Agatha Raisin and the Wizard of Evesham

the place. You know, there were only a few directly after the murder. The police must have released that there was some connection between Mrs Darry and the murder of the hairdresser, although they appear to have released nothing about John Shawpart’s blackmailing activities. You see, there wasn’t much of a fuss before because the press thought it was just another murder of a pensioner in the Midlands. How awful that sounds! Just another murder. But there are so many. The longer people live, the more pensioners there are, and the more that get murdered. They’re such an easy, vulnerable target.’
    ‘Someone will be after Aggie next,’ said Charles.
    ‘I’m not a pensioner,’ snapped Agatha.
    ‘So were you investigating yesterday?’ asked Mrs Bloxby.
    ‘Went to Portsmouth.’
    ‘With her toy boy,’ murmured Charles.
    ‘Now why does that ring a bell? Portsmouth,’ mused Mrs Bloxby, ignoring Charles.
    ‘That’s where John Shawpart came from,’ said Agatha.
    ‘So it is. But there’s something else. . . . Never mind, it’ll come to me. So how did you get on?’
    Agatha told her about Harriet. ‘That poor woman!’ exclaimed Mrs Bloxby.
    ‘If she was telling the truth,’ Charles put in. ‘Aggie here is very gullible.’
    ‘I think that remark was uncalled for,’ said Mrs Bloxby.
    ‘Tell him about Mavis,’ said Agatha.
    Mrs Bloxby listened intently and then said, ‘But it does not follow that Harriet was lying. Why should she lie? She paid, didn’t she, and it’s thanks to Agatha that she got that five thousand pounds back.’
    ‘There’re too many suspects,’ said Agatha gloomily. ‘Because of Mavis, I think everyone has been lying to me. When I overheard that woman telling John she would kill him, he said it was the woman in the shop next door talking to her husband, but she said she wasn’t married. So she wasn’t married, but what if John had got his clutches into her ?’
    ‘So where do you go from here?’ asked Mrs Bloxby.
    ‘I don’t know,’ said Agatha wearily.
    Charles nibbled on a chocolate biscuit. Then he said, ‘What about us visiting Bill Wong? He surely knows something about that wife of John’s. In fact, he probably knows a hell of a lot more than we do.’
    Agatha brightened. ‘That’s an idea. Let’s go and see Bill. In fact, I think we’ll do that now. Thanks for the coffee.’
    She and Charles got up.
    Agatha turned in the doorway. ‘I quite forgot to ask you. Do you know where Mrs Darry came from? Where did she live before she came to Carsely?’
    ‘How stupid of me,’ exclaimed Mrs Bloxby. ‘How could I have forgotten?’
    ‘Forgotten what?’
    ‘Why, Portsmouth, of course. Mrs Darry came from Portsmouth!’

Chapter Eight

    ‘Phew!’ said Agatha. ‘I’m feeling as if I’ve just been struck by a blinding flash of the obvious.’
    ‘What do you mean?’ asked Charles as they walked back to the cottage.
    ‘Why, Mrs Darry, of course. She wouldn’t have been clever enough to ferret out anything dangerous about the murderer in such a short time. She must have known Mr John in Portsmouth! So it follows she probably knew who murdered him.’
    ‘How could she know that?’ asked Charles. ‘She’d just have been in the same fix as we are. All those people being blackmailed. Who to choose from?’
    ‘Stands to reason it must have been someone from Portsmouth.’
    ‘Harriet?’
    ‘I’m sure it’s not Harriet. Damn. Let’s go in and have some coffee and think before we see Bill Wong.’
    When they were seated over the coffee-cups, Agatha said, ‘If only we could find the wife.’
    ‘Maybe the police have already found her. They’re bound to have found her.’
    ‘You see, perhaps we’ve become all messed up by this blackmail business. Perhaps it was just marital hate.’
    ‘Trust me,’ said Charles. ‘When you’ve got a blackmailer in the picture, then someone is going to murder him.’
    ‘Anyway, I think I’ll call on Bill Wong.’
    ‘Shouldn’t you phone him first?’
    Agatha hesitated. Then she said, ‘No, let’s just go. Unless you have anything else planned?’
    ‘No,’ said Charles gloomily. ‘I’m off women.’
    Meaning I don’t count as a woman, thought Agatha.
    As they drove to Mircester, Agatha admired the autumn colours of the trees. ‘How quickly the seasons change now,’ she remarked. ‘It seems as if someone drew a line between summer and autumn. Not so long ago we were sweltering and then suddenly,