Agatha Raisin and the Wellspring of Death

and shut her mouth, then held on to her notes more firmly and went on. ‘As I was saying, we must protect –’
    ‘Where do you live?’ demanded Agatha again.
    ‘Shut your face!’ shouted one of the tattooed young men.
    ‘No, I will not shut up,’ yelled Agatha. ‘Does this woman know anything about village life? Or did you all come from Birmingham or London to make trouble?’
    The tattooed man began to work his way towards Agatha. He had thick lips and a beetling brow. Agatha wondered whether to flee. But the police were there. And James – James, who had miraculously appeared at her side.
    ‘I think she should answer the question,’ came Jane Cutler’s voice. ‘These protesters look as if they come from the slums of Birmingham. They are strangers to the country, and to the bath, from the smell of them.’
    ‘That’s torn it,’ muttered James.
    The truculent young man had reached Agatha. ‘You shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you.’
    James moved in front of Agatha. ‘You’ll get nowhere with your protest uttering threats.’
    In time, James saw the bulletlike head moving forward to head-butt him and jumped to one side. Several women screamed. The police moved forward.
    A scrawny woman wearing, of all things, a flak jacket, grabbed hold of Jane Cutler and pulled her hair. Jane screamed like a banshee. The police wrestled the woman to the ground. Sirens sounded in the distance as police reinforcements began to arrive.
    Agatha’s would-be assailant was trying to land a punch on James. James was dodging and weaving, knowing that these days if he landed a punch on the man himself, he could well end up in court for assault.
    The spokeswoman for the demonstrators was now crying helplessly. Agatha saw Mrs Bloxby go up to her, say a few words and then begin to lead the weeping woman away.
    Police swept into the crowd. They grabbed the young man who had been trying to hit James and carried him off. ‘Pigs!’ he was screaming. And as he was dragged backwards, his burning eyes looked straight at Agatha and he shouted, ‘I’ll fix you.’
    ‘Come along,’ said James, taking Agatha’s arm. ‘We need a drink.’
    ‘Where? Here? In the village?’
    ‘No, let’s go back to Carsely.’
    The Red Lion was quiet and they found a table in a corner next to the log fire which had been lit, for the day was cold.
    ‘Bill Wong told me you had better success with Jane Cutler than I had.’
    ‘So he told you?’
    ‘Why not? I hope we are not going to work against each other.’
    ‘I don’t think I’m going to be working on this at all,’ said Agatha. ‘I’ve got to go up to London next week. Got a lot of journalists to see.’
    ‘Oh, so I’m on my own?’
    ‘For the moment. It certainly looks that way.’ Agatha wondered what on earth had prompted her to say such a thing. Had she kept her mouth shut, they could have gone on discussing the case.
    ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said James. He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘Just a friendly word of advice, Agatha. Don’t take this the wrong way.’
    Now, Agatha knew as well as anybody that when someone says, ‘Don’t take this the wrong way,’ the best thing to do is to stop them saying anything, but something inside her seemed to have pressed the ‘destruct’ button that morning, so she said, ‘Go on.’
    ‘I think you are making a spectacle of yourself with that young man from the water company. This new taste in young men is a bit sad. There was Charles in Cyprus and now this one. It doesn’t matter if the man is wealthy; toy boy is the label stuck on him if he consorts with a woman as old as you.’
    Agatha’s face had turned a muddy colour with hurt.
    She stood up, knocking her chair backwards as she did so. ‘Damn you,’ she said in a choked voice.
    James got up as well. ‘Look here, Agatha. I only –’
    ‘Shut up!’ screamed Agatha. ‘Just shut up!’
    As she raced out of the door, she saw Mrs Darry standing at the bar, her face avid with curiosity.
    James slowly finished his drink, aware all the time of curious eyes turned in his direction, of the fact that Mrs Darry was eagerly grabbing hold of every newcomer and whispering fiercely.
    He rose and went out and walked slowly home. He could not admit to himself he had been at fault, or that his remarks had been prompted by jealousy. He was overwhelmed instead by a burning desire to find out something about this murder. Then perhaps, just perhaps, he would tell Agatha what