Agatha Raisin and the Wellspring of Death

something in the soil here that makes everyone bitter and twisted? Feel like seeing anyone else?’
    Agatha looked at the clock on the dashboard. ‘No, let’s have lunch, and then go to the spring for the fun and games.’
    As they sat over lunch, Roy asked if anything had been found out about the cat with white hair. ‘Not that I know of,’ said Agatha. ‘You remember, we looked and looked.’
    They heard the wail of police sirens in the distance. ‘The troops have arrived,’ said Roy. ‘Cheer up, Aggie. All this will keep Ancombe in the news.’
    They left the car outside the pub and walked along to the spring. Alerted by the sirens, villagers were starting to make their way along as well.
    Agatha saw Bill Wong talking to some policemen and went across to him. He led her a little to one side. ‘Mary Owen does have a cast-iron alibi.’
    ‘But her sister could be covering for her, surely?’
    ‘She was seen by the neighbours. The curtains in the evening weren’t drawn and the two sisters could be seen sitting over dinner, and talking.’
    ‘Rats. Back to square one. Have you arrested Mary Owen?’
    ‘No, there’s nothing illegal about donating money to these groups. Unless we can get one of them to confess that Mary Owen actually told them to take action, we haven’t anything on her. And she says all that about her being broke is a fiction and says we can check with her bank.’
    ‘What about that chap who told James she was paying them?’
    ‘Billy Guide? With any luck he’ll be with the rest. Here’s James.’
    James and Agatha exchanged frosty little nods.
    ‘Here come the protesters,’ said Roy.
    The bus carrying them stopped a little way along the road. Agatha could see several of them glaring out at the unexpected sight of the large police presence. They argued for a few minutes, then the door of the bus slid open. Four of the men appeared, carrying between them a bag of cement.
    Followed by the others, they headed for the spring. James, his hair dyed back to its normal colour and minus the ear-rings, said to Bill Wong, ‘Billy Guide is not among them, and where’s Zak?’
    ‘He was pulled out. After seeing us all here today, they’d start searching around for an informer. They’ll probably think it was you, but they might have picked on Zak, and he was fed up with the job anyway. Billy Guide was taken to hospital the day after your hospitality suffering from pancreatitis.’
    A policeman stood in front of the four carrying the bag of cement. ‘Where are you going with that?’
    ‘Keep going!’ shouted Sybil from behind them. ‘Don’t let the pigs stop you.’
    To the protesters’ surprise, the policeman stood aside. They marched to the spring and one slit open the neck of the bag of cement.
    That, of course, Agatha realized, was the moment the police had been waiting for. They had to be caught in the act of trying to block the spring. The men were seized, the bag wrenched away. The other protesters, about twenty of them, began attacking the police, kicking and punching and gouging.
    Sybil was dragged past James by two policemen. She looked at him as she passed with dawning recognition and then spat full in his face.
    ‘I quite warm to that girl,’ said Agatha.

Chapter Six

    Agatha went back to London with Roy after the weekend. She knew journalists, ever fickle creatures, were quite capable of forgetting to turn up for the fête, and needed to be reminded of it and bullied all over again into coming. She also needed an excuse to get away from Carsely, James and Guy.
    At first she found the journalists had become lukewarm about the prospect of a visit down to the country to a fête to celebrate the launch of water, of all things. So Agatha told them all about the attempt to block up the spring, which the television stations and national newspapers had heard about too late to film or photograph. Agatha hinted darkly at fears of an almighty punch-up on the day of the fête, painting an alarming picture of sweet little children sent flying by protesters, and village ladies screaming in fright. Interest in the fête was reanimated to such an extent that Agatha thought at times it might be a good idea to pay the protesters herself to turn up.
    By the end of her week, she felt she had done very well, only to receive a set-back just as she was preparing to leave. Jane Harris, the film star who was to open the fête, would not attend. Her agent phoned to say that Ms Harris had read