Agatha Raisin and the Terrible Tourist

of your guidebook at the time?’
    ‘No,’ said Agatha crossly. ‘I was in deadly peril.’
    ‘This is becoming a tourist trap,’ said Charles, as they entered the village of Bellapais. ‘Look at all those holiday villas. Where’s the abbey? I think I’ve missed a turn somewhere.’
    Agatha consulted her book again. ‘It says here the ruins are reached by a turning to the right, signposted for Dogankoy and Beylerbeyi off the main coastal road in the eastern outskirts of Girne. Girne is the Turkish name for Kyrenia.’
    ‘I know, dear heart. Lecture me no further. I will find it.’
    Soon they were parked at the abbey in the shadow of a tourist bus.
    They walked through the south-west entrance under an arched and fortified gateway.
    ‘I forgot to look for their car,’ said Agatha.
    ‘Whose?’
    ‘The Debenhams, friends and Trevor. That’s why I’m here.’
    ‘Well, I want to see the cloisters,’ said Charles, striding ahead, a very English figure in blazer and white slacks, white panama hat, white shirt and striped cravat.
    Agatha followed slowly, not wanting to run after him like a pet dog.
    Fragments of delicate arches surrounded the cloisters, warm and humming with insects in the heat. The mist had lifted and a golden sunlight flooded everything. Agatha, wondering idly where Charles had got to, was looking up at the carved bosses and corbels of the vaulting which featured human and animal heads, rosettes and the Lusignan coat of arms when a harsh voice behind her said, ‘So it’s you, snooping around as usual.’
    Agatha gasped and swung round. Trevor stood there, his hands clenched into fists, his unhealthily pink face full of menace.
    ‘Look,’ he said, thrusting his head forwards, ‘it’s my wife that’s dead, gottit? And I don’t want no amateur busybody like you poking her nose in and getting under the feet of the police.’
    Agatha took a step backwards. ‘See here, Trevor,’ she said in the gentle tone of one who hopes to turn away wrath, ‘you are grieving and upset. But you must see that every bit helps. I have had some experience –’
    Trevor took her by the shoulders and shook her. ‘Bugger off,’ he shouted, ‘or it’ll be the worse for you!’
    ‘Leave her alone!’
    Charles’s calm voice came from behind them.
    Trevor released Agatha and turned and stumbled away.
    ‘You all right?’ asked Charles.
    ‘A bit shaken,’ said Agatha. ‘I thought he was going to punch me. He threatened me.’
    ‘Did he now? Why?’
    ‘He said if I didn’t stop investigating it would be the worse for me.’
    ‘Was he drunk?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ said Agatha wretchedly. ‘I wish James were here.’
    ‘Well, he isn’t. Where is he?’
    ‘He’s angry with his old fixer, Mustafa. Mustafa cheated him over the rental of a house. He’s a brothel-keeper but James thinks he might be running drugs.’
    ‘I say, this isn’t England. The silly man doesn’t want to get into that or he’ll end up floating in Kyrenia harbour.’
    ‘Oh, James can take care of himself. It looks as if it might have been Trevor who murdered Rose. For her money, you know.’
    ‘No, I don’t know. Tell me.’
    Agatha hesitated. Such background information as she had should only be discussed with James. James would be furious if she disclosed all their secrets to Charles. But she was shaken and Trevor had frightened her and James wasn’t there, only Charles, cool and inquisitive. So she told him all about Trevor’s financial difficulties, and how she wondered why Rose, who was rich, had not bailed his firm out of its difficulties.
    ‘I think we should find Trevor and the others and ask him in front of them why he threatened you,’ said Charles. ‘We’ll keep his financial difficulties in reserve. If he knows you’ve contacted the police about him, he’ll go ape.’
    They wandered through the rest of the abbey, refectory, undercroft, chapter house and dormitories among throngs of tourists – British, German and Israeli. But of Trevor there was no sign.
    ‘If he’s with the rest, they might have gone to some bar in the village,’ suggested Charles. ‘We’ll look there.’
    They drove back to the village of Bellapais, parking in a car park next to the Tree of Idleness Restaurant and then wandering through the narrow streets until Agatha saw two rented cars with the Atlantic sticker on the rear window outside a café. She peered through the glass. ‘They’re all there. Maybe I should get