Agatha Raisin and the Wellspring of Death

decided that Struthers had been killed elsewhere and dumped at the spring. Any forensic evidence?’
    ‘Nothing much. Forensic believes that someone vacuumed the body before dumping it. There was just one thing. A white cat hair in one of his turn-ups. He wore those old-fashioned trousers.’
    Agatha’s eyes gleamed. ‘So we are looking for someone with a white cat!’
    ‘Do you know, there isn’t one white cat in the village of Ancombe?’ said Bill. ‘We went from house to house. Someone could be lying, of course.’
    ‘It needn’t be an all-white cat,’ said Roy. ‘Could be one of those black-and-white things.’
    ‘Sorry. I should have explained that the hair was from a Persian cat.’
    ‘Definitely a Persian, and a cat?’ asked Agatha. ‘It couldn’t have been a dog?’
    Agatha would have loved it to turn out to have been Mrs Darry.
    ‘Definitely a Persian cat.’
    ‘Still, it’s something to go on,’ said Agatha eagerly.
    ‘I don’t want to dampen your enthusiasm for amateur detection, but a great number of policemen have been searching for that cat and are still searching.’
    ‘Does Mary Owen have an alibi?’
    ‘Yes, on the night of the murder she was staying with her sister in Mircester. She stayed all night.’
    ‘But he could have been killed earlier in the day!’
    ‘It’s always hard to estimate time of death, but he was killed earlier that evening. Mary Owen’s sister said she arrived at four in the afternoon and did not leave until the following morning.’
    ‘A sister would say anything.’
    ‘True, but she seems a very direct, truthful sort of lady. Now, I’ve really got to get back to work.’
    As Agatha and Roy approached Agatha’s car, a large policeman was standing staring at it.
    ‘Limp!’ hissed Roy.
    The policeman swung round and watched their approach. ‘Thank you, dear boy,’ quavered Agatha. ‘I am getting so forgetful. I cannot remember where I left my stick.’
    Hoping desperately it was not some policeman who had seen her before, Agatha smiled at him weakly and allowed Roy to help her into the driving seat. As soon as Roy was in behind her, she drove off with a great grinding and clashing of gears.
    ‘Okay, I’m nervous,’ said Agatha. ‘The minute we stop I’m going to get that sticker off the windscreen.’
    ‘Where now?’
    ‘Let’s go back to Ancombe and have a wander around. We might see that cat.’
    ‘We haven’t eaten and I’m starving.’
    ‘We’ll eat in the pub in Ancombe.’
    ‘What about all that food I was going to cook? I’ve got to get the London train this evening.’
    ‘Next time,’ said Agatha.
    James and Zak had agreed not to be seen spending too much time together. There was a member of Save Our Foxes called Billy Guide who drank heavily. James targeted him, buying the grateful Billy as much as he could drink.
    A week after Agatha’s interview with Mary Owen, James attended another meeting and his heart beat faster when he learned that the group’s next expedition was to the spring in Ancombe.
    Sybil, her fine eyes flashing, said they would take bags of cement and put them into the basin of the spring.
    James, who longed to point out that their plan would cause more destruction to the village environment than the water company, kept silent. Why should such a group switch their attention from animals to the matter of spring water? Someone must be paying them for this action. Sybil was saying that the bus would pick them up at the usual place.
    He half-listened to her rant, wondering if she believed a word of it.
    Various other members made rousing speeches. James stifled a yawn. He roused himself when he heard Trevor ask if the press had been informed.
    ‘No,’ said Sybil. ‘When the spring is cemented up, we’ll phone them.’
    ‘Wait a bit,’ slurred Billy Guide, ‘if the basin is filled with cement, that means the water from the spring will flood that woman’s garden – what’s her name? – Toynbee.’
    ‘And serve her right!’ cried Sybil. ‘It’s all her fault that capitalist commercialism has been allowed to pollute one of our English villages.’
    At last the meeting finished. James edged up to Billy. ‘Fancy a drink?’
    ‘Okay, squire,’ said Billy, ‘but I’m a bit broke.’
    ‘On me.’
    ‘Great.’
    ‘Let’s find a pub a bit away from here,’ said James, knowing that Billy would go anywhere for a free drink.
    On the road to the pub, Billy said, ‘My missus is always