As The Pig Turns by MC Beaton

they heard the arrival of the estate agent. Then the unlocking of the front door and the clump of policemen’s boots. Then came the fretful voice of what Agatha guessed was the estate agent. ‘It’s no use looking for fingerprints or footprints,’ she said. ‘I don’t know how many people have been through this house, and believe me, they all turned out to be ghouls, wanted to look at a house where a murder had been committed.’
    Footsteps came up the stairs and into the bedroom.
    ‘Oh, God, I’m going to sneeze,’ said Agatha.
    James twisted her face round and kissed her full on the mouth. Her senses reeled. She faintly heard a voice say, ‘Nothing here.’
    ‘Why, James!’ said Agatha softly.
    ‘Anything to shut you up,’ he muttered.
    Agatha’s hormones packed up their bags and left again.
    They waited until the police had left the house, waited while they heard the complaints of the estate agent for having been dragged out in the middle of the night, waited while the dog-walking woman grumbled her way off down the lane, frightened to move until the police car drove off.
    ‘Now,’ said James, switching on the torch. ‘What have we here?’
    ‘There’s a light switch,’ said Agatha, ‘and no windows. We could risk switching it on.’
    James went to the switch in the wall. A naked light bulb shone down on them.
    Both of them looked around. The tiny secret room contained only a crumpled sleeping bag in one corner and, beside it, a ledger. ‘We could take this home and read it in comfort,’ said Agatha.
    ‘No,’ replied James sharply. ‘Got your gloves on? Good. We take a quick look and then, somehow, we’ve got to let the police know where to look for it.’
    James gingerly opened the ledger. ‘It’s in some sort of code or something,’ he said. ‘I should have brought a camera. I know, let’s get out of here and borrow it for a bit. It means we’ll have to sneak back here and replace it. We’ll need to make sure there’s not a trace of a fingerprint or footprint. Damn, that really is messing up any police evidence. Well, we got this far and they didn’t. Might just photograph the thing and post it to them.’
    Agatha agreed. She felt it was wrong, but on the other hand, to notify the police meant explaining that they had broken into Gary Beech’s house.
    James was wearing a dark leather jerkin and had the ledger zipped up inside it. ‘Don’t you think,’ whispered Agatha plaintively, ‘that there might be a back gate to this garden?’
    ‘I suppose there might be,’ said James, wondering why on earth he hadn’t thought of it before.
    They made their way quietly out of the house. James risked flashing his torch around the garden. ‘There’s a gate at the end over there, but it’s going to be the same problem. It’s solid and it’s as high as the fence. It’s padlocked.’
    ‘Can’t you pick the lock?’
    ‘It’ll take a few moments. It’s a pity you’re not more agile. We could just have shinned over it. You should get that hip replacement.’
    Agatha remained mulishly quiet while he got to work picking the lock. She did not like anyone, particularly James, knowing that she had been operated on for a hip replacement. Also, she was stiff and sore from getting over the fence. At last the padlock clicked open. James let Agatha out into the lane at the back, relocked the padlock and climbed nimbly over the fence.
    ‘Now, if we go quietly along this lane at the backs of the houses, we should reach my car. That way there’s no fear of someone in the houses seeing us.’
    ‘Someone could be looking out of a back window.’
    ‘Too many trees and bushes at the back, and I can’t see a light in a window anywhere. Come on .’
    Agatha was so grateful to be finally back in her cottage kitchen. ‘Coffee would be nice,’ said James.
    ‘A stiff gin and tonic would be nicer,’ said Agatha.
    ‘Well, make a strong coffee for me. I’ll nip next door and get my camera. Don’t