Agatha Raisin and the Murderous Marriage

messages before we go.’
    ‘All right,’ said James. ‘But I doubt if we’ll learn more than we have. That letter from the husband was dated three days ago. It’s clear to me she’s gone off with him.’
    They went into the living-room. James played back the answering machine. ‘This is Jane,’ said a voice. ‘I’m sorry I was out when you called, Gloria. Yes, I’ll look after your garden. I’ve still got your keys. Have a good trip. Bye.’
    Then a man’s voice. ‘Hello, Basil here, sweetheart. I’ve got the tickets and I’ll see you at Heathrow at four thirty at the check-in. Don’t be late.’
    They looked at each other in surprise. ‘Basil?’ exclaimed Agatha. ‘But her husband’s name is Geoffrey. And she must have phoned him after we left to arrange the trip because he says nothing about Madrid, only that he’s got the tickets.’
    ‘Let’s just get out of here before our luck runs out,’ said James. ‘I’m tired of whispering.’
    ‘Will it take ages for you to lock up?’
    ‘No, that’s the easy bit.’
    Soon they were walking out of Ancombe, towards their car. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ said James as they drove off, ‘that we’ve been concentrating on people who were blackmailed or used by Jimmy Raisin. We never really thought of the partners or spouses, except perhaps Lady Derrington. Look at it this way. Mrs Comfort is upset by our visit, though I don’t know why. Her husband wants her back. But she phones Basil, someone she’s obviously close enough to so that he promptly arranges they head off for Spain, just like that.’
    ‘The police said she hired a car in Madrid. They didn’t say anything about anyone being with her. Of course, this Basil could be married. They could have travelled separately on the plane, she hires the car and picks him up outside the airport. Easy. Oh, God, James, stop the car!’
    He screeched to a halt. ‘What’s up?’
    ‘That call from Basil was the last one. There were only two calls on that answering machine. If that was the very last call she got, we could dial 1471 and find out this Basil’s phone number.’
    ‘Agatha! That would mean picking those locks again. I daren’t risk it. Look, this Jane female should be easy to find. We’ll go back to Ancombe tomorrow. She’ll probably know who it was.’
    ‘But she might not be a close friend. She might just be some woman who looks after people’s houses and gardens when they’re away. Please, James.’
    He set off again. ‘No, Agatha, absolutely not. Trust me. This Jane will know.’
    They found Jane easily enough after inquiring at the church the next morning. The verger told them that Jane Barclay was the lady they were looking for and directed them to her cottage.
    Jane Barclay was a powerful, masculine-looking middle-aged woman with cropped grey hair.
    It took them only a short time, during which Agatha slid the silk scarf from her neck and put it in her pocket, to establish that Jane Barclay was not an intimate friend of Mrs Gloria Comfort.
    ‘The real reason we have come,’ gushed Agatha, while James looked at her in surprise, ‘is because I left my scarf at Gloria’s yesterday. She told me you looked after the garden and the way she talked about you made us believe you were a close friend and might know exactly where in Spain she had gone. But you do have the keys. Could you be an angel and let us in so that I can look for it?’
    ‘I suppose so,’ said Jane. ‘Who did you say you were?’
    ‘Mr and Mrs Perth,’ said James quickly, before Agatha could say anything. He was frightened that if she heard Agatha’s name, she might be more cautious about letting the wife of a murdered man into that cottage.
    ‘Have you any identification?’
    Agatha’s heart sank, but to her amazement James fished a card-case out of his inside pocket and extracted a card.
    ‘Colonel and Mrs Perth,’ Jane read aloud. ‘From Stratford. She never mentioned you, but then I don’t know her all that well. Come along. Don’t take too long about it.’
    They walked with her the short distance to Mrs Comfort’s cottage. James kept glancing down at Agatha, guessing that she wanted to get to that phone. When they entered the living-room, Agatha looked around brightly. ‘Now where did I put my scarf. I know I left it here.’
    James crossed to the window and looked out. ‘The dahlias haven’t been damaged by frost yet,’ he said. ‘They make a fine show.’
    Jane Barclay crossed to