Agatha Raisin and the Quiche of Death

living-room. But then she saw the police car driving up as well. Detective Chief Inspector Wilkes had called.
    The television interviewers had a more understated version of Agatha’s story than the villagers had heard. Detective Chief Inspector Wilkes was interviewed saying sternly that the public should leave police matters to the police, as Mrs Raisin had nearly been killed and he had nearly lost one of his best officers, Agatha shrewdly guessing that when that appeared on the screens, his comments would be cut down to the simple fact that he had nearly lost one of his best officers. Everyone wanted a hero, and Bill Wong was to be the hero. Somehow in the middle of it all, James Lacey had slipped out. The television teams rushed off to find Bill Wong in Mircester, a policewoman with a recorder came in from the police car, and Wilkes got down to exhaustive questioning.
    At last they left, but the phone rang and rang as various nationals phoned up to add to the stories sent in by the local men. By eleven o’clock, the phone fell silent. Agatha fed the cat and then carried it up to bed. It lay on her feet, purring gently. I’d better think of a name for it, she thought sleepily.
    The phone rang downstairs. ‘Now what?’ groaned Agatha aloud, gently lifting the cat off her feet and wondering why she had not bothered to get a phone extension put in the bedroom. She went downstairs and picked up the receiver.
    ‘Aggie!’ It was Roy, his voice sharp with excitement. ‘I thought I’d never get through. I saw you on the telly.’
    ‘Oh, that,’ said Agatha. She shivered. ‘Can I call you back tomorrow, Roy?’
    ‘Look, sweetie, there seems to be more publicity comes out of that little village than out of all the streets of London. The idea is this. Maybe the telly will be back for a follow-up. I’ll run down there tomorrow and you can tell them how I helped you to solve the mystery. I phoned Mr Wilson at home and he thinks it’s a great idea.’
    ‘Roy, the story will be dead tomorrow. You know it, I know it. Let me go back to bed. I won’t be up to seeing visitors for some time.’
    ‘Well, I must say I thought you might have mentioned me,’ complained Roy. ‘Who was it went with you to Ancombe? I’ve phoned round all the papers but the night-desks say if you want to volunteer a quote about me, fine, but they’re not interested in taking it from me, so be a sweetie and phone them, there’s a dear.’
    ‘I am going to bed, Roy, and that’s that. Finish.’
    ‘Aren’t we being just a bit of a selfish bitch hogging all the limelight?’
    ‘Good night, Roy,’ said Agatha and put down the receiver. Then she turned back and lifted it off the hook.
    ‘Well, I want to meet this Raisin woman,’ said James Lacey’s sister, Mrs Harriet Camberwell, a week later. ‘I know you want to be left alone. But I’m dying of curiosity. They gave a lot of play to that detective, Wong, but she solved it, didn’t she?’
    ‘Yes, I suppose she did, Harriet. But she’s very odd. Do you know, she keeps a garden gnome on her coffee-table as an ornament! She walks down the street muttering and talking to herself.’
    ‘How sweet. I simply must meet her. Run along and ask her to drop by for a cup of tea.’
    ‘If I do that, will you go back to your husband and leave me alone?’
    ‘Of course. Go and get her and I’ll make the tea and cut some sandwiches.’
    Agatha was still recovering from the shock of being nearly burnt to death. She had not bothered about trying to see James, waiting until her cuts healed up and her hair grew back. When that happened, she thought, she would plan a campaign.
    The weather had turned pleasantly warm instead of the furnace heat of the days before the storm. She had the doors and windows open and was lying in her old loose cotton dress on the kitchen floor, tossing balls of foil into the air to amuse the kitten, when James walked in.
    ‘I should have knocked,’ he said awkwardly, ‘but the door was open.’ Agatha scrambled to her feet. ‘I wonder whether you would like to step along for a cup of tea.’
    ‘I must change,’ said Agatha wildly.
    ‘I’ve obviously come at a bad moment. Maybe another time.’
    ‘No! I’ll come now,’ said Agatha, frightened he would escape.
    They walked along to his cottage. No sooner was she seated, no sooner was Agatha admiring his handsome profile, which was turned towards the kitchen door, when an elegant woman walked in carrying a