Agatha Raisin and the Murderous Marriage

been?’
    Agatha had not bothered to change out of her down-and-out outfit. James stared at the wreck that was Agatha, the black circles under her eyes and the terrible smell of stale booze mixing with the meths with which she had sprinkled her clothes at the beginning of the masquerade.
    ‘Oh, Agatha,’ he said, looking at her, pity in his eyes replacing the anger. ‘I really thought Helen Warwick might have had something else to say, something useful. But if I had known it would upset you so much . . .’
    Agatha sat down wearily. ‘The vanity of men never ceases to amaze me. I did not go out and get sozzled because my heart was broken, James dear. Roy and I dressed up and went down to the packing-cases of Waterloo, where we spent the night. We found out something useful. Jimmy had a bag of stuff which a woman called Lizzie took away. We’re going to get Roy’s detective to try to track her down. Now all I want is to sleep. I nearly drove off the road on the way down here. Enjoy your visit to Helen?’
    ‘No,’ said James curtly. ‘Big mistake. Gold-digger.’
    Agatha gave a little smile and headed for the stairs.
    ‘And burn those clothes,’ yelled James after her.

Chapter Eight

    Suddenly it seemed to Agatha that, after that adventure, everything went quiet. Mrs Hardy begged an extra week. She had found a place in London but needed the extra time until the flat became available. The Bugle finally learned about the attempted shooting and ran some of the original interview with Agatha. At first there was hope that someone who knew something about Mrs Gore-Appleton would come forward, but no one appeared to know anything of any importance. In fact, several people had contacted the police, people who had worked for her charity on a voluntary basis. But their descriptions did not add very much to what the police already knew. Bill Wong privately thought that Mrs Gore-Appleton was probably settled comfortably in some foreign country where they could not reach her.
    He called round one evening, saying dismally to James and Agatha that he was beginning to fear they would never get her now.
    ‘What’s this Fred Griggs was saying about the murder of Miss Purvey not being connected with the case?’
    ‘There have been a couple of random stabbings in that cinema and we got some nutter for them. He says he strangled the Purvey woman.’
    ‘And you believe him?’
    ‘I don’t, but everyone else seems determined to have one of the murders solved. Have you two found out anything?’
    James looked at Agatha and Agatha looked at James. Agatha was still smarting over the Maddie episode. She did not know Maddie was off the case. If she told Bill about Roy’s detective looking for the mysterious Lizzie, then the police would take over, Maddie might get some of the credit, and Agatha felt she could not bear that.
    ‘No, nothing,’ she said. ‘I’m moving back next door.’
    ‘When?’
    ‘Just over two weeks now. It would have been sooner, but Mrs Hardy begged the extra time. She’s found a place in London.’
    ‘Did that article in the newspaper not prompt anyone to come forward with information about Mrs Gore-Appleton?’ asked James.
    ‘Yes, it did. Mostly rich, retired ladies who did voluntary work for her. Some had contributed quite a lot of money to the charity, but others hung on to their wallets when they realized that Mrs Gore-Appleton only made a few token visits down among London’s homeless, dispensing clothes and food. The description is pretty much what we had before – hard, middle-aged, muscular, blonde.’
    ‘Didn’t she have any friends among them?’
    ‘No, they only saw her during office hours. They all remember Jimmy Raisin. Mrs Gore-Appleton was very proud of him, they said. She said it all showed what a little kindness and care could do. Two of the ladies got the impression that Mrs Gore-Appleton and Jimmy were lovers.’
    ‘Well, we can’t blame Jimmy for corrupting her, as she was running a bent charity when they met. How did she get away with it? She would need to be registered with the Charities Commission.’
    ‘She never did that. Just hung out her shingle, didn’t advertise for volunteers, simply canvassed a few churches. Quite a scam, in a way. One woman gave her fifteen thousand pounds, and she was the only one who would admit to the amount she paid, so goodness knows what she got from the others.’
    Agatha thought of the waste of humanity she had spent the night