sooner or later. Take a break. Relax. Get a hobby.’
‘You’re patronizing.’
‘I’m cross because I got into trouble trying to cover up for you.’
‘Sorry.’
‘We’ll meet soon, Agatha.’
‘Okay, how’s the romance?’
‘Dead in the water. I don’t know what happened.’
‘Take her home to meet the parents and all that?’ asked Agatha with affected casualness.
‘Yes, but it still collapsed.’
Poor Bill, thought Agatha. Mr and Mr Wong were enough to scare off any girl. But he adored his parents and she knew that any criticism of them would wound him deeply.
‘Isn’t ricin an odd sort of poison?’
‘Not all that odd. The murderer could have got away with it. It’s terribly hard to detect, almost impossible.’
‘Seems to point to a pretty sophisticated murderer,’ said Agatha. ‘I mean, it’s not the sort of thing some ordinary village housewife would use.’
‘Why did you say that?’ His voice was sharp. ‘What ordinary village housewife did you have in mind?’
‘I didn’t. I mean I just meant that it was a very exotic sort of poison.’
‘If you say so.’ Suspicious. ‘I feel there’s a lot you’re holding back.’
Agatha managed a light laugh. ‘Don’t I tell you everything?’
‘Not always, no.’
‘We’ll have a drink and a meal soon, Bill.’
‘Right. Go carefully. See you.’
Agatha replaced the receiver. Instead of being relieved to find they were still friends, she now felt worried and guilty about lying to Bill.
They made their statements the following day at Mircester police headquarters and emerged from a gruelling session blinking in the mellow sunlight. Good weather had returned,
but without the ferocious heat, and there was an autumnal crispness in the air.
‘It’s still morning,’ said Charles, ‘and at least you’re still free. Haven’t bagged you up yet, which is a miracle. So what do we do now? Confront Mrs
Friendly?’
‘Bit early. The hairy husband doesn’t play golf until the afternoon.’
‘So let’s try the library and read up on castor-oil plants.’
Mircester Public Library was dark and silent, a marble-pillared, cavernous Victorian place. Agatha’s high heels clicked across the marble floor.
‘Where do we start?’ she whispered.
‘We’ll look up an encyclopedia.’
They searched along the reference shelves. ‘Here we are,’ said Charles. ‘ R for ricin.’
He flicked the pages. ‘Nothing here.’
‘Try P for poison,’ suggested Agatha.
‘Right you are. Now let me see. Ah, poisonous plants. Here we go. Listen to this, Agatha.
‘“Castor-oil plant. Ricinus communis . Large plant of the spurge family grown commercially for the pharmaceutical and industrial uses of oil and for use in landscaping because
of its handsome, giant, twelve-lobed palmate (fanlike) leaves. The brittle spinel, bronze-to-red clusters of fruits are attractive but often removed before they mature because of the poison,
ricinine, concentrated in their mottled bean-like seeds. Probably native to Africa –”’
‘Not Evesham, then. Rats,’ interrupted Agatha.
‘Listen and learn,’ he said severely. ‘“Probably native to Africa, this species has become naturalized throughout the tropical world. The plants are cultivated chiefly in
India and Brazil, largely for their oil.” Aha, here we go! “In temperate climates they are raised as annuals and grow one point five to two point four feet in a single season.”
There! This is a temperate climate. Ergo, all we need to do is keep looking in gardens.’
He flicked over another page. ‘Here are the symptoms of ricin poisoning. “Burning of mouth, throat and stomach, vomiting, diarrhoea, abdominal cramps, dulled vision, respiratory
distress, paralysis, death.”’
Agatha repressed a shudder. ‘What a way to go! Let’s go and eat and see if we can catch Mrs Friendly on her own.’
At two o’clock that afternoon, they left the car outside Agatha’s cottage and walked
‘You’re patronizing.’
‘I’m cross because I got into trouble trying to cover up for you.’
‘Sorry.’
‘We’ll meet soon, Agatha.’
‘Okay, how’s the romance?’
‘Dead in the water. I don’t know what happened.’
‘Take her home to meet the parents and all that?’ asked Agatha with affected casualness.
‘Yes, but it still collapsed.’
Poor Bill, thought Agatha. Mr and Mr Wong were enough to scare off any girl. But he adored his parents and she knew that any criticism of them would wound him deeply.
‘Isn’t ricin an odd sort of poison?’
‘Not all that odd. The murderer could have got away with it. It’s terribly hard to detect, almost impossible.’
‘Seems to point to a pretty sophisticated murderer,’ said Agatha. ‘I mean, it’s not the sort of thing some ordinary village housewife would use.’
‘Why did you say that?’ His voice was sharp. ‘What ordinary village housewife did you have in mind?’
‘I didn’t. I mean I just meant that it was a very exotic sort of poison.’
‘If you say so.’ Suspicious. ‘I feel there’s a lot you’re holding back.’
Agatha managed a light laugh. ‘Don’t I tell you everything?’
‘Not always, no.’
‘We’ll have a drink and a meal soon, Bill.’
‘Right. Go carefully. See you.’
Agatha replaced the receiver. Instead of being relieved to find they were still friends, she now felt worried and guilty about lying to Bill.
They made their statements the following day at Mircester police headquarters and emerged from a gruelling session blinking in the mellow sunlight. Good weather had returned,
but without the ferocious heat, and there was an autumnal crispness in the air.
‘It’s still morning,’ said Charles, ‘and at least you’re still free. Haven’t bagged you up yet, which is a miracle. So what do we do now? Confront Mrs
Friendly?’
‘Bit early. The hairy husband doesn’t play golf until the afternoon.’
‘So let’s try the library and read up on castor-oil plants.’
Mircester Public Library was dark and silent, a marble-pillared, cavernous Victorian place. Agatha’s high heels clicked across the marble floor.
‘Where do we start?’ she whispered.
‘We’ll look up an encyclopedia.’
They searched along the reference shelves. ‘Here we are,’ said Charles. ‘ R for ricin.’
He flicked the pages. ‘Nothing here.’
‘Try P for poison,’ suggested Agatha.
‘Right you are. Now let me see. Ah, poisonous plants. Here we go. Listen to this, Agatha.
‘“Castor-oil plant. Ricinus communis . Large plant of the spurge family grown commercially for the pharmaceutical and industrial uses of oil and for use in landscaping because
of its handsome, giant, twelve-lobed palmate (fanlike) leaves. The brittle spinel, bronze-to-red clusters of fruits are attractive but often removed before they mature because of the poison,
ricinine, concentrated in their mottled bean-like seeds. Probably native to Africa –”’
‘Not Evesham, then. Rats,’ interrupted Agatha.
‘Listen and learn,’ he said severely. ‘“Probably native to Africa, this species has become naturalized throughout the tropical world. The plants are cultivated chiefly in
India and Brazil, largely for their oil.” Aha, here we go! “In temperate climates they are raised as annuals and grow one point five to two point four feet in a single season.”
There! This is a temperate climate. Ergo, all we need to do is keep looking in gardens.’
He flicked over another page. ‘Here are the symptoms of ricin poisoning. “Burning of mouth, throat and stomach, vomiting, diarrhoea, abdominal cramps, dulled vision, respiratory
distress, paralysis, death.”’
Agatha repressed a shudder. ‘What a way to go! Let’s go and eat and see if we can catch Mrs Friendly on her own.’
At two o’clock that afternoon, they left the car outside Agatha’s cottage and walked
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