. This place has a restaurant.’
    After they had eaten, they turned off the main road where the hotel was situated and walked along a country lane. A strong wind was blowing, sending the last of the autumn leaves swirling about their feet. Great ragged clouds chased each other across a stormy sky, driven by a north-easter all the way from Iceland.
    Agatha was glad she had put on boots and trousers. They walked a mile or two before returning to the hotel. When they went into their motel sitting-room, the cats ran up to Charles, purring and rubbing themselves against his legs.
    ‘It’s funny the cats should like you so much,’ said Agatha, taking off her coat. ‘They wouldn’t ever go near James like that.’
    ‘They have good taste, those cats of yours.’
    ‘I thought you liked James.’
    ‘He’s a man’s man, to put it politely. If you had got married to him, Agatha, he would expect you to go on like his batman.’
    ‘He always respected my independence.’
    ‘When you were having an affair. Marriage is different. After the first fine careless rapture is over, it all comes down to . . . “What did you do with my socks?” Believe me, that one would have expected his shirts ironed and his dinner on the table.’
    ‘It’s not going to happen,’ snapped Agatha. ‘I thought we were going to discuss this case?’
    ‘Okay. Let’s sit down and work it out.’ Charles took several sheets of motel stationery. ‘Now who and what have we got? Who is your prime suspect?’
    ‘What about Captain Findlay? I’d like it to be him.’
    ‘So, does he steal the Stubbs as well?’
    ‘Could be. If Tolly was loose-mouthed enough to tell the world the code for his burglar alarm, he may have confided in someone at the hunt about the Stubbs. Anyone else?’
    ‘There’s more going on in that village than we can even begin to imagine,’ said Charles. ‘Let’s go back to the beginning. Lucy thinks her husband is having an affair with Rosie Wilden.’
    ‘But I thought Lizzie cancelled that idea out.’
    ‘Not necessarily. Why should Lizzie be the only one to have an affair with Tolly? Once he started philandering, he might have felt like spreading his wings.’
    ‘Then why should anyone murder him, Charles? Lizzie was the one getting the Stubbs.’
    ‘Rats. Try again. You know, it’s a pity Lucy has such a cast-iron alibi. Do you know what I think? I think we should nip back to the manor and try to see that gamekeeper.’
    ‘All right,’ said Agatha wearily. ‘We seem to have reached a dead end here. I’ll feed the cats and give them some food. Better hang the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door in case some maid comes in when we’re out and frightens them.’
    The day was even colder when they set out for Fryfam, with a fiery-red sun sinking into black clouds. ‘Could almost snow,’ said Charles.
    ‘Not yet, surely. It doesn’t snow in Britain until January.’
    ‘Not anywhere else. This is Norfolk. But you’re probably right. Isn’t it funny, all those films and books about