Agatha Raisin and the Wellspring of Death

them was not Mrs Darcy. Mrs Darcy, she volunteered, lived at number 22.
    So along to number 22.
    Mrs Darcy opened the door and stood looking at them contemptuously. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said to Agatha, ‘and who’s this?’
    ‘Mr James Lacey.’
    Mrs Darcy was wearing tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses and a crisp cotton dress and the great likeness to her sister was considerably diminished in the clear light of day. She was slightly shorter in height than her sister.
    ‘What do you want?’ she asked.
    ‘We’re trying to help clear up these terrible murders,’ said James with a charming smile. ‘And Mary left her silver lighter at Mrs Raisin’s cottage. As we happened to be in Mircester, we thought we would leave it with you.’ He handed it over.
    ‘So what have the murders got to do with you? I can understand this woman poking her nose in, but you are obviously a gentleman.’
    ‘I would have thought that you, of all people, would be anxious to see these murders cleared up.’
    ‘Why me?’
    ‘Because Miss Owen is your sister.’
    ‘What’s that got to do with it?’
    A woman walking her dog paused by the garden gate, listening avidly.
    ‘You’d better come inside,’ said Mrs Darcy curtly.
    She led the way into a sitting-room, a rather bleak room with green walls and a few dingy oil paintings.
    Agatha and James sat side by side on a sofa.
    Mrs Darcy stood in front of the fireplace.
    ‘So? What’s this about Mary?’
    ‘Your sister,’ said James patiently, ‘paid the Save Our Foxes people to demonstrate.’
    ‘There is no proof of that! Mary’s kind-hearted. She was merely contributing to a good cause.’
    ‘I find it hard to believe that Mary cared a damn about foxes, one way or the other,’ said Agatha.
    ‘I doubt if you know anything about the countryside at all.’ Mrs Darcy turned back to James.
    ‘There’s no need to be so rude to Mrs Raisin,’ said James sharply. ‘In fact, I think the only reason you are being so rude is because you are worried about your sister.’
    ‘I have no reason to worry. You are mistaken. There is nothing I can tell you to help you. On the night Robert Struthers was killed, Mary was here. She had no reason to kill Robina Toynbee. In fact, the suggestion that my sister might have killed anyone is highly insulting. We had dinner together. I did not draw the curtains and several of the neighbours saw us.’
    ‘What time was that?’ asked James.
    ‘About sevenish. I do not like eating late.’
    ‘And what time did you both go to bed?’
    ‘About ten. Mary went out to buy milk and newspapers at the corner shop in the morning, and after breakfast she left for Carsely. I would suggest you both leave this matter to the police. Now I would really like to get on . . .’
    Outside, Agatha clutched James’s arm and said, ‘Mary had plenty of time to nip over to Carsely and murder Robert Struthers.’
    ‘I find it hard to believe.’ James shook his head. ‘Someone could have seen her car in Ancombe.’
    ‘She didn’t need to take her own car. She could have taken her sister’s. She could have arranged to stay with her sister to establish an alibi.’
    James grinned. ‘I know you want it to be Mary. But I think we’re wasting our time. Let’s try Fred Shaw.’
    ‘We could just check at the corner shop and make sure she did buy milk and newspapers.’
    ‘The police will have done that.’
    ‘Still . . .’
    ‘Oh, all right. We’ll walk along.’
    The corner shop turned out to be one of the last survivors of its kind. Not only did it stock groceries and newspapers, but postcards, gifts, and bags of garden fertilizer.
    There was a small wizened man behind the counter. ‘We are helping the police with their inquiries,’ said James, quickly flashing a credit card in the gloom of the shop.
    ‘I’ve told the police all I know. Mrs Darcy’s sister was in here the morning after that murder. She bought the Express and The Daily Telegraph and a pint of milk.’
    ‘Are you sure it was Miss Owen?’ asked Agatha.
    ‘Yes, she’s been in here before. Besides she said something like, “I’m back visiting my sister. I wish she’d do her own shopping.”’
    ‘But Miss Owen and Mrs Darcy are very much alike.’
    ‘Mrs Darcy wears glasses. Her sister don’t.’
    ‘But what if Mrs Darcy had taken her spectacles off? Would you be able to tell the difference?’
    ‘I s’pose. Miss Owen, she wears trousers all the time and Mrs Darcy wears