wondering dismally if all the inhabitants of Carsely were going to hide behind their sofas when they saw her on the doorstep.
But Mrs Josephs had asked her to call. Mrs Josephs had no right to snub her. Agatha turned the handle of the front door. It opened easily. A small hall with a narrow stair leading straight up from it.
‘Mrs Josephs!’ called Agatha.
The little house had thick walls, and silence pressed in on Agatha. She looked in the downstairs rooms, small parlour, small dining-room, and tiny cubicle of a kitchen at the back.
Agatha stood at the bottom of the stairs and shifted from foot to foot.
How sinister that dim staircase looked. Perhaps Mrs Josephs was ill. Emboldened by that thought, Agatha climbed the stairs. Bedroom on the right at the top, bed made, everything tidy. Box-room full of pathetic pieces of broken china and old furniture and dusty suitcases. No drama here.
May as well use the bathroom while I’m here, thought Agatha. Oh, I know! She probably meant me to go to the library. What a fool I am! But how crazy to go out and leave the house unlocked. This must be the bathroom. She pushed open a door which had a pane of frosted glass.
Mrs Josephs was lying on the bathroom floor, her eyes staring sightlessly up at the ceiling. Agatha let out a whimper. She forced herself to bend down, pick up an arm and feel the pulse. Nothing.
She turned and ran down the stairs, looking for the phone. She found one in the parlour and dialled police and ambulance.
The first to arrive was PC Fred Griggs, the village policeman. He looked like a village policeman in a children’s story, large and red-faced.
‘She’s dead,’ said Agatha. ‘Upstairs. Bathroom.’
She followed the bulk of the policeman up the stairs. Fred looked sadly down at the body. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘Can tell by just looking at her. Mrs Josephs was a diabetic.’
‘So it wasn’t murder,’ said Agatha.
‘Now what put such an idea into your head?’ His small eyes were shrewd.
‘She said last night in front of everyone at the Carsely Ladies’ Society that she had something to tell me about Paul Bladen.’
‘The vet what died! What’s that got to do with the poor woman’s death?’
‘Nothing,’ muttered Agatha. ‘I think I’ll wait outside.’
As she went out into the garden again, she could hear the wail of sirens; and then an ambulance, followed by two police cars, came racing up. She recognized Detective Chief Inspector Wilkes and Bill Wong. There were two other detectives she did not know and a policewoman.
Bill said, ‘Did you find her?’ Agatha nodded dumbly. ‘What time?’
‘Ten o’clock,’ said Agatha. ‘I told you I was going to see her.’
‘Go home,’ said Bill. ‘We’ll be around to take a statement.’
James Lacey stood on his doorstep, peering down the lane. He had heard the sirens. Ever since he had failed to answer the door to Agatha’s ring, he had been staring at that heading ‘Chapter Two’ on his computer screen. Then he saw Agatha trailing along the lane. Her face was very white.
‘What’s happened?’ he called, but she flapped a hand at him and said, ‘Later.’
He felt frustrated. He felt that Agatha held the key to some excuse to take him away from writing for the day. He should not have run away from her lunch like a schoolboy.
He returned to his machine and glared at it. Then he heard the sound of a car turning into the lane and dashed outside again. It was a police car. He watched eagerly as it drove up to Agatha’s cottage and stopped. He recognized Bill Wong with another detective and a policewoman. They went inside.
He had brought it on himself, he thought gloomily. The wretched Raisin woman was on to something and he was excluded.
Inside her home, Agatha answered all questions put to her. How long had she been in Mrs Josephs’s cottage? Just a few minutes? Had anyone seen her just before she arrived? Detective Wong. The Chief Inspector nodded, as
But Mrs Josephs had asked her to call. Mrs Josephs had no right to snub her. Agatha turned the handle of the front door. It opened easily. A small hall with a narrow stair leading straight up from it.
‘Mrs Josephs!’ called Agatha.
The little house had thick walls, and silence pressed in on Agatha. She looked in the downstairs rooms, small parlour, small dining-room, and tiny cubicle of a kitchen at the back.
Agatha stood at the bottom of the stairs and shifted from foot to foot.
How sinister that dim staircase looked. Perhaps Mrs Josephs was ill. Emboldened by that thought, Agatha climbed the stairs. Bedroom on the right at the top, bed made, everything tidy. Box-room full of pathetic pieces of broken china and old furniture and dusty suitcases. No drama here.
May as well use the bathroom while I’m here, thought Agatha. Oh, I know! She probably meant me to go to the library. What a fool I am! But how crazy to go out and leave the house unlocked. This must be the bathroom. She pushed open a door which had a pane of frosted glass.
Mrs Josephs was lying on the bathroom floor, her eyes staring sightlessly up at the ceiling. Agatha let out a whimper. She forced herself to bend down, pick up an arm and feel the pulse. Nothing.
She turned and ran down the stairs, looking for the phone. She found one in the parlour and dialled police and ambulance.
The first to arrive was PC Fred Griggs, the village policeman. He looked like a village policeman in a children’s story, large and red-faced.
‘She’s dead,’ said Agatha. ‘Upstairs. Bathroom.’
She followed the bulk of the policeman up the stairs. Fred looked sadly down at the body. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘Can tell by just looking at her. Mrs Josephs was a diabetic.’
‘So it wasn’t murder,’ said Agatha.
‘Now what put such an idea into your head?’ His small eyes were shrewd.
‘She said last night in front of everyone at the Carsely Ladies’ Society that she had something to tell me about Paul Bladen.’
‘The vet what died! What’s that got to do with the poor woman’s death?’
‘Nothing,’ muttered Agatha. ‘I think I’ll wait outside.’
As she went out into the garden again, she could hear the wail of sirens; and then an ambulance, followed by two police cars, came racing up. She recognized Detective Chief Inspector Wilkes and Bill Wong. There were two other detectives she did not know and a policewoman.
Bill said, ‘Did you find her?’ Agatha nodded dumbly. ‘What time?’
‘Ten o’clock,’ said Agatha. ‘I told you I was going to see her.’
‘Go home,’ said Bill. ‘We’ll be around to take a statement.’
James Lacey stood on his doorstep, peering down the lane. He had heard the sirens. Ever since he had failed to answer the door to Agatha’s ring, he had been staring at that heading ‘Chapter Two’ on his computer screen. Then he saw Agatha trailing along the lane. Her face was very white.
‘What’s happened?’ he called, but she flapped a hand at him and said, ‘Later.’
He felt frustrated. He felt that Agatha held the key to some excuse to take him away from writing for the day. He should not have run away from her lunch like a schoolboy.
He returned to his machine and glared at it. Then he heard the sound of a car turning into the lane and dashed outside again. It was a police car. He watched eagerly as it drove up to Agatha’s cottage and stopped. He recognized Bill Wong with another detective and a policewoman. They went inside.
He had brought it on himself, he thought gloomily. The wretched Raisin woman was on to something and he was excluded.
Inside her home, Agatha answered all questions put to her. How long had she been in Mrs Josephs’s cottage? Just a few minutes? Had anyone seen her just before she arrived? Detective Wong. The Chief Inspector nodded, as
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